A LITTLE TRAVELER
INDUSTRY is another trait which our little Quebec cousin has to her
credit.
The interior of Oisette's home was filled with objects which go to
prove this. For instance, all the bed clothes, with the exception of
the sheets, consist of gay patchwork quilts. French Canadian children
learn to sew patchwork when they are very young indeed. Oisette learned
to put together red and blue and yellow and white cotton cubes, which
were made into wonderful squares of patchwork, just as soon as she
could hold a needle that some older person threaded for her. She could
thread her own needle long before she knew how to tell what hour it was
by the clock.
She knew that to have a quilt one must first make thirty-six of these
squares. In the Tremblent household were not only quilts that had been
pieced together by a great grandmother who had resided in Quebec City,
but bedspreads made by a grandmother who lived across the river in a
little village named Chambly, and many made by her own mother when she
was a little girl.
Indeed, on Oisette's own bed was a quilt of marvelous pattern made
by an aunt for whom Oisette was named. This aunt had since become a
cloistered nun, and was shut in from the gay world and spent her time
mostly in prayer!
The pattern was known as "The music of the spheres." It consisted
of circular bits of red and yellow cotton, which looked like onions
floating in a bright blue sky. Right in the center of the counterpane
was a big purple star, the long points of this star were tipped with
yellow cotton and reached right to the edge of the bedspread.
This comforter was used for the first time when little Oisette Mary was
only thirty-six hours old. She was taken by her father and her aunt to
the church to be christened; you know a French Canadian child is always
christened within three days after birth, and when the tiny babe was
put back in its mother's bed the wonderful quilt was spread over the
foot of the bedstead and the proud father declared that the little one
opened its eyes and noticed the lovely colors even then.
A few months later, when she was old enough to be put down on the
floor, she showed a great fancy for the rag rugs, with their gay
stripes. These rugs are called _Habitant_ carpets, and are made by the
industrious method of sewing together long strips of colored cloth,
these strips are rolled into big balls, as large as one's head, and six
of these balls, when woven with carpet thread, make a very pretty rug.
Most of the convents have looms where they will weave these balls for
a small sum of money per yard.
There is something very cheering about the interior of a French
Canadian domicile. First of all, there is usually much clean paint,
either yellow paint like the clearest sunlight or bright blue paint
like a summer sky. Then the window panes sparkle with cleanness, and
the window-sills are filled with flowering geraniums and fuchsias, the
latter plant being a great favorite in the French Canadian home. These
flowers are usually growing in tin cans, but the tin is always very
bright and shining. Then the wall papers are never dull or dark in
color. Often they are either designs of bright flowers or gold stars.
The pictures on the walls are always of interest. First and foremost
there is always a picture of the Pope. Then a picture of the Christ,
and very often indeed one finds a picture of Madame Albani in all her
diamonds and tiara as she appeared when she sung for Queen Victoria at
Windsor Castle.
Albani, indeed, was a little Quebec cousin who became world famous.
She was born at Chambly, near Montreal, in 1852, within sound of
the roaring rapids of the River Richelieu, and in sight of the old
historical fort. She was the oldest daughter of one Joseph Lajeunesse,
who was a musician of sorts, playing the piano, the fiddle, the harp
and the organ. Indeed, he played the church organ at Chambly for many
years, and he taught singing in the Sacred Heart Convent at Back River.
When little Emma Lajeunesse was twelve years of age, the family moved
to Albany, New York, and she went to a convent school there, where
her voice was discovered when she sang in the cathedral. It was the
citizens of that city who made up a purse and sent her over to Italy to
study music. And so out of gratitude she called herself Madame Albani.
But when she became famous she returned to Montreal many, many times
on concert tours, and was much loved by her own people there, who
secured her picture to ornament their homes, and always speak of her as
"The lady who sings better than the birds."
Dr. Drummond, who lived in the Province of Quebec, once wrote some
delightful verses in the broken English of the _Habitant_ farmer, which
lines describe hearing Madame Albani sing:
"Dat song I will never forget me,
'Twas song of de leetle bird,
When he's fly from its nes' on de tree top,
'Fore rest of de worl' get stirred.
Madame she was tole us about it, den start off so quiet an' low,
And sing lak de bird on de morning, de poor little small oiseau."
Then the last stanza goes like this--
"We're not de beeg place on our canton, mebbe cole on de winter too,
But de heart's 'Canayen' on our body an' dat's warm enough for true!
An w'en All-ba-nee was got lonesome for travel all roun' de worl'
I hope she'll come home lak de bluebird an' again be de Chambly girl!"
That, you see, is why the photograph of Madame Albani is given a place
of honor in our little Quebec cousin's home.
There is one ornament also that is never missing from the
French-Canadian interior, no matter how shabby the surroundings. There
is always a crucifix, which teaches its lesson of sacrifice and love to
all.
These people are a home-abiding race. They travel but little. If they
have a fiddle and a pack of cards for amusement, they do not feel the
lure of the moving picture theaters. Sometimes, if any of the family
get ill, they will make a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Anne de
Beaupré. But very many of them never leave their happy homes for even
one night.
Oisette was twelve years of age before she made her first long visit
away from home. To be sure, she had been at the convent school for
three years, but that was on the Island of Montreal, and one journeyed
there by driving. But to go by night boat to Quebec one hundred and
sixty miles away, that was traveling.
Just as the city clocks and church bells were sounding their seven
o'clock duet, the big night boat for Quebec, known as the steamer
_Richelieu_, swung out into mid-stream. The current of the river St.
Lawrence is very rapid just here, opposite the city of Montreal.
On the rear deck Monsieur Tremblent was standing and his little
daughter Oisette Mary was with him. The month was June and the weather
was very beautiful indeed.
The little traveler gazed with rapture at the receding shores, bathed
in a lovely sunset glow. Everything pleased her; she would like to have
opened all the stateroom doors and taken a peep inside, but her father
explained to her that this was not allowed, except stateroom number
seventeen, for that he had a large key; and presently she could go to
bed in the top berth, and watch the panorama of moving shore line from
out the port hole. But she wanted to sit up as long as her eyes would
stay open and watch the travelers ascend and descend the very grand
staircase. Above the mirror, which one always finds on these river
boats, just halfway up the staircase, was a full length portrait of
Richelieu himself, in his gorgeous robes, and holding a scroll in his
hand. Oisette tried hard to remember his name, and wondered if he had
been a Pope! She would ask the good sisters at the convent when she had
to return to her lessons.
Presently she discovered in the salon, a large glass counter, like in a
shop, where all sorts of fancy goods were displayed for sale.
There were Indian baskets, picture post cards, and jewelry and candy.
Her father told her she might buy a present to take to his mother who
lived in the city of Quebec; she became so absorbed trying to discover
what she could find that her grandmère would like that she never missed
her father at all, she stood just where he had left her and gazed
and gazed; while he was on the lower deck, having bought a cigar he
stopped to chat with a commercial traveler from Ontario, who was much
interested to hear about the melon farm; and followed Mr. Tremblent
back again up the grand staircase, when he went to find his little girl.
Oisette had just decided upon an Indian basket for her grandmother.
This basket was woven in green and pink straw and shaped like a melon.
"It will hold her knitting," she explained. "And she will think of you
when she sees the melon."
This amused the Ontario man, who shook hands with Oisette and asked her
to help him pick out something for his little girl. Finally, after
much looking, a pair of red slippers with bead work on the toes was
purchased. Then the stranger bought a very tiny straw basket, which
contained a thimble; the latter just fitted Oisette's finger, and she
was made very happy when he told her she was to keep it.
She made one of her deep curtsies, as the nuns had taught her, and said
softly, "Merci bien, Monsieur."
That phrase amused the giver so much that he took out his note book and
wrote it down, and he asked her to spell it for him, and kept saying it
over and over. "I'll tell my little girl," he said, "that these were
your very words!"
Oisette showed her father the thimble and whispered to him, "I shall
make him a quilt!" Her father laughed and repeated her saying to the
stranger, who declared that the very next time he visited Montreal he
would drive out to the melon farm and see how the quilt was coming on.
At last Oisette was ready to go to bed. It was quite late now, but
Quebec has a long twilight in summertime, and from out the portholes
she could see the little villages along the shore.
There was always a fine big church and a good-sized convent, and
clustered about these were such tiny houses.
Finally, she fell asleep and dreamed that the big churches were large
hens and the little cottages were chickens cared for by the very big
hens on the hill! And sometimes they seemed to be all racing along the
river's edge together.