The Count de la Galissonière was seated in his cabinet a week after the
arrival of La Corriveau on her fatal errand. It was a plain, comfortable
apartment he sat in, hung with arras, and adorned with maps and
pictures. It was there he held his daily sittings for the ordinary
despatch of business with a few such councillors as the occasion
required to be present.
The table was loaded with letters, memorandums, and bundles of papers
tied up in official style. Despatches of royal ministers, bearing the
broad seal of France. Reports from officers of posts far and near in New
France lay mingled together with silvery strips of the inner bark of the
birch, painted with hieroglyphics, giving accounts of war parties on
the eastern frontier and in the far west, signed by the totems of Indian
chiefs in alliance with France. There was a newly-arrived parcel
of letters from the bold, enterprising Sieur de Verendrye, who was
exploring the distant waters of the Saskatchewan and the land of the
Blackfeet, and many a missive from missionaries, giving account of wild
regions which remain yet almost a terra incognita to the government
which rules over them.
At the Governor's elbow sat his friend Bishop Pontbriand with a
secretary immersed in papers. In front of him was the Intendant with
Varin, Penisault, and D'Estèbe. On one side of the table, La Corne
St. Luc was examining some Indian despatches with Rigaud de Vaudreuil;
Claude Beauharnais and the venerable Abbé Piquet overlooking with deep
interest the rude pictorial despatches in the hands of La Corne. Two
gentlemen of the law, in furred gowns and bands, stood waiting at one
end of the room, with books under their arms and budgets of papers
in their hands ready to argue before the Council some knotty point
of controversy arising out of the concession of certain fiefs and
jurisdictions granted under the feudal laws of the Colony.
The Intendant, although personally at variance with several of the
gentlemen sitting at the council table, did not let that fact be visible
on his countenance, nor allow it to interfere with the despatch of
public business.
The Intendant was gay and easy to-day, as was his wont, wholly
unsuspecting the foul treason that was plotting by the woman he
admired against the woman he loved. His opinions were sometimes loftily
expressed, but always courteously as well as firmly.
Bigot never drooped a feather in face of his enemies, public or private,
but laughed and jested with all at table in the exuberance of a spirit
which cared for no one, and only reined itself in when it was politic to
flatter his patrons and patronesses at Versailles.
The business of the Council had begun. The mass of papers which lay
at the left hand of the Governor were opened and read seriatim by his
secretary, and debated, referred, decided upon, or judgment postponed,
as the case seemed best to the Council.
The Count was a man of method and despatch, clear-headed and singularly
free from prejudice, ambiguity, or hesitation. He was honest and frank
in council, as he was gallant on the quarter-deck. The Intendant was
not a whit behind him in point of ability and knowledge of the political
affairs of the colony, and surpassed him in influence at the court
of Louis XV., but less frank, for he had much to conceal, and kept
authority in his own hands as far as he was able.
Disliking each other profoundly from the total divergence of their
characters, opinions, and habits, the Governor and Intendant still met
courteously at the council-table, and not without a certain respect for
the rare talents which each recognized in the other.
Many of the papers lying before them were on subjects relating to
the internal administration of the Colony,--petitions of the people
suffering from the exactions of the commissaries of the army,
remonstrances against the late decrees of the Intendant, and arrêts of
the high court of justice confirming the right of the Grand Company to
exercise certain new monopolies of trade.
The discussions were earnest, and sometimes warm, on these important
questions. La Corne St. Luc assailed the new regulations of the
Intendant in no measured terms of denunciation, in which he was
supported by Rigaud de Vaudreuil and the Chevalier de Beauharnais. But
Bigot, without condescending to the trouble of defending the ordinances
on any sound principle of public policy, which he knew to be useless and
impossible with the clever men sitting at the table, contented himself
with a cold smile at the honest warmth of La Corne St. Luc, and simply
bade his secretary read the orders and despatches from Versailles, in
the name of the royal ministers, and approved of by the King himself in
a Lit de Justice which had justified every act done by him in favor of
the Grand Company.
The Governor, trammelled on all sides by the powers conferred upon the
Intendant, felt unable to exercise the authority he needed to vindicate
the cause of right and justice in the colony. His own instructions
confirmed the pretensions of the Intendant, and of the Grand Company.
The utmost he could do in behalf of the true interests of the people
and of the King, as opposed to the herd of greedy courtiers and selfish
beauties who surrounded him, was to soften the deadening blows they
dealt upon the trade and resources of the Colony.
A decree authorizing the issue of an unlimited quantity of paper bills,
the predecessors of the assignats of the mother country, was strongly
advocated by Bigot, who supported his views with a degree of financial
sophistry which showed that he had effectively mastered the science of
delusion and fraud of which Law had been the great teacher in France,
and the Mississippi scheme, the prototype of the Grand Company, the
great exemplar.
La Corne St. Luc opposed the measure forcibly. “He wanted no paper
lies,” he said, “to cheat the husbandman of his corn and the laborer of
his hire. If the gold and silver had all to be sent to France to pamper
the luxuries of a swarm of idlers at the Court, they could buy and sell
as they had done in the early days of the Colony, with beaver skins for
livres, and muskrat skins for sous. These paper bills,” continued he,
“had been tried on a small scale by the Intendant Hoquart, and on
a small scale had robbed and impoverished the Colony. If this new
Mississippi scheme propounded by new Laws,”--and here La Corne glanced
boldly at the Intendant,--“is to be enforced on the scale proposed,
there will not be left in the Colony one piece of silver to rub against
another. It will totally beggar New France, and may in the end bankrupt
the royal treasury of France itself if called on to redeem them.”
The discussion rolled on for an hour. The Count listened in silent
approbation to the arguments of the gentlemen opposing the measure, but
he had received private imperative instructions from the King to aid
the Intendant in the issue of the new paper money. The Count reluctantly
sanctioned a decree which filled New France with worthless assignats,
the non-redemption of which completed the misery of the Colony and aided
materially in its final subjugation by the English.
The pile of papers upon the table gradually diminished as they were
opened and disposed of. The Council itself was getting weary of a long
sitting, and showed an evident wish for its adjournment. The gentlemen
of the law did not get a hearing of their case that day, but were well
content to have it postponed, because a postponement meant new fees
and increased costs for their clients. The lawyers of Old France, whom
LaFontaine depicts in his lively fable as swallowing the oyster and
handing to each litigant an empty shell, did not differ in any essential
point from their brothers of the long robe in New France, and differed
nothing at all in the length of their bills and the sharpness of their
practice.
The breaking up of the Council was deferred by the Secretary opening
a package sealed with the royal seal, and which contained other sealed
papers marked SPECIAL for His Excellency the Governor. The Secretary
handed them to the Count, who read over the contents with deep interest
and a changing countenance. He laid them down and took them up again,
perused them a second time, and passed them over to the Intendant,
who read them with a start of surprise and a sudden frown on his
dark eyebrows. But he instantly suppressed it, biting his nether lip,
however, with anger which he could not wholly conceal.
He pushed the papers back to the Count with a nonchalant air, as of
a man who had quite made up his mind about them, saying in a careless
manner,--
“The commands of Madame la Marquise de Pompadour shall be complied
with,” said he. “I will order strict search to be made for the missing
demoiselle, who, I suspect, will be found in some camp or fort, sharing
the couch of some lively fellow who has won favor in her bright eyes.”
Bigot saw danger in these despatches, and in the look of the Governor,
who would be sure to exercise the utmost diligence in carrying out the
commands of the court in this matter.
Bigot for a few moments seemed lost in reflection. He looked round the
table, and, seeing many eyes fixed upon him, spoke boldly, almost with a
tone of defiance.
“Pray explain to the councillors the nature of this despatch, your
Excellency!” said he to the Count. “What it contains is not surprising
to any one who knows the fickle sex, and no gentleman can avoid feeling
for the noble Baron de St. Castin!”
“And for his daughter, too, Chevalier!” replied the Governor. “It is
only through their virtues that such women are lost. But it is the
strangest tale I have heard in New France!”
The gentlemen seated at the table looked at the Governor in some
surprise. La Corne St. Luc, hearing the name of the Baron de St. Castin,
exclaimed, “What, in God's name, your Excellency,--what is there in that
despatch affecting my old friend and companion in arms, the Baron de St.
Castin?”
“I had better explain,” replied the Count; “it is no secret in France,
and will not long be a secret here.
“This letter, gentlemen,” continued he, addressing the councillors, and
holding it open in his hand, “is a pathetic appeal from the Baron de
St. Castin, whom you all know, urging me by every consideration of
friendship, honor, and public duty, to aid in finding his daughter,
Caroline de St. Castin, who has been abducted from her home in Acadia,
and who, after a long and vain search for her by her father in France,
where it was thought she might have gone, has been traced to this
Colony, where it is said she is living concealed under some strange
alias or low disguise.
“The other despatch,” continued the Governor, “is from the Marquise de
Pompadour, affirming the same thing, and commanding the most rigorous
search to be made for Mademoiselle de St. Castin. In language hardly
official, the Marquise threatens to make stockfish, that is her phrase,
of whosoever has had a hand in either the abduction or the concealment
of the missing lady.”
The attention of every gentleman at the table was roused by the words
of the Count. But La Corne St. Luc could not repress his feelings. He
sprang up, striking the table with the palm of his hand until it sounded
like the shot of a petronel.
“By St. Christopher the Strong!” exclaimed he, “I would cheerfully have
lost a limb rather than heard such a tale told by my dear old friend and
comrade, about that angelic child of his, whom I have carried in my arms
like a lamb of God many and many a time!
“You know, gentlemen, what befell her!” The old soldier looked as if he
could annihilate the Intendant with the lightning of his eyes. “I affirm
and will maintain that no saint in heaven was holier in her purity than
she was in her fall! Chevalier Bigot, it is for you to answer these
despatches! This is your work! If Caroline de St. Castin be lost, you
know where to find her!”
Bigot started up in a rage mingled with fear, not of La Corne St. Luc,
but lest the secret of Caroline's concealment at Beaumanoir should
become known. The furious letter of La Pompadour repressed the prompting
of his audacious spirit to acknowledge the deed openly and defy the
consequences, as he would have done at any less price than the loss of
the favor of his powerful and jealous patroness.
The broad, black gateway of a lie stood open to receive him, and angry
as he was at the words of St. Luc, Bigot took refuge in it--and lied.
“Chevalier La Corne!” said he, with a tremendous effort at self-control,
“I do not affect to misunderstand your words, and in time and place will
make you account for them! but I will say, for the contentment of
His Excellency and of the other gentlemen at the council-table, that
whatever in times past have been my relations with the daughter of the
Baron de St. Castin, and I do not deny having shown her many courtesies,
her abduction was not my work, and if she be lost, I do not know where
to find her!”
“Upon your word as a gentleman,” interrogated the Governor, “will you
declare you know not where she is to be found?”
“Upon my word as a gentleman!” The Intendant's face was suffused with
passion. “You have no right to ask that! Neither shall you, Count de
La Galissonière! But I will myself answer the despatch of Madame la
Marquise de Pompadour! I know no more, perhaps less, than yourself or
the Chevalier La Corne St. Luc, where to look for the daughter of the
Baron de St. Castin; and I proclaim here that I am ready to cross swords
with the first gentleman who shall dare breathe a syllable of doubt
against the word of François Bigot!”
Varin and Penisault exchanged a rapid glance, partly of doubt, partly of
surprise. They knew well, for Bigot had not concealed from his intimate
associates the fact that a strange lady, whose name they had not heard,
was living in the secret chambers of the Château of Beaumanoir. Bigot
never told any who she was or whence she came. Whatever suspicion they
might entertain in their own minds, they were too wary to express it.
On the contrary, Varin, ever more ready with a lie than Bigot, confirmed
with a loud oath the statement of the Intendant.
La Corne St. Luc looked like a baffled lion as Rigaud de Vaudreuil,
with the familiarity of an old friend, laid his hand over his mouth,
and would not let him speak. Rigaud feared the coming challenge, and
whispered audibly in the ear of St. Luc,--
“Count a hundred before you speak, La Corne! The Intendant is to be
taken on his word just at present, like any other gentleman! Fight
for fact, not for fancy! Be prudent, La Corne! we know nothing to the
contrary of what Bigot swears to!”
“But I doubt much to the contrary, Rigaud!” replied La Corne, with
accent of scorn and incredulity.
The old soldier chafed hard under the bit, but his suspicions were not
facts. He felt that he had no solid grounds upon which to accuse the
Intendant in the special matter referred to in the letters. He was,
moreover, although hot in temperament, soon master of himself, and used
to the hardest discipline of self-control.
“I was, perhaps, over hasty, Rigaud!” replied La Corne St. Luc,
recovering his composure; “but when I think of Bigot in the past, how can
I but mistrust him in the present? However, be the girl above ground or
under ground, I will, par Dieu, not leave a stone unturned in New France
until I find the lost child of my old friend! La Corne St. Luc pledges
himself to that, and he never broke his word!”
He spoke the last words audibly, and looked hard at the Intendant. Bigot
cursed him twenty times over between his teeth, for he knew La Corne's
indomitable energy and sagacity, that was never at fault in finding
or forcing a way to whatever he was in search of. It would not be long
before he would discover the presence of a strange lady at Beaumanoir,
thought Bigot, and just as certain would he be to find out that she was
the lost daughter of the Baron de St. Castin.
The good Bishop rose up when the dispute waxed warmest between the
Intendant and La Corne St. Luc. His heart was eager to allay the strife;
but his shrewd knowledge of human nature, and manifold experience of
human quarrels, taught him that between two such men the intercession of
a priest would not, at that moment, be of any avail. Their own notions
of honor and self-respect would alone be able to restrain them from
rushing into unseemly excesses of language and act; so the good
Bishop stood with folded arms looking on, and silently praying for
an opportunity to remind them of the seventh holy beatitude, “Beati
pacifici!”
Bigot felt acutely the difficulty of the position he had been placed
in by the act of La Pompadour, in sending her despatch to the Governor
instead of to himself. “Why had she done that?” said he savagely to
himself. “Had she suspected him?”
Bigot could not but conclude that La Pompadour suspected him in this
matter. He saw clearly that she would not trust the search after this
girl to him, because she knew that Caroline de St. Castin had formerly
drawn aside his heart, and that he would have married her but for the
interference of the royal mistress. Whatever might have been done before
in the way of sending Caroline back to Acadia, it could not be done now,
after he had boldly lied before the Governor and the honorable Council.
One thing seemed absolutely necessary, however. The presence of Caroline
at Beaumanoir must be kept secret at all hazards, until--until,--and
even Bigot, for once, was ashamed of the thoughts which rushed into his
mind,--until he could send her far into the wilderness, among savage
tribes, to remain there until the search for her was over and the affair
forgotten.
This was his first thought. But to send her away into the wilderness was
not easy. A matter which in France would excite the gossip and curiosity
of a league or two of neighborhood would be carried on the tongues of
Indians and voyageurs in the wilds of North America for thousands of
miles. To send her away without discovery seemed difficult. To retain
her at Beaumanoir in face of the search which he knew would be made by
the Governor and the indomitable La Corne St. Luc, was impossible. The
quandary oppressed him. He saw no escape from the dilemma; but, to the
credit of Bigot be it said, that not for a moment did he entertain a
thought of doing injury to the hapless Caroline, or of taking advantage
of her lonely condition to add to her distress, merely to save himself.
He fell into a train of sober reflections unusual to him at any time,
and scarcely paid any attention to the discussion of affairs at the
council-table for the rest of the sitting. He rose hastily at last,
despairing to find any outlet of escape from the difficulties which
surrounded him in this unlucky affair.
With His Excellency's consent, he said, they would do no more business
that day. He was tired, and would rise. Dinner was ready at the Palace,
where he had some wine of the golden plant of Ay-Ay, which he would
match against the best in the Castle of St. Louis, if His Excellency and
the other gentlemen would honor him with their company.
The Council, out of respect to the Intendant, rose at once. The
despatches were shoved back to the secretaries, and for the present
forgotten in a buzz of lively conversation, in which no man shone to
greater advantage than Bigot.
“It is but a fast-day, your Reverence,” said he, accosting the Abbé
Piquot, “but if you will come and say grace over my graceless table, I
will take it kindly of you. You owe me a visit, you know, and I owe you
thanks for the way in which you looked reproof, without speaking it,
upon my dispute with the Chevalier La Corne. It was better than words,
and showed that you know the world we live in as well as the world you
teach us to live for hereafter.”
The Abbé was charmed with the affability of Bigot, and nourishing some
hope of enlisting him heartily in behalf of his favorite scheme of
Indian policy, left the Castle in his company. The Intendant also
invited the Procureur du Roi and the other gentlemen of the law, who
found it both politic, profitable, and pleasant to dine at the bountiful
and splendid table of the Palace.
The Governor, with three or four most intimate friends, the Bishop, La
Corne St. Luc, Rigaud de Vaudreuil, and the Chevalier de Beauharnais,
remained in the room, conversing earnestly together on the affair of
Caroline de St. Castin, which awoke in all of them a feeling of deepest
pity for the young lady, and of sympathy for the distress of her father.
They were lost in conjectures as to the quarter in which a search for
her might be successful.
“There is not a fort, camp, house, or wigwam, there is not a hole or
hollow tree in New France where that poor broken-hearted girl may have
taken refuge, or been hid by her seducer, but I will find her out,”
exclaimed La Corne St. Luc. “Poor girl! poor hapless girl! How can I
blame her? Like Magdalene, if she sinned much, it was because she loved
much, and cursed be either man or woman who will cast a stone at her!”
“La Corne,” replied the Governor, “the spirit of chivalry will not
wholly pass away while you remain to teach by your example the duty of
brave men to fair women. Stay and dine with me, and we will consider
this matter thoroughly! Nay, I will not have an excuse to-day. My
old friend, Peter Kalm, will dine with us too; he is a philosopher as
perfectly as you are a soldier! So stay, and we will have something
better than tobacco-smoke to our wine to-day!”
“The tobacco-smoke is not bad either, your Excellency!” replied La
Corne, who was an inveterate smoker. “I like your Swedish friend. He
cracks nuts of wisdom with such a grave air that I feel like a boy
sitting at his feet, glad to pick up a kernel now and then. My practical
philosophy is sometimes at fault, to be sure, in trying to fit his
theories but I feel that I ought to believe many things which I do not
understand.”
The Count took his arm familiarly, and, followed by the other gentlemen,
proceeded to the dining-hall, where his table was spread in a style
which, if less luxurious than the Intendant's, left nothing to be
desired by guests who were content with plenty of good cheer, admirable
cooking, adroit service, and perfect hospitality.