Dinner at the table of the Count de la Galissonière was not a dull
affair of mere eating and drinking. The conversation and sprightliness
of the host fed the minds of his guests as generously as his bread
strengthened their hearts, or his wine, in the Psalmist's words, made
their faces to shine. Men were they, every one of them possessed of
a sound mind in a sound body; and both were well feasted at this
hospitable table.
The dishes were despatched in a leisurely and orderly manner, as became
men who knew the value of both soul and body, and sacrificed neither to
the other. When the cloth was drawn, and the wine-flasks glittered ruby
and golden upon the polished board, the old butler came in, bearing upon
a tray a large silver box of tobacco, with pipes and stoppers and a
wax candle burning, ready to light them, as then the fashion was in
companies composed exclusively of gentlemen. He placed the materials for
smoking upon the table as reverently as a priest places his biretta upon
the altar,--for the old butler did himself dearly love the Indian weed,
and delighted to smell the perfume of it as it rose in clouds over his
master's table.
“This is a bachelors' banquet, gentlemen,” said the Governor, filling a
pipe to the brim. “We will take fair advantage of the absence of ladies
to-day, and offer incense to the good Manitou who first gave tobacco for
the solace of mankind.”
The gentlemen were all, as it chanced, honest smokers. Each one took a
pipe from the stand and followed the Governor's example, except Peter
Kalm, who, more philosophically, carried his pipe with him--a
huge meerschaum, clouded like a sunset on the Baltic. He filled it
deliberately with tobacco, pressed it down with his finger and thumb,
and leaning back in his easy chair after lighting it, began to blow such
a cloud as the portly Burgomaster of Stockholm might have envied on a
grand council night in the old Raadhus of the city of the Goths.
They were a goodly group of men, whose frank, loyal eyes looked
openly at each other across the hospitable table. None of them but had
travelled farther than Ulysses, and, like him, had seen strange cities
and observed many minds of men, and was as deeply read in the book of
human experience as ever the crafty king of Ithaca.
The event of the afternoon--the reading of the royal despatches--had
somewhat dashed the spirits of the councillors, for they saw clearly
the drift of events which was sweeping New France out of the lap of her
mother country, unless her policy were totally changed and the hour
of need brought forth a man capable of saving France herself and her
faithful and imperilled colonies.
“Hark!” exclaimed the Bishop, lifting his hand, “the Angelus is ringing
from tower and belfry, and thousands of knees are bending with the
simplicity of little children in prayer, without one thought of theology
or philosophy. Every prayer rising from a sincere heart, asking pardon
for the past and grace for the future, is heard by our Father in heaven;
think you not it is so, Herr Kalm?”
The sad foreboding of colonists like La Corne St. Luc did not prevent
the desperate struggle that was made for the preservation of French
dominion in the next war. Like brave and loyal men, they did their duty
to God and their country, preferring death and ruin in a lost cause to
surrendering the flag which was the symbol of their native land. The
spirit, if not the words, of the old English loyalist was in them:
“For loyalty is still the same,
Whether it win or lose the game;
True as the dial to the sun,
Although it be not shone upon.”
New France, after gathering a harvest of glory such as America had never
seen reaped before, fell at last, through the neglect of her mother
country. But she dragged down the nation in her fall, and France would
now give the apple of her eye for the recovery, never to be, of “the
acres of snow” which La Pompadour so scornfully abandoned to the
English.
These considerations lay in the lap of the future, however; they
troubled not the present time and company. The glasses were again
replenished with wine or watered, as the case might be, for the Count de
la Galissonière and Herr Kalm kept Horatian time and measure, drinking
only three cups to the Graces, while La Corne St. Luc and Rigaud de
Vaudreuil drank nine full cups to the Muses, fearing not the enemy that
steals away men's brains. Their heads were helmeted with triple brass,
and impenetrable to the heaviest blows of the thyrsus of Bacchus. They
drank with impunity, as if garlanded with parsley, and while commending
the Bishop, who would drink naught save pure water, they rallied gaily
Claude Beauharnais, who would not drink at all.
In the midst of a cheerful concert of merriment, the door of the cabinet
opened, and the servant in waiting announced the entrance of Colonel
Philibert.
All rose to welcome him. Pierre looked anxious and somewhat discomposed,
but the warm grasp of the hands of so many true friends made him glad
for the moment.
“Why, Pierre!” exclaimed the Count, “I hope no ill wind has blown you to
the city so unexpectedly! You are heartily welcome, however, and we will
call every wind good that blows our friends back to us again.”
“It is a cursed wind that blows me back to-day,” replied Philibert,
sitting down with an air of disquiet.
“Why, what is the matter, Pierre?” asked the Count. “My honored Lady de
Tilly and her lovely niece, are they well?”
“Well, your Excellency, but sorely troubled. The devil has tempted Le
Gardeur again, and he has fallen. He is back to the city, wild as a
savage and beyond all control.”
“Good God! it will break his sister's heart,” said the Governor,
sympathizingly. “That girl would give her life for her brother. I feel
for her; I feel for you, too, Pierre.” Philibert felt the tight clasp
of the Governor's hand as he said this. He understood well its meaning.
“And not less do I pity the unhappy youth who is the cause of such grief
to his friends,” continued he.
“Yes, your Excellency, Le Gardeur is to be pitied, as well as blamed. He
has been tried and tempted beyond human strength.”
La Corne St. Luc had risen, and was pacing the floor with impatient
strides. “Pierre Philibert!” exclaimed he, “where is the poor lad? He
must be sought for and saved yet. What demons have assailed him now?
Was it the serpent of strong drink, that bites men mad, or the legion
of fiends that rattle the dice-box in their ears? Or was it the last
temptation, which never fails when all else has been tried in vain--a
woman?”
“It was all three combined. The Chevalier de Pean visited Tilly
on business of the Intendant--in reality, I suspect, to open a
communication with Le Gardeur, for he brought him a message from a lady
you wot of, which drove him wild with excitement. A hundred men could
not have restrained Le Gardeur after that. He became infatuated with
De Pean, and drank and gambled all night and all day with him at the
village inn, threatening annihilation to all who interfered with him.
Today he suddenly left Tilly, and has come with De Pean to the city.”
“De Pean!” exclaimed La Corne, “the spotted snake! A fit tool for the
Intendant's lies and villainy! I am convinced he went not on his own
errand to Tilly. Bigot is at the bottom of this foul conspiracy to ruin
the noblest lad in the Colony.”
“It may be,” replied Philibert, “but the Intendant alone would have had
no power to lure him back. It was the message of that artful siren
which has drawn Le Gardeur de Repentigny again into the whirlpool of
destruction.”
“Aye, but Bigot set her on him, like a retriever, to bring back the
game!” replied La Corne, fully convinced of the truth of his opinion.
“It may be,” answered Philibert; “but my impression is that she has
influenced the Intendant, rather than he her, in this matter.”
The Bishop listened with warm interest to the account of Philibert. He
looked a gentle reproof, but did not utter it, at La Corne St. Luc
and Philibert, for their outspoken denunciation of the Intendant. He
knew--none knew better--how deserved it was; but his ecclesiastical
rank placed him at the apex of all parties in the Colony, and taught him
prudence in expressing or hearing opinions of the King's representatives
in the Colony.
“But what have you done, Pierre Philibert,” asked the Bishop, “since
your arrival? Have you seen Le Gardeur?”
“No, my Lord; I followed him and the Chevalier to the city. They have
gone to the Palace, whither I went and got admittance to the cabinet
of the Intendant. He received me in his politest and blandest manner.
I asked an interview with Le Gardeur. Bigot told me that my friend
unfortunately at that moment was unfit to be seen, and had refused
himself to all his city friends. I partly believed him, for I heard the
voice of Le Gardeur in a distant room, amid a babble of tongues and the
rattle of dice. I sent him a card with a few kind words, and received
it back with an insult--deep and damning--scrawled upon it. It was not
written, however, in the hand of Le Gardeur, although signed by his
name. Read that, your Excellency,” said he, throwing a card to the
Count. “I will not repeat the foul expressions it contains. Tell Pierre
Philibert what he should do to save his honor and save his friend. Poor,
wild, infatuated Le Gardeur never wrote that--never! They have made him
sign his name to he knew not what.”
“And, by St. Martin!” exclaimed La Corne, who looked at the card, “some
of them shall bite dust for that! As for Le Gardeur, poor boy, overlook
his fault--pity him, forgive him. He is not so much to blame, Pierre, as
those plundering thieves of the Friponne, who shall find that La Corne
St. Luc's sword is longer by half an ell than is good for some of their
stomachs!”
“Forbear, dear friends,” said the Bishop; “it is not the way of
Christians to talk thus.”
“But it is the way of gentlemen!” replied La Corne, impatiently, “and I
always hold that a true gentleman is a true Christian. But you do your
duty, my Lord Bishop, in reproving us, and I honor you for it, although
I may not promise obedience. David fought a duel with Goliath, and was
honored by God and man for it, was he not?”
“But he fought it not in his own quarrel, La Corne,” replied the Bishop
gently; “Goliath had defied the armies of the living God, and David
fought for his king, not for himself.”
“Confiteor! my Lord Bishop, but the logic of the heart is often truer
than the logic of the head, and the sword has no raison d'être, except
in purging the world of scoundrels.”
“I will go home now; I will see your Excellency again on this matter,”
said Pierre, rising to depart.
“Do, Pierre! my utmost services are at your command,” said the Governor,
as the guests all rose too. It was very late.
The hour of departure had arrived; the company all rose, and courteously
bidding their host good-night, proceeded to their several homes, leaving
him alone with his friend Kalm.
They two at once passed into a little museum of minerals, plants, birds,
and animals, where they sat down, eager as two boy-students. The world,
its battles, and its politics were utterly forgotten, as they conversed
far into the night and examined, with the delight of new discoverers,
the beauty and variety of nature's forms that exist in the New World.