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In the
Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of
Grand-Pre
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows
stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its
name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes,
that the hands of the farmers had raised with labour
incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at
stated seasons the floodgates
Opened, and welcomed
the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and
south there were fields of flax, and orchards and
cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the
plain, and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and
the forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs
pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station
descended.
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed
the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses,
with frames of oak and of chestnut,
Such as the
peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables
projecting
Over the basement below protected and
shaded the doorway.
There in the tranquil evenings of
summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village
street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons
and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the
golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy
shuttles within-doors
Mingled their sound with the
whir of the wheels and the songs of the maidens.
Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the
children
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he
extended to bless them.
Reverend walked he among
them; and up rose matrons and maidens,
Hailing his
slow approach with words of affectionate welcome.
Then came the labourers home from the field, and
serenely the sun sank
Down to his rest, and twilight
prevailed. Anon from the belfry
Softly the Angelus
sounded, and over the roofs of the village
Columns of
pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending,
Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and
contentment.
Thus dwelt together in love these simple
Acadian farmers, -
Dwelt in the love of God and of
man. Alike were they free from
Fear, that reigns with
the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics.
Neither
locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their
windows;
But their dwellings were open as day and the
hearts of the owners;
There the richest was poor, and
the poorest lived in abundance.
Somewhat apart from
the village, and nearer the Basin of Minas,
Benedict
Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand-Pre,
Dwelt on his goodly acres; and with him, directing his
household,
Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and
the pride of the village.
Stalworth and stately in
form was the man of seventy winters;
Hearty and hale
was he, an oak that is covered with snowflakes;
White
as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as brown as
the oak leaves.
Fair was she to behold, that maiden
of seventeen summers;
Black were her eyes as the
berry that grows on the thorn by the wayside,
Black,
yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of
her tresses!
Sweet was her breath as the breath of
kine that feed in the meadows.
When in the harvest
heat she bore to the reapers at noontide
Flagons of
home-brewed ale, ah! fair in sooth was the maiden.
Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell from
its turret
Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the
priest with his hyssop
Sprinkles the congregation,
and scatters blessings upon them,
Down the long
street she passed, with her chaplet of beads and her
missal,
Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of
blue, and the ear-rings
Brought in the olden time
from France, and since, as an heirloom,
Handed down
from mother to child, through long generations.
But a
celestial brightness -a more ethereal beauty -
Shone
on her face and encircled her form, when, after
confession,
Homeward serenely she walked with God's
benediction upon her.
When she had passed, it seemed
like the ceasing of exquisite music.
Firmly builded
with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer
Stood on
the side of a hill commanding the sea; and a shady
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing
around it.
Rudely carved was the porch, with seats
beneath; and a footpath
Led through an orchard wide,
and disappeared in the meadow.
Under the
sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a penthouse,
Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the
road-side,
Built o'er a box for the poor, or the
blessed image of Mary.
Farther down, on the slope of
the hill, was the well with its moss-grown
Bucket,
fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses.
Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were the
barns and the farmyard;
There stood the broad-wheeled
wains and the antique ploughs and the harrows;
There
were the folds for the sheep; and there, in his
feathered seraglio,
Strutted the lordly turkey, and
crowed the cock, with the selfsame
Voice that in ages
of old had startled the penitent Peter.
Bursting with
hay were the barns, themselves a village. In each one
Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch; and a
staircase,
Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the
odorous corn-loft.
There too the dovecot stood, with
its meek and innocent inmates
Murmuring ever of love;
while above in the variant breezes
Numberless noisy
weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation.
Thus,
at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-Pre
Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his
household.
Many a youth, as he knelt in the church
and opened his missal,
Fixed his eyes upon her, as
the saint of his deepest devotion;
Happy was he who
might touch her hand or the hem of her garment!
Many
a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended,
And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sounds of her
footsteps,
Knew not which beat the louder, his heart
or the knocker of iron;
Or, at the joyous feast of
the Patron Saint of the village,
Bolder grew, and
pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered
Hurried
words of love, that seemed a part of the music.
But,
among all who came, young Gabriel only was welcome;
Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith,
Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of all
men,
For since the birth of time, throughout all ages
and nations,
Has the craft of the smith been held in
repute by the people.
Basil was Benedict's friend.
Their children from earliest childhood
Grew up
together as brother and sister; and Father Felician,
Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught
them their letters
Out of the selfsame book, with the
hymns of the church and the plainsong.
But when the
hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed,
Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the
blacksmith.
There at the door they stood, with
wondering eyes to behold him
Take in his leathern lap
the hoof of the horse as a plaything,
Nailing the
shoe in its place; while near him the tire of the
cart-wheel
Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a
circle of cinders.
Oft on autumnal eves, when without
in the gathering darkness
Bursting with light seemed
the smithy, through every cranny and crevice,
Warm by
the forge within they watched the labouring bellows,
And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the
ashes,
Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going
into the chapel.
Oft on sledges in winter, as swift
as the swoop of the eagle,
Down the hillside
bounding, they glided away o'er the meadow.
Oft in
the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the
rafters,
Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone,
which the swallow
Brings from the shore of the sea to
restore the sight of its fledglings;
Lucky was he who
found that stone in the nest of the swallow!
Thus
passed a few swift years, and they no longer were
children.
He was a valiant youth, and his face, like
the face of the morning,
Gladdened the earth with its
light, and ripened thought into action.
She was a
woman now, with the heart and hopes of a woman.
"Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" was she called; for that was
the sunshine
Which, as the farmers believed, would
load their orchards with apples;
She, too, would
bring to her husband's house delight and abundance,
Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children.
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