_MARIE._
"Evangeline, sad-eyed with longing pain."
To Marie Gotro the last few weeks had been filled with events which
would influence her whole existence. Every tendency of her life, every
inherent impulse of her nature, every impression made upon her heart by
the character of her growth and training, had been affected by something
which gave new direction to her soul, and tinged her whole personality.
An unknown force had developed in her life. Her existence gave her new
lights and shadows and feelings as if she had entered suddenly into a
new world. Hitherto no thought had ever come to her as to her future.
Her young womanhood was yet pervaded with the glow and with the happy
ease of an unrestrained childhood. She had lived under the influence of
conditions which had made no especial demand upon her, and she had
followed the direction of other wills than her own, and knew no force
within herself which ruled her but for the moment. She loved her father,
and lived in the life he had made for her, uninfluenced by the secret
care and solicitude he often found troubling his soul for her future.
She had not yet fully come out of childhood to indulge in dreams of
fresh youth, or to feel the melancholy pinings of a more mature
intellect and a more highly developed physical being. Of late a slight
melancholy had come upon her at times, the inheritance of all her race,
and the natural tendency of a nature such as hers. Yet there was nothing
defined in her feelings. An exquisite emotion during such periods,
without any play of intellect, gave her a vague and yet powerful feeling
beyond expression in words, and potent in its influence upon her.
Unknown to herself, these forces of her young soul were at the sanction
of her heart and eyes ready to fix themselves upon some object which all
her nature could not resist, and which henceforth would make the purpose
which was lacking and which would mould her whole life. This purpose was
now outlined in her soul. The strong light of desire had come to her,
and gave a different value to life, and made a hope which thrilled with
expectation, and created a future as if a new existence had suddenly
been realized. In an object outside herself were centred all the forces
of her being. She realized herself no longer as the individuality of a
few days previous. She reached out to something beyond her, and at the
same time out of her reach, with all the passion her heart was capable
of, suddenly strengthened into the full maturity of womanhood and
conscious of the whole and single desire of her life.
Unfortunately for Marie, she was not made happy by the sudden birth of
love. Her nature's rapid development she was not prepared for. She found
herself with feelings that were new to her. The pain was as unfamiliar
as the love that caused it. She was, however, all youth, ready to be
moulded, easy of influence, immature in experiences, and in the peculiar
strength of her life capable of much suffering and of much happiness.
The change of her life came quickly. There was no doubt of its reality,
there was no hesitation in meeting it or resistance on her part to the
influence that ruled her. She loved with all the strength of her being.
With her love, Marie came to the realization of a great helplessness.
Greater than all the dreams and hopes are the doubts of young love. In
her self-abasement she made a house of grief for herself. In silence and
in secret she dwelt with her new life. Neither her father nor old
Suzanne knew of the change in her life.
The presence of Winslow at Bluff Castle placed no restraint upon the
members of the household, for his quiet and natural manner and
unconventional mode of life soon made him intimate with Suzanne as well
as with Pierre. Marie laughed less than was her wont. Pierre and Winslow
were thrown more and more into each other's society as the days passed
and as the young man found his strength again. The old Acadian woman was
more occupied with the duties of the house. Marie wandered alone much of
the time, sometimes on the beach about the island, or watched from the
summit the passing of the ships coming and going with the tide. The
change in Marie did not arouse attention. She seldom addressed Winslow,
and at those times with a modesty and color of cheek which left on his
mind the impression that Marie was extremely shy and without experience.
Yet at times he saw in her eyes a depth of expression and warmth of
color which left him uncertain as to what meaning they conveyed.
Pierre and Winslow in their conversation talked of the Acadians often.
One evening their conversation turned to Longfellow, who had never seen
Nova Scotia, and yet in his poem, "Evangeline," has described Grand-Pré
so accurately. Winslow quoted some lines and was suddenly attracted by
the pensive face of Marie, who, lost in thought, was following the
words, her large brown eyes fixed upon him.
"Sat by some nameless grave
And thought that perhaps in its bosom he was already at rest,
And she longed to slumber beside him."
"It is a beautiful poem," continued Winslow, "and a sad story. What
theory do you hold in regard to the origin of the story? I have known
that it is a common belief that it came to Longfellow through Hawthorne,
who got it from a priest. Longfellow asked the novelist for the
privilege of using the story for a poem, as he did not care to make
anything of it. The priest got the story from a relative of the
historian Haliburton, who knew many of the returned Acadians."
"The story of a young Acadian woman," said Pierre, "who was sent away on
one ship and her husband on another, and of their having wandered over
the country in search of each other for years, was told among our people
in the early part of this century. It was only one of the many sad tales
they made current, and many homes to-day preserve traditions of the
sufferings of their forefathers in those awful days."
"Then there was a kernel of fact about which the incidents of the poem,
'Evangeline,' were formed."
"The name 'Evangeline' was chosen by Longfellow in preference to
'Celestine' and 'Gabrielle.'"
"The privilege of the poet for the purpose of the poem," smiled Winslow.
"It might just as well have been 'Marie,'" looking at the young woman as
he spoke.
"That was indeed her name," Pierre added. "Marie Landry and Jacque
Hebert. The story has been told to many generations of Acadians."
Marie blushed violently, and dropped her eyes, which until then had been
fixed upon him and Pierre in turn, oblivious of herself till addressed.
"Your daughter much resembles that famous picture of Evangeline by an
English painter, Thomas Faed. Indeed, I believe that the picture, while
very beautiful in the suggestion of strength of character and of a high
type of loving womanhood, is but the idealization of your Acadian
women."
Pierre did not reply to this, but looked at his daughter intently for
some time. He probably saw in her some resemblance to his dead wife.
In the silence that followed Winslow still looked at the young woman,
studying her face and much struck with the wonderful beauty of it. His
thoughts drifted on under the influence of her young, fresh loveliness,
and he experienced an undefined and pleasant sense of something swaying
him for the moment.
So, while Winslow was recovering the use of his shoulder and arm, the
old man was his frequent companion, and they were being drawn into
closer relationship. It was as if the house of Pierre had found a son.
But in finding the son the young life of the daughter was lost, and in
its place was the new life of the woman, with her days made up of the
feelings and impulses, the doubts and desires of the heart.
Another fact in the changed conditions of her life was her sudden
aversion to Len Lawson. Previous to the coming of Winslow she had simply
felt amused or annoyed at him, according to her humor or his behaviour.
The young fellow had seen with what favor his employer had been received
by the inhabitants of Bluff Castle. This fact drove him to acts of
attention, more or less eager, which Marie did not like. He persisted
often in appearing before her when she preferred to be alone. What she
had formerly received with indifference or slight vexation she now saw
with fear, and she felt a consciousness of herself which was new to
her, so that she shunned Len in a way that aroused in him fits of anger
and upbraidings.
When Winslow was not out in Len's boat examining the shores and studying
the tides and their changes, Len was often at the island to accompany
him on some excursion or to receive his instructions. Winslow knew of
Len's attachment for Marie, and often had opportunity to observe them
both. He noted particularly the effect his presence had upon her, and to
free her from his rude attentions he often sent Len off upon long trips,
or took him away for days when his strength finally permitted him to
undergo the exertion. Often his errands did not seem to Len to have any
other purpose than to rid Marie of him. As this feeling grew, his manner
changed towards his employer. There was soon in his mind another cause
for this change. He began to believe that Winslow's fancy for Marie had
altered her treatment of himself. At last, he began to use Winslow's
name in the manner of an accusation against the young woman, and the
bitter tone he indulged in often brought a flash of anger to her eyes.
In this way he became more and more offensive to her, and in the end her
agitation overcame her anger when she thought that by some chance
Winslow should learn that he was the cause, on the part of both Len and
herself, of the present difficulty.
"Why will you not sail with me, Marie?" Len would sometimes ask her.
"You are in the employ of Mr. Winslow now," she would perhaps reply.
"If you think I should do so, I will tell him you want to go sailing. He
will not refuse it."
"No, no! Don't ask him," Marie would exclaim; "it is not necessary."
"Then you will go?"
"Perhaps, some time," Marie would say, glad of a chance to escape.
After a few such scenes Len's anger would break forth, and she would
abruptly leave him, while he would cry after her that she was afraid of
Winslow.
It was really the case after awhile. Marie feared both Len and Winslow.
In this way Marie was driven to the extremity of disliking Len and
avoiding him as much as she could possibly do so.
All this made it more difficult for her to assume an easy and natural
manner in the presence of Winslow. The restraint it put upon her made it
impossible for her to receive him into her daily life as she might
otherwise have done. It also affected her position with regard to him,
and left him without a true estimate of her character, attractive as she
was in feature and in the charm of her fresh youth. He was to a certain
extent influenced by the halo of romance surrounding her as the daughter
of his venerable friend Pierre. He was, moreover, bound to her by the
bond of duty voluntarily accepted, which he was anxious to perform. As
yet no woman had entered his life. His studies had been his passion
both from choice and favorable opportunity.
In this way the young love of Marie began for her self-appointed
guardian and the friend of her father.