THE CASTLE OF QUIET WATERS
Having added to his toilet the special elegance of powdering his hair,
arrayed himself in his finest flowered waistcoat, and critically
disposed his laces, Germain took seat in de Bailleul's coach and was
driven away.
As the horses flew along another new feeling came to him. The
distinction of a familiar visit with a real "great lord" elated him as
_débutantes_ are elated by their first ball. He was no snob, only a very
natural young man entering life. He dreamt that he was transferred from
the ignoble class to the noble, and in the fancy felt himself lifted to
some inconceivable level above the people who passed by. Half a dozen
peasants, bronzed and sweaty and trudging in a group, meeting him, took
off their hats. One of them said in his hearing: "Baptiste, there is one
of the white-wigs."
The carriage rolled through the forest, then out into the open country,
and shortly after turned under a stately gate of gilded ironwork, and
the grounds of Eaux Tranquilles were entered. The château was a mansion
of smooth, light sandstone, having four towers at the corners. A
turreted side-wing, bridging over water, united it with a more ancient
castle which stood, walled in white and capped in black, in the midst of
a small lake. In front were gardens; in rear a terrace, and below it a
lawn bordered on one side by the lake, on the opposite shore of which a
park of poplars, birches, and elms extended, producing, by shading the
water, a serenity which doubtless had given the estate its name.
The last light of afternoon, that most beautiful of all lights, fell
upon the towers, and long shadows swept across the gardens.
Lecour thought it glorious.
In a few moments he and his host were seated at tea. The lofty
window-doors stood open to let in the June zephyrs. With the two wigged
and liveried servants attending, the scene to Lecour seemed the acting
of a beautiful charade, the introduction to an unreal existence.
De Bailleul noted the delicacy of his hand and the tastefulness of his
violet-tinted coat.
"Let us talk of Canada," said he. "I have no friends yet to offer you,
though you shall have some young dogs like yourself very soon. What do
you like?--riding, hunting, a quiet minuet on the terrace, eh? Ah me,
the coquettes of Quebec! I well remember them."
Germain expressed gratitude for the amusements offered.
"I will tell you why I love Canada," continued the Chevalier. "It was
there that I passed my military youth. Have you ever eaten Indian
bean-cake?"
"I have tasted it."
"And that was enough, eh? But I have lived on it for eight weeks in an
Iroquois village. Yes, eight weeks bean-cake was the most horrible of my
experiences, except when I saw the hand of an unfortunate Potawatomie
turn up in an Abenaki broth-pot. Do you remember General Montcalm?"
"I was not born in his time."
"I saw him die, and heard him refuse to let the women of Quebec weep
for him. Montcalm, sir, was the last hero of France. They glorify
Lafayette, but between ourselves Lafayette is more the drum-major than
the general."
"The lost children of France do not forget the defender of Quebec."
"But who now passes from there to here? The _noblesse_ of the colony
sank embracing each other on the luckless ship _Auguste_ in which they
fled to France. Alas, my friends so brave and so lovely! Ah, Varennes
and La Vérandrye, and you my poor Lady de Mezière! Senneville also, my
dearest friend," he murmured, speaking to the spirits. "La Corne alone
escaped. Pardon me, Monsieur. Who is now Seigneur of Berthier?"
"Captain Cuthbert."
"In place of the Courthillaux! And of Répentigny?"
"General Christie."
"In place of Le Gardeurs! And of Longueuil?"
"Captain Grant."
"In the stead of the Le Moynes!"
"He married one of them and calls himself Baron de Longueuil."
"An Englishman Baron of Longueuil! Shades of Le Moyne d'Iberville! And
what of La Corne, who used to put on warpaint and dance around the
council fires waving a tomahawk against the English?"
"Good old Colonel La Corne! He is now a loyal subject of the king of
Great Britain, and very distinguished in the late American war."
"My God, what impossibilities within thirty years!"
Lecour, finding that the Chevalier was eager for a general account of
all Canadian beaux and dames, did his best to respond. De Bailleul's cup
ran over.
"Do you know," he exclaimed, "I have never met any people like the
Canadians. When Montcalm was general, I commanded a certain detachment
towards Lake Champlain. Through how many leagues of forest, over how
many cedar swamps and rocky hills, across how many icy torrents did my
bronzed woodmen not toil! We made beds from boughs of spruce, our walls
were the forest, our roofs were the skies. Many a day we fasted the
twenty-four hours. More than once we ate our mocassins. 'Twas all for
France. Ah, if our young men at Versailles had that to do, they would
have to be different persons. I have no respect for these warriors of
hair-powder and lace, who wear stays and learn to march from the
dancing-master. Give me a people bred in the lap of wild nature and
among whom the paths to reputation are courage and intelligence! Give
me----"
Lecour saw that the Canada of the good man was an idealised picture, but
he admired his affection and asked permission to drink his health. They
touched glasses.
"Tell me about your own people, my young friend. Who is your father?"
"A country merchant, sir."
"A well-to-do one, then, I judge."
"He has prospered so well as to be reputed rich for a colony."
"And you live at St. Elphège? In my time it was only a carrying-place
for canoes, to avoid the rapid."
"My father is the founder of the little place. He is known throughout
our Province as 'The Merchant of St. Elphège.'"
"An honourable title, based on an honourable record no doubt. Would that
we rightly respected trade in France. That is one of the nation's
weaknesses. You have a mother and brothers?"
"A mother and two sisters--one married, the other at a convent in
Quebec. My brother-in-law assists my father. We are very humble people."
"Why have you come to France?"
"Because I have admired it since a child, from my mother's stories at
her knee."
"She came from France, then?"
"No, sir, but she was housekeeper in the house of Governor the Marquis
de Beauharnois."
When he said this the youth blushed.
"How is it your accent is so good? It is quite that of our gentry."
"I learnt it at the Little Seminary, from the priests, who are gentlemen
of Paris. There also the best families send their boys, and we young men
grew up together. I have lived a little in Montreal too."
"Ah, what is Montreal now like? Are the town walls still standing?"
"They surround the city, but the commander-in-chief talks of replacing
them by avenues and a Champ de Mars."
"The British garrison of course occupies the Arsenal, the British flag
flies from the Citadel. Where does the British Governor reside?"
"At the Château de Ramezay."
"But why not at the Château de Vaudreuil, where Governor de Vaudreuil
dwelt? It was larger and its gardens finer."
"That now belongs to Monsieur de Lotbinière."
"De Lotbinière! the new Marquis! Lucky devil; but blue death, what
changes!"
They rose and strayed into the gardens.
"I seem to find in you already," said the warm-hearted old Chevalier,
"one whom I love. There is something frank in your eyes which raises
memories of my dead son. In you I see both my offspring's and my own
youth recalled to me. You are Canadian--in you I can banish the
coldness, hollowness, and degeneracy of Europe. Replace my boy. Let me
call you 'Germain' and 'son.'"
The bar of evening glow was fading in the west and twilight falling on
the walks. A chill breeze seemed to inspire a question, which Germain
began.
"But----?"
"There is some hindrance then?" exclaimed the Chevalier in a
disappointed voice.
"Alas, does your honour, perhaps, forget the differences of birth?"
"Differences of birth, my Germain, are illusions; you have the reality."
"Would that I had the illusion," thought poor Lecour.