The interior of the Cathedral of St. Marie seemed like another world, in
comparison with the noisy, bustling Market Place in front of it.
The garish sunshine poured hot and oppressive in the square outside, but
was shorn of its strength as it passed through the painted windows of
the Cathedral, filling the vast interior with a cool, dim, religious
light, broken by tall shafts of columns, which swelled out into ornate
capitals, supporting a lofty ceiling, on which was painted the open
heavens with saints and angels adoring the Lord.
A lofty arch of cunning work overlaid with gold, the masterpiece of Le
Vasseur, spanned the chancel, like the rainbow round the throne. Lights
were burning on the altar, incense went up in spirals to the roof; and
through the wavering cloud the saints and angels seemed to look down
with living faces upon the crowd of worshippers who knelt upon the broad
floor of the church.
It was the hour of Vespers. The voice of the priest was answered by the
deep peal of the organ and the chanting of the choir. The vast edifice
was filled with harmony, in the pauses of which the ear seemed to catch
the sound of the river of life as it flows out of the throne of God and
the Lamb.
The demeanor of the crowd of worshippers was quiet and reverential. A
few gay groups, however, whose occupation was mainly to see and be seen,
exchanged the idle gossip of the day with such of their friends as they
met there. The fee of a prayer or two did not seem excessive for the
pleasure, and it was soon paid.
The perron outside was a favorite resort of the gallants of fashion at
the hour of Vespers, whose practice it was to salute the ladies of their
acquaintance at the door by sprinkling their dainty fingers with holy
water. Religion combined with gallantry is a form of devotion not quite
obsolete at the present day, and at the same place.
The church door was the recognized spot for meeting, gossip, business,
love-making, and announcements; old friends stopped to talk over the
news, merchants their commercial prospects. It was at once the Bourse
and the Royal Exchange of Quebec: there were promulgated, by the brazen
lungs of the city crier, royal proclamations of the Governor, edicts
of the Intendant, orders of the Court of Justice, vendues public and
private,--in short, the life and stir of the city of Quebec seemed to
flow about the door of St. Marie as the blood through the heart of a
healthy man.
A few old trees, relics of the primeval forest, had been left for shade
and ornament in the great Market Place. A little rivulet of clear water
ran sparkling down the slope of the square, where every day the shadow
of the cross of the tall steeple lay over it like a benediction.
A couple of young men, fashionably dressed, loitered this afternoon near
the great door of the Convent in the narrow Street that runs into the
great square of the market. They walked about with short, impatient
turns, occasionally glancing at the clock of the Recollets, visible
through the tall elms that bounded the garden of the Gray Friars.
Presently the door of the Convent opened. Half a dozen gaily-attired
young ladies, internes or pupils of the Convent, sallied out. They had
exchanged their conventual dress for their usual outside attire, and got
leave to go out into the world on some errand, real or pretended, for
one hour and no more.
They tripped lightly down the broad steps, and were instantly joined
by the young men who had been waiting for them. After a hasty, merry
hand-shaking, the whole party proceeded in great glee towards the Market
Place, where the shops of the mercers and confectioners offered the
attractions they sought. They went on purchasing bonbons and ribbons
from one shop to another until they reached the Cathedral, when a common
impulse seized them to see who was there. They flew up the steps and
disappeared in the church.
In the midst of their devotions, as they knelt upon the floor, the
sharp eyes of the young ladies were caught by gesticulations of the
well-gloved hand of the Chevalier des Meloises, as he saluted them
across the aisle.
The hurried recitation of an Ave or two had quite satisfied the
devotion of the Chevalier, and he looked round the church with an air of
condescension, criticizing the music and peering into the faces of such
of the ladies as looked up, and many did so, to return his scrutiny.
The young ladies encountered him in the aisle as they left the church
before the service was finished. It had long since been finished for
him, and was finished for the young ladies also when they had satisfied
their curiosity to see who was there and who with whom.
“We cannot pray for you any longer, Chevalier des Meloises!” said one of
the gayest of the group; “the Lady Superior has economically granted us
but one hour in the city to make our purchases and attend Vespers. Out
of that hour we can only steal forty minutes for a promenade through the
city, so good-by, if you prefer the church to our company, or come with
us and you shall escort two of us. You see we have only a couple of
gentlemen to six ladies.”
“I much prefer your company, Mademoiselle de Brouague!” replied he
gallantly, forgetting the important meeting of the managers of the
Grand Company at the Palace. The business, however, was being cleverly
transacted without his help.
Louise de Brouague had no great esteem for the Chevalier des
Meloises, but, as she remarked to a companion, he made rather a neat
walking-stick, if a young lady could procure no better to promenade
with.
“We come out in full force to-day, Chevalier,” said she, with a merry
glance round the group of lively girls. “A glorious sample of the famous
class of the Louises, are we not?”
“Glorious! superb! incomparable!” the Chevalier replied, as he inspected
them archly through his glass. “But how did you manage to get out?
One Louise at a time is enough to storm the city, but six of them at
once--the Lady Superior is full of mercy to-day.”
“Oh! is she? Listen: we should not have got permission to come out
to-day had we not first laid siege to the soft heart of Mère des
Seraphins. She it was who interceded for us, and lo! here we are, ready
for any adventure that may befall errant demoiselles in the streets of
Quebec!”
Well might the fair Louise de Brouague boast of the famous class of “the
Louises,” all composed of young ladies of that name, distinguished for
beauty, rank, and fashion in the world of New France.
Prominent among them at that period was the beautiful, gay Louise
de Brouague. In the full maturity of her charms, as the wife of the
Chevalier de Lery she accompanied her husband to England after the
cession of Canada, and went to Court to pay homage to their new
sovereign, George III., when the young king, struck with her grace and
beauty, gallantly exclaimed,--
“If the ladies of Canada are as handsome as you, I have indeed made a
conquest!”
To escort young ladies, internes of the Convent, when granted permission
to go out into the city, was a favorite pastime, truly a labor of love,
of the young gallants of that day,--an occupation, if very idle, at
least very agreeable to those participating in these stolen promenades,
and which have not, perhaps, been altogether discontinued in Quebec even
to the present day.
The pious nuns were of course entirely ignorant of the contrivances
of their fair pupils to amuse themselves in the city. At any rate they
good-naturedly overlooked things they could not quite prevent. They had
human hearts still under their snowy wimples, and perhaps did not wholly
lack womanly sympathy with the dear girls in their charge.
“Why are you not at Belmont to-day, Chevalier des Meloises?” boldly
asked Louise Roy, a fearless little questioner in a gay summer robe.
She was pretty, and sprightly as Titania. Her long chestnut hair was
the marvel and boast of the Convent and, what she prized more, the
admiration of the city. It covered her like a veil down to her knees
when she chose to let it down in a flood of splendor. Her deep gray eyes
contained wells of womanly wisdom. Her skin, fair as a lily of Artois,
had borrowed from the sun five or six faint freckles, just to prove the
purity of her blood and distract the eye with a variety of charms. The
Merovingian Princess, the long-haired daughter of kings, as she was
fondly styled by the nuns, queened it wherever she went by right divine
of youth, wit, and beauty.
“I should not have had the felicity of meeting you, Mademoiselle Roy,
had I gone to Belmont,” replied the Chevalier, not liking the question
at all. “I preferred not to go.”
“You are always so polite and complimentary,” replied she, a trace of
pout visible on her pretty lips. “I do not see how any one could stay
away who was at liberty to go to Belmont! And the whole city has gone,
I am sure! for I see nobody in the street!” She held an eye-glass
coquettishly to her eye. “Nobody at all!” repeated she. Her companions
accused her afterwards of glancing equivocally at the Chevalier as she
made this remark; and she answered with a merry laugh that might imply
either assent or denial.
“Had you heard in the Convent of the festival at Belmont, Mademoiselle
Roy?” asked he, twirling his cane rather majestically.
“We have heard of nothing else and talked of nothing else for a whole
week!” replied she. “Our mistresses have been in a state of distraction
trying to stop our incessant whispering in the school instead of minding
our lessons like good girls trying to earn good conduct marks! The
feast, the ball, the dresses, the company, beat learning out of our
heads and hearts! Only fancy, Chevalier,” she went on in her voluble
manner; “Louise de Beaujeu here was asked to give the Latin name for
Heaven, and she at once translated it Belmont!”
“Tell no school tales, Mademoiselle Roy!” retorted Louise de Beaujeu,
her black eyes flashing with merriment. “It was a good translation! But
who was it stumbled in the Greek class when asked for the proper name of
the anax andron, the king of men in the Iliad?” Louise Roy looked archly
and said defiantly, “Go on!” “Would you believe it, Chevalier, she
replied 'Pierre Philibert!' Mère Christine fairly gasped, but Louise had
to kiss the floor as a penance for pronouncing a gentleman's name with
such unction.”
“And if I did I paid my penance heartily and loudly, as you may
recollect, Louise de Beaujeu, although I confess I would have preferred
kissing Pierre Philibert himself if I had had my choice!”
“Always her way! won't give in! never! Louise Roy stands by her
translation in spite of all the Greek Lexicons in the Convent!”
exclaimed Louise de Brouague.
“And so I do, and will; and Pierre Philibert is the king of men, in New
France or Old! Ask Amélie de Repentigny!” added she, in a half whisper
to her companion.
“Oh, she will swear to it any day!” was the saucy reply of Louise de
Brouague. “But without whispering it, Chevalier des Meloises,” continued
she, “the classes in the Convent have all gone wild in his favor since
they learned he was in love with one of our late companions in school.
He is the Prince Camaralzaman of our fairy tales.”
“Who is that?” The Chevalier spoke tartly, rather. He was excessively
annoyed at all this enthusiasm in behalf of Pierre Philibert.
“Nay, I will tell no more fairy tales out of school, but I assure you,
if our wishes had wings the whole class of Louises would fly away to
Belmont to-day like a flock of ring-doves.”
Louise de Brouague noticed the pique of the Chevalier at the mention
of Philibert, but in that spirit of petty torment with which her sex
avenges small slights she continued to irritate the vanity of the
Chevalier, whom in her heart she despised.
His politeness nearly gave way. He was thoroughly disgusted with all
this lavish praise of Philibert. He suddenly recollected that he had an
appointment at the Palace which would prevent him, he said, enjoying the
full hour of absence granted to the Greek class of the Ursulines.
“Mademoiselle Angélique has of course gone to Belmont, if pressing
engagements prevent YOU, Chevalier,” said Louise Roy. “How provoking it
must be to have business to look after when one wants to enjoy life!”
The Chevalier half spun round on his heel under the quizzing of Louise's
eye-glass.
“No, Angélique has not gone to Belmont,” replied he, quite piqued.
“She very properly declined to mingle with the Messieurs and Mesdames
Jourdains who consort with the Bourgeois Philibert! She was preparing
for a ride, and the city really seems all the gayer by the absence of so
many commonplace people as have gone out to Belmont.”
Louise de Brouague's eyes gave a few flashes of indignation. “Fie,
Chevalier! that was naughtily said of you about the good Bourgeois and
his friends,” exclaimed she, impetuously. “Why, the Governor, the Lady
de Tilly and her niece, the Chevalier La Corne St. Luc, Hortense and
Claude de Beauharnais, and I know not how many more of the very élite of
society have gone to do honor to Colonel Philibert! And as for the
girls in the Convent, who you will allow are the most important and
most select portion of the community, there is not one of us but would
willingly jump out of the window, and do penance on dry bread and salt
fish for a month, just for one hour's pleasure at the ball this evening,
would we not, Louises?”
Not a Louise present but assented with an emphasis that brought
sympathetic smiles upon the faces of the two young chevaliers who had
watched all this pretty play.
The Chevalier des Meloises bowed very low. “I regret so much, ladies, to
have to leave you! but affairs of State, you know--affairs of State!
The Intendant will not proceed without a full board: I must attend the
meeting to-day at the Palace.”
“Oh, assuredly, Chevalier,” replied Louise Roy. “What would become of
the Nation, what would become of the world, nay, what would become
of the internes of the Ursulines, if statesmen and warriors and
philosophers like you and the Sieurs Drouillon and La Force here (this
in a parenthesis, not to scratch the Chevalier too deep), did not take
wise counsel for our safety and happiness, and also for the welfare of
the nation?”
The Chevalier des Meloises took his departure under this shower of
arrows.
The young La Force was as yet only an idle dangler about the city; but
in the course of time became a man of wit and energy worthy of his name.
He replied gaily,--
“Thanks, Mademoiselle Roy! It is just for sake of the fair internes
of the Convent that Drouillon and I have taken up the vocation of
statesmen, warriors, philosophers, and friends. We are quite ready to
guide your innocent footsteps through the streets of this perilous city,
if you are ready to go.”
“We had better hasten too!” ejaculated Louise Roy, looking archly
through her eye-glass. “I can see Bonhomme Michel peeping round the
corner of the Côte de Lery! He is looking after us stray lambs of the
flock, Sieur Drouillon!”
Bonhomme Michel was the old watchman and factotum of the monastery. He
had a general commission to keep a sharp eye upon the young ladies who
were allowed to go out into the city. A pair of horn spectacles usually
helped his vision,--sometimes marred it, however, when the knowing
gallants slipped a crown into his hand to put in the place of his
magnifiers! Bonhomme Michel placed all his propitiation money--he liked
a pious word--in his old leathern sack, which contained the redemption
of many a gadding promenade through the streets of Quebec. Whether he
reported what he saw this time is not recorded in the Vieux Récit, the
old annals of the Convent. But as Louise Roy called him her dear old
Cupid, and knew so well how to bandage his eyes, it is probable the good
nuns were not informed of the pleasant meeting of the class Louises and
the gentlemen who escorted them round the city on the present occasion.