pleasant article by M. René Bazin, of the French Academy, entitled
“Paysages d’Amérique,” in which he gives a graphic and poetic account
of his American visit as a member of the French delegation, which
presented the statue of France for the Champlain memorial. He tells
of the voyage, paints vividly his first impressions of New York,
chats of his visit to Washington, with many fresh impressions of
scenes and people. His article, which is in journal form, brings him
to Lake Champlain, May 3, 1912. After noting various incidents of the
journey north, he continues:
Since last evening we have traveled by special train to the banks
of Lake Champlain. Early this morning, the sensation of being still
awoke me. I opened the window of the Pullman and saw that we were
stopped on a siding, in the open country. Day was breaking; the sun
had not yet risen. Before me, at the right of the railroad, were
low lands, grassy, wild, like neglected pastures. Further on, a
great house under the elms, and further yet the waters of the lake,
the gleam of which came to me in rays between the white mists which
rolled up. The silence was perfect. It was the season, already past
with us, when the blackbirds at day-break poise themselves on the
top of the trees.
Nothing was lacking. The outlines of the hills beyond the lake and
above the mists, were of a vivid blue, and, suddenly, the globe
of the sun showed itself. Presently a great heron, seeking the
woods, came on wing, his legs like a rudder, and crossed over the
bank. I hear the sound of the beats of his short wings; I hear
the coming of a train on the distant horizon, and the noise is so
sharp that it makes me realize the immensity of the land through
which it spreads. Primitive peace is still here. I go out; I notice
at the left of the line the successive level of wooded hills, the
highest of which have the appearance of mountains. These are the
Adirondacks. They call them “Green Mountains” in the country. But
they look out upon the morning and the myriads of buds massed
together clothe them in purple. Oaks, perhaps; probably maples;
this beautiful maple which has two red seasons.
About eight o’clock automobiles come for us. I get into the first,
with Hanotaux and two others of our companions. We have not a
long road to go. On one side, clear woodland; a short approach,
a turning to the left, a fine descending curve planted with green
trees, and we are before the steps of a great villa on the shores
of the lake. Our hosts for the morning, Mr. and Mrs. S. H. P.
Pell, came to us on the veranda. The automobiles stop and at once
a little boom of cannon is heard ahead of us. We look in the
direction whence the shot comes and we see the grass of the field
all starred with tricolor flags. A second automobile arrives.
It is saluted as were ourselves. In the fine house,—very well
lighted, very white, ornamented with family portraits and with
old engravings representing scenes of other days in this place
so enriched in history, we are greeted with a graciousness and a
knowledge of the world which is manifested through a considerate
and sincere heart. There are some moments in which plain people
and simple actions become arguments in favor of a country. I
shall never again hear the American spirit ill-spoken of without
recalling the hospitality of the Americans of Ticonderoga. The
name is an Indian name of the fortress which was entrusted by
Louis XV. to the Marquis de Montcalm. The French have said, say,
and will say, “Carillon.” At Carillon, July 8, 1758, the Marquis
de Montcalm had only 3,570 regulars, 87 marines, 85 Canadians, and
16 Indians, under his command,—that is to say, 3,758 soldiers.
But he was entrenched in the woods and he had a refuge in case of
need. Abercromby commanded an army of 16,500 men and he came on to
conquer this feeble enemy and to establish finally English dominion
over Canada. The hour was not yet come. Once more, although the
enemy was brave and determined, France with unequal arms was
victorious.
Entering Mr. Pell’s house, we were reminded of this date, these
figures, and of their fine significance. We remembered that in this
forest where we are, Montcalm in early morning, throwing off his
jacket and crouching under the branches of a tree, said to his men
who labored to gather the stones for the intrenchments, “Children,
the day will be hot!” We recall that at evening in the same place,
as the fading light of day was prolonged by the reflection of the
lake, he wrote: “What a day for France! The little army of the King
conquers his enemies. Ah, what troops like ours! I have never seen
their equal!”
In how many parts of the world, among others, cannot memory speak
to us thus softly of the glory of our arms! But what is delicious
here is that a foreign family which entertains us, also remembers,
and that it understands, and that it recognizes something beyond
the mere history.
While they served us with a well-ordered breakfast—there were even
fruits from California and Florida in aromatic wine—our hosts and
the parents of our hosts spoke to us of that France that they know
and love, of Cartier, of Roberval, of Champlain, “father of the
aborigines,” of the missionaries, of Frontenac, of Vaudreuil and
of Montcalm. These names lived again and those of their adversaries.
We learned that Mr. Pell has sought to buy all the lands around
Ticonderoga where the French and English fought, so that no one
shall build a hotel there and lessen the sacred character of this
landscape. Is it not a fine stroke, and does he belong by chance to
this “material civilization,” of which they have made in respect
to Americans so much reproach, so much hard compliment? We go out
of the house; we cross the field, and, the ground falling away a
little, we are in front of a square fortress of stone, protected
by ditches. The proprietors have restored it, but the great part
of these old stones are truly stones of war, and the black rafters
of the chambers have become brown by the smoke of pipes which were
lighted in the hard winter of this climate by the lost and almost
abandoned children of the regiments of France.
One thinks of the reproaches which they would have made to the
news brought by the Indians, to the wind which howled, to the snow
storm.... The fort is decorated in our honor. On its front, a
bronze plaque bears this inscription: “Germain redoubt constructed
by captain Germain, régiment des Gardes de la Reine, in 1758, by
order of the marquis de Montcalm, in command of the fortress of
Carillon.”
The extent of the old covered way, cut through to-day, brings
us to the interior of the earthworks. Before us, at 500 meters,
high glacis crown the hill and conceal just at the roof line a
construction which would have served as quarters for the officers.
I notice two flags waving at the end of two great flagstaffs, and
more below, like a basket of violets moving, for the wind is brisk,
where they have been planted. But no one explains to me yet what
we have come to see, and Mr. Pell, who walks with me, stooping,
picks a woolly leaf of a wild plant, and says to me: “Keep it
as souvenir. Right here, some years ago, we set out to make an
excavation. At the first stroke of the pick the workmen uncovered
some bodies clothed in trimmed uniforms. They were immediately
ordered to cover them up and not to disturb them.” We were moved. I
continued to ascend the hill. One has to turn a little to find the
entrance into the fortress of Carillon. A dozen cannon outside are
still pointed towards the lake and towards the little neighboring
mountain, “The mount of France” which drew the English artillery.
I enter the enclosure of the fortress. It is trimmed up. It awaits
France. Ah, see who has come—_La France!_ and she sees in front of
the wall of Montcalm’s old quarters, ten silken standards which
the wind lifts and lets fall heavily on the staffs; violet squares
bordered with white, blue panels barred with red, many-colored
banners, all the standards of the regiments of France which were
represented at the battle of Carillon. The victorious colors live
again in the light, and a little above, dominating the broken
walls and the roofs, two great flags protect the others, command
them and explain them; the starry flag of young America and the
banner of ancient France, all white and strewn with Fleur-de-lis.
My eyes fill with tears, and I really think that two tears have
fallen. I am sure that they said, “Long live this American who has
a deep heart.” They say still other things and I feel myself living
wholly in the France of other days.
The house of the fort has become a museum; swords, guns,
ammunition, letters, keys, spades which were broken in throwing
up the entrenchments, engravings of several periods, are there
hung on the walls or arranged in showcases; even an old watch,
which the journal of the fortress, likewise preserved, states, had
been lost among the ruins. We linger there and I notice that our
traveling companions speak less as time passes. But when we have
made the round of the walls of Carillon and when we notice in the
full light of ten o’clock in the morning all the country which
the old fort commands, words come again; joy, also; the ground
descends from there down to the lake, narrow at this point; the
hills rise gradually and the blue of the distance defines itself
in clear lines upon the pale azure of the horizon. Some one says:
“Do you not notice how that resembles the plain of Pau, as seen
from the terrace?” Indeed, if I efface from my memory the image
of blue waters, which the waters of Lake Champlain disturbed by
the melting snows do not at all resemble, and which do not reflect
the sky, the two landscapes have a similarity. Even the atmosphere
is transparent here, revealing the elevated conformation of the
distance. Another of our companions, who soon notices the extended
form of the lake and the color of the trees on the lower level,
says, almost at the same moment, “I believe I see the Vosges with
Retournemer and Longemer.” In other ways we recognize here French
harmonies.
Some hours later, we are on a point of land quite far from the fort
of Carillon, at the foot of a white stone lighthouse. The light
overlooks a stretch of bad rock land, standing in the midst of low
places and fields which stretch out behind it. What a desert this
would be, and from the origin of the world, this spur on which
break the short waves of Lake Champlain!
But to-day the people of the American towns, those who live in
the Adirondacks, those from the other side of the water, miners,
farmers, and various workers, or trout fishers, who have come to
prepare for the coming season, have assembled at Crown Point Forts.
Some horses, picketed, browse in the fields; others are hitched
to the branches of a hawthorne—the remains, perhaps of an old
plantation, set out by the hand of a jealous old French soldier.
Some American carriages, a little seat on four very light wheels;
some wagons, twenty automobiles, are scattered on the grass, while
around the lighthouse, on all the levels of the rock, are seated
upon benches or on the ground a mixed population, intimate,
badly controlling the children who race around like young quail;
listening, understanding—or pretending to understand—the speeches
which glorify Champlain. The bronze medallion which represents
France, the work of Rodin, brought by us, is already set in its
niche in front. The wind blows; it causes to vibrate the ten cords
stretched from the lantern of the lighthouse to the ground in a
crown, and flaps the big canopy and all the flags which ornament
it. And as my mind wanders when the speeches are in English, I
listen to what the flags are saying:
“Do you see them, these people seated in the front row? They don’t
belong here.”
“It’s plain that they don’t belong here. You’re not saying much of
anything: Are they tanned by the open air? Have they the free and
easy way of the American citizen?”
“I suppose that they are from Paris?”
“You have a very simple way of being sure of it, my dear. Did you
ever hear such a noise! Listen! When they are from Paris, there is
never any lack of talk!”
“—Precisely, the orator proclaims himself; he comes from Paris.”
“Not of great extent, this France?”
“Not very formidable?”
One flag, smoke-blackened, said:
“Not very serious?”
Then, the English flag, which had said nothing, snapped a blow so
sharp that a whip wouldn’t have been better.
“Very serious, my dear. I’ve known the French. I’ve known the
French at a time when you were not such a much, be it said without
offense to you. I have known Champlain. He had a jovial way. He was
usually pleasant. The Indians said of him: ‘We like to hear you
speak. You always have something pleasant to say.’ But, believe me,
I understood him: it was as a colonial and a rough adversary, I
say adversary, because that is the name that one gives to his old
enemies when they have become his friends, you understand?”
“Pretty well.”
I leave the flags, ruffling. I think of this brave man, whose fête
this is, at this moment, in his little sleepy and grass-grown
town of Brouage: of the dreams of glory that were his, all
youthful, like those of a good many men of his time, and which he
accomplished because he had a heart capable of suffering for his
love. For he loved France. He left her, the better to serve her.
He bore with him, to the West Indies, and afterwards to Canada,
a poor companion, a perfect and holy image. Almost alone among
the savages, having carried upon his strong shoulders, oars,
provisions and the blanket for his bed at night, enured to heat,
to cold, to mosquitoes, to long exiles and the perpetual treason
of men, over these identical grounds where we now are, he made his
way to discovery, beholding a new world reveal itself about him,
and giving it to his Lord in heaven, as he gave it to his King,
secretly, hourly, by each glance with which he took possession
of this unknown world. For he says: “Kings should not think of
extending their domination in infidel lands, except to establish
there the reign of Christ.” Commerce was not forgotten. But what
superior humanity! It is still living, only disregarded. Champlain
has passed here. I realize that this landscape has been reflected
in his eyes as it is in mine. This landscape? Is it indeed sure?
Where are the trusty witnesses? Not the meadow, which is new.
Not the trees, too young for him to have known, nor the waters,
which have changed, nor the clouds, nor even the ancestors of the
spectators assembled on this strand. We can scarcely say that the
movement of the sun sang as to-day, the same verse in the hymn
universal.
M. Bazin concludes with a running account of his continued journey
to Montreal and Quebec, recalling at length their wealth of historic
associations.
IX. COMMENT IN APPRECIATION OF THE VISIT OF THE FRENCH DELEGATION AND
HONORS CONFERRED
The mission of the French delegation proved to be of far deeper
import, than the mere presentation of the Rodin bust, gratifying
to Americans as was that superb gift on the part of its donors. It
awakened in the people of this country, quite as much as it did in
the members of that delegation, renewed interest in the activities
and achievements of the peoples of the two Republics, which are
the foremost democracies of the world. M. Hanotaux, a scholar, a
statesman and a diplomat and his distinguished colleagues, are
among the foremost citizens of France. They represented the several
departments of the Government as well as the various trades and
professions in the civil life of that Republic. Commerce and
industries were represented by M. Antoine Girard, Counsellor of
Foreign Commerce. Their reputation had long been established
in science, in literature and in the fine arts and also in
jurisprudence, in statesmanship and in diplomacy, as exemplified
in the genial and charming personality of Ambassador Jusserand.
They are among the present day celebrities of the French nation and
were invited to become members of the Embassy on account of their
individual standing in the official, social and intellectual life of
that Republic.
One cannot read their addresses and their reports to Paris of the
impressions, which they formed on their visit to America, without
appreciating the spontaneity of their tributes to the American people
and to their institutions, the warmth of their expressions of good
will and generous impulses towards the people of this nation and
their gratitude for the deep interest shown by the people of the
United States, and especially by those of Vermont and New York, in
commemorating the achievements and the character of one of their
countrymen.
The unreported addresses of Baron D’Estournelle de Constant, member
of the French Senate and the representative of France at the Hague
International Peace Tribunal, and of M. Louis Barthou, ex-Minister
of Justice and one of the leading Parliamentarians of the Chamber
of Deputies, will long be remembered for their urbanity, for the
breadth of their views, and for the brilliancy of their eloquent
periods. The addresses of M. Hanotaux and others and the foregoing
reports of Gaston Deschamps, of M. de la Blache, the geographer of
the University of Paris, and of René Bazin, of the French Academy,
disclose the character and beauty of the style of the French
littérateurs. Wherever the members of the delegation went, they were
gratefully welcomed and entertained in stately manner. The social
functions taxed the powers of endurance on the part of the visitors
to their full extent. They made hosts of friends and gave Americans
opportunity to meet them and to become acquainted with gentlemen and
ladies possessed of the rare culture and refinement of French life.
Their visit was timely and did much to strengthen the ties that
bind the peoples of the two Republics in friendly accord. They made
an impression on the people of this country that will be quite as
enduring as the bronze testimonial of the good will of the people of
France towards those of the United States, firmly set in the granite
base of the Champlain Memorial at Crown Point Forts and there was
voiced by the friends, whom they made in America, the sentiment,
_Vive la France_.
Some months after the return of the French delegation to France,
Commissioner Walter C. Witherbee was appointed by the President
of the French Republic a Knight of the Legion of Honor, which was
formally and appreciatively acknowledged by this Commission.
Knighthood in the Legion of Honor was also conferred by the President
of France upon Hon. Frank S. Witherbee, a member of Preliminary
Champlain Commission and President of the Lake Champlain Association,
which participated in the entertainment of the French delegation at
the Waldorf-Astoria banquet on May 1, 1912.
Hon. A. Barton Hepburn, President of the Chamber of Commerce of
the State of New York, which entertained the French delegation at
luncheon on May 2, 1912, has recently been decorated by the President
of France with the honorary rank of Officer in the Legion of Honor.
The French Government has recently presented to Honorable Charles
B. Alexander, member of the Society of the Cincinnati, who gave
a reception on April 30, 1912, to the French delegation in his
beautiful home at No. 4 West 58th Street, New York City, the artistic
Sèvres bisque group of national manufacture, known as “Télémaque chez
Calypso,” by the sculptor, M. Louis Simon Boizot.
Knighthood in the Legion of Honor was also conferred by the President
of the Republic of France upon President John H. Finley of the
College of the City of New York, who has taken deep interest in the
life of Samuel Champlain and in French colonization in America. His
felicitous remarks at the Waldorf-Astoria banquet on May 1, 1912,
were genuinely appreciated by Ambassador Jusserand, the members of
the French delegation, and all others in attendance. President Finley
was the Harvard Exchange lecturer under the Hyde Foundation in 1910
at the University of Paris and at ten other French universities.
In February, 1913, His Excellency, Raymond Poincaré, President of the
Republic of France, appointed Henry W. Hill, Secretary of the New
York Lake Champlain Tercentenary Commission, a Knight of the Legion
of Honor, in recognition of his public, literary and other services
in connection with the Tercentenary Celebration from its inception in
1907 to the conclusion of the Final Report of the Commission in 1913.
These delicate and touching expressions of appreciation on the part
of President Fallières, President Poincaré, Ambassador Jusserand and
the citizens of France of the courtesies shown to the members of the
French delegation, while in the United States, are still further
evidences of the warmth of the kindly feelings existing between the
people of that Republic and those of this nation, and are gratefully
appreciated.
Part Two
DEDICATORY CEREMONIES
I. PREPARATION FOR DEDICATORY CEREMONIES, INCLUDING MILITARY FEATURES
The Commission decided to have the dedicatory ceremonies of the
Crown Point memorial on July 5, 1912, and of the Plattsburgh
memorial on July 6, 1912, the anniversary week of the Tercentenary
Celebration. Formal invitations to the dedicatory ceremonies of
the Crown Point memorial were sent by the New York and Vermont
Lake Champlain Commissions, and to the dedicatory exercises of the
Plattsburgh memorial, by the New York Commission, to the President
and Vice-President of the United States, to the United States
Senators of New York and Vermont, to the members of Congress from the
Champlain valley, to the French Ambassador, His Excellency, J. J.
Jusserand, the British Ambassador, the Right Honorable James Bryce
and to Count and Countess de Peretti de la Rocca and to M. Maugras,
members of the French Embassy and to members of the British Embassy
at Washington, to the Governors, Lieutenant-Governors and other
officials of New York and Vermont, including Hon. William Sohmer,
State Comptroller, Hon. Andrew S. Draper, State Commissioner of
Education, Hon. Henry W. Hoefer, State Architect, Major-General John
F. O’Ryan, Adjutant-General William Verbeck and Hon. James A. Holden,
State Historian, Hon. John A. Bensel, State Engineer and Surveyor,
to prominent members of the State Legislature, to Justice Charles
E. Hughes, former Governor of New York, to Hon. George H. Prouty,
former Governor of Vermont, to Col. Calvin D. Cowles, to Hon. Frank
S. Witherbee, President of the Champlain Association, to Percival
Wilds, Secretary of that Association, to Mr. Stephen H. P. Pell, to
Hon. James A. Roberts, President of the New York State Historical
Association, to Frederick B. Richards, Secretary of the New York
State Historical Association, to Dr. George F. Kunz, President of the
American Scenic and Historic Preservation Society, to Hon. Charles B.
Alexander, to Hon. McDougall Hawkes, to Carl A. Heber, the sculptor,
to Paul Faguet of the French Line, to Hon. William Cary Sanger,
to Hon. Francis Lynde Stetson, Hon. Robert Roberts, to Hon. Job E.
Hedges, to President Guy Potter Benton, LL. D., of the University of
Vermont, to President John M. Thomas, D. D., of Middlebury College,
to President Charles H. Spooner, Ph. D., of Norwich University, and
to others, in addition to the invitations sent to members of the New
York and Vermont Tercentenary Commissions, and to some prominent
citizens of Vermont.
The special invitations included in most instances the ladies of the
gentlemen so invited and they were present at all the exercises.
The Board of Governors of the Lake Champlain Association through
its Secretary, Percival Wilds, sent to its members notice they were
invited to the dedicatory exercises and to accompany the guests on
the steamer “_Ticonderoga_” through the lake.
President Frank S. Witherbee and many members of the Association
were present at the dedicatory ceremonies of the Crown Point and the
Plattsburgh memorials. The officers and members of the Lake Champlain
Association took a deep interest in the Tercentenary celebration
and from time to time rendered assistance to the Tercentenary
Commissioners in various ways, and especially so in assuming the
responsibility and conduct of the banquet to the French delegation at
the Waldorf-Astoria in New York City on May 1, 1912.