CHAPTER XV.
THE LIFE OF LEADERSHIP.
…. "Pourvu qu'ils vivent noblement et ne fassent aucun acte dérogeant à noblesse."
PATENTS OF NOBLESSE.
"Light the lamps," my father ordered.
Tardif, the butler, did so with alacrity.
"Tardif, thou canst withdraw," added my father.
"Oui, monseigneur," replied Tardif, bowing respectfully, and went.
The room and its antiquated splendors looked ancestral to me. Its size struck me. It was larger than any in our town house. The family portraits and furniture revived lifelong memories. We had a fine collection of forefathers.
"Chamilly"—began my father, walking up before the picture of one who was to me childhood's holy dream. He stopped for some moments, gazing up to her face with intense affection, and then turning to me, said in a broken voice—"Never forget your mother."
"No, sir," I replied, bending my head.
In a moment he went on to the other portraits, and his manner altered to more of pride.
"Your grandfather, the Honorable Chateauguay, this. This is his Lady, your grandmother. Here is her father, a LeGardeur de Repentigny. There is the old Marshal in armor. Here is Louise d'Argentenaye, of the time of Henry IV., who married a Montcalm. Here is the Count d'Argentenaye in armor." And thus he took me about on a singular round, and informed me concerning the whole gallery.
He stopped at an old, solid wood cabinet, with spiral legs, bent over and opened it with a key.
"Now," thought I, "these mysteries are going to be explained."
"This is a dress sword," he went on, "worn in France, at the court of Louis XIII. It was worn by one of your forefathers. Here are two decorations—Crosses of St. Louis—what beautiful little things they are. They belong to two of us who were Chevaliers."
I was only still more mystified.
"Come into the office, my son," said he, leading me into a room used for collecting the feudal rents and other business.
"It is coming now," I exclaimed to myself.
My father lifted out an iron box, ornamented with our arms in color, and handed to me a parchment, having an immense wax seal, which I took and read.
Louis de Buade, Comte de Frontenac, Councillor of the King in his Councils of the State and Privy Council, Governor and Lieutenant-General of His Majesty in Canada, Acadia, and other countries of Septentrional France. To All Those who shall see these present letters: HIS MAJESTY having at all times sought to act with "zeal proper to the just title of Eldest Son of the Church, has passed into this Country good number of his subjects, Officers of his troops in the Regiment of Carignan and others, whereof the most part desiring to attach themselves to the country by founding Estates and Seigniories proportionate to their force; and the Sieur JEAN CHAMILIE D'ARGENTENAY, Lieutenant of the Company of D'Ormillière, having prayed us to grant him some such: WE, in consideration of the good, useful, and praiseworthy services he has rendered to His Majesty as well in Old France as New, do concede to the said Sieur Jean Chamilie D'Argentenay, the Extent of Lands which shall be found on the River St. Lawrence from those of Sieur Simon de la Lande to those heretofore granted to the Sieur de Bois-Hébert, to enjoy said land en Fief et Seigneurie at charge of the Faith and Homage, the said Sieur Jean Chamilie D'Argentenay his heirs and representatives shall he held to render at Our Castle of St. Louis at Quebec.
"DE FRONTENAC."
I laid down the parchment.
"This is the original grant of the seigniory?"
"Yes," he replied with animation, "The 'HIS MAJESTY' there is the Grand
Monarque himself! De Frontenac is the Great Count, and that Jean
Chamilly D'Argentenaye, cadet of the Chamillys of Rouen, is our first
predecessor on these lands."
Taking a large genealogical tree out of the box, and spreading it on the table, he showed me my descent. "The Honorable Chateauguay drew this up at the time of my marriage," he began.
"The whole tree is mine then?" I ventured, surveying it.
"Yes," he cried, "and these are brave and honorable names! The wish of my heart has been that you preserve their record. See: the first marriage is a Mlle. Boucher de Boucherville, whose father, Pierre, Governor of Three Rivers, was so honest and wise in the perilous early course of the Colony! Madeline de Verchères, heroic holder of the fort surprised by Iroquois, is near her. See! we date from the fourteenth century, and are allied with the Montaignes, Grammonts, Sullys, La Rochefoucaulds. Here is Le Moyne d'Iberville, and there De Hertel, brave and able,—a Juchereau du Chesnay; a Joybert de Soulanges. Down here is De Salaberry, the Leonidas of Lower Canada. There behold Philippe de Gaspé, who wrote 'Les Anciens Canadiens;' there Gaspard Joly, the Knight of Lotbinière.—But you can inform yourself about these names. They will be useful in your enterprises by raising you above the reproach of being an adventurer. Seat yourself over there."
"My father," thought I to myself, "you and your pride are both very much out of date," but I obeyed him and seated myself where he indicated.
"The reason why I have brought you here, is to tell you, that it has always been intended that you should in some way, succeed in these properties. Before you developed, it was not possible to predict exactly how you might do it; but within the last few years you have surpassed our hopes; and I have no trepidation in putting before you my views of your future position. You may think I am strong in health, but I shall soon pass away."
My heart suddenly started.
"And you will find yourself here with revenues ample for the moderate purposes of a gentleman. You may live in the country, or in the city, as you please; but my desire is that you should live here, and continue in the paths of your grandfather and myself: for he was a just Englishman, and taught me that no one must take without an equivalent; and that a landlord owed duties to his people, of the value of the moneys they paid him. Formerly the lord gave his vassals armed protection for their rents: now there is nothing to which the law forces him; thus his returns must be fixed by his sense of duty."
"Do not fear that I am proposing anything too sombre, Chamilly: It is an agreeable life. There is no demand for your being shut up in the place; and one can surround himself very conveniently with his private tastes."
But I did not feel the scheme repugnant. The house and locality had struck me before as a comfortable retirement to prosecute the study of Art, "and perhaps, I might bring here"—(I dared not put her name into syllables in such a flight of hope.)
"You will find, though, more than you anticipate to do"
I looked up.
"And greater undertakings to accomplish properly than I have been strong enough to meet."
"What do you mean, sir?" I enquired.
"These poor simple people," he said, "have many enemies, and they sometimes do not know their friends. You are their hereditary guardian. Instead of mediæval protection, you must give them that of a nineteenth century Chief."
"A nineteenth century Chief?" I could not but exclaim, "What is a nineteenth century Chief?"
"The people's friend and leader."
"Yes, but what am I to do, sir?"
"In the first place, discourage litigation and its miseries. Offer mediation wherever you can. Keep drink out of the villages. Preserve the ancient forms of courtesy. Grow timber, and introduce improvements in farming."
He spoke of other things. I was to fight especially the Ultramontanes and the demagogues. My father was an uncompromising Liberal of the old school.
"But what can I do about this?" I asked, my artistic skies beginning to cloud with the prospect.
"You can speak! I know you will make an orator. You will be a member at Quebec; and then you can effect something. I mourn over the state of affairs, but I do not fear for the true end; and I yearn, as if across the grave to see the vigor of another generation of us pressing into the struggle. Remember our ancient motto," and he laid his finger on the little coat of arms on the iron box, with its scroll: "Sans Hésiter."
I did not answer him, but sat thinking, while gathering up the documents into the box, he carried it back to the office.
END OF THE FIRST PART OF THE BOOK OF ENTHUSIASMS.
When Chrysler arrived next morning at the break in Chamilly's manuscript, the sun was rising high and shining upon the river and front hedge, and on the green lawn before the Ontarian's window, and he could see Haviland walking backwards and forwards meditatively across the grass waiting for him to descend to breakfast. He hurried down, and as he came to his host, remarked, "The drift of your story is not quite clear to me."
"I wish I had the sequel written," the young man replied, "I am trying to lead on to a great matter."
BOOK II.
CHAPTER XVI.
A POLITICAL SERMON.
"In the crowded old Cathedral all the town were on their knees."
—D'ARCY MCGEE
"That's not preaching la morale. And it's actionable!" a vigorous man energetically gesticulated among the crowd in the Circuit Court Room.
The subject of excitement was a sermon by the Curé.
Messire L'Archeveque, of Dormillière, was in most respects an unimpeachable priest. He ministered to the sick faithfully, after the rites of the Church, he gave to the poor, he rendered unto Cæsar. But—but, he hated Liberalism. On this point he was rabid; and as his Reverence was a stout, apoplectic person, of delivery and opinions not accustomed to criticism, it sometimes laid him somewhat open to ridicule.
How the sermon was delivered, matters little to us. Suffice it that it was a bold denunciation of the Liberals, named by their party name, and that there were some strong expressions in it:
"My brothers—when the priest speaks, it is not he who speaks,—but God."
"My brethren, when the Priest commands you, it is the Church which commands you; and the voice of the Church is the voice of the Eternal. … Look at France. Remind yourselves what she was in the centuries of her faith, devout and glorious, the lily among the kingdoms of the earth, because she was the Eldest Daughter of the Church. Behold her at this time, among the nations, dying in the terrible embraces of FREE-MASONRY!!"
"Take warning by her, brethren. Follow her not! It is the Liberals who have done this. Crush out the seeds of that doctrine! Let the spirits which call themselves by this name never have peace among you. Avoid them! Distrust them! Have nothing to do with that people! May the wrath of our Father descend upon them, the damnation of the infernal dungeons! and—" he brought down his book's edge loudly on the pulpit,—"the excommunication of the Church of God, Catholic, Apostolic, Roman!"
The book was taken up once more, and slamming it down again with all its force, the good curé turned and waddled from the pulpit.
* * * * *
Since the first moments when Chrysler's eyes rested on the village of Dormillière from the steamer's deck, the observations of the place and its people were to him a piquant and suggestive study.
He had been there but a few hours when he discovered its central fact.
The Central Fact of Dormillière was the Parish Church.
First, it was the centre in prominence as a feature of the view, for with the exception of the Convent school, no one of the string of cottages and buildings, stone, brick and wood, which constitute the single street of the place, presumed to rival it even in size, but all of them disposed themselves about it, and, as it were, rested humbly in its protection, particularly the Convent school itself, a plain red-brick building, which stood by its side.
It was also the centre by position; being situate about mid-way between the ends of the long street, standing back commanding the only square, which was flanked on its two sides by the sole other edifices of public character, the priest's residence, or presbytère, and the friars' school for boys.
It is needless to say that the Church was the central fact architecturally also. Large and of ancient look, its wrinkled, whited, rude-surfaced face was impressive, notwithstanding that it was relieved by but little ornament; for its design was from the hand of some by-gone architect of broad and quiet ability.
Be in no hurry, friend reader, but let us look it over, for it is an antiquity, and worthy of the title.
The facade consisted of a great gable, flanked by two square towers. The gable roof had a steep mediæval pitch, and was pinnacled by the statue of a saint. A small circular window was set in the angle, and looked like the building's eye. Three larger windows and the great door came below in the broad front at their proper stages of the design; and in the centre a cut stone oval, bore the date "1761," in quaint figures—a date that seemed a monument of the fatal storming of Quebec, just over, and the final surrender of Montreal, just to be made—the end of French dominion over three quarters of North America!
A number of details afforded entertainment to the curious eye. There were the rude capitals "St. J.B." and "St. F.X." on the keystone of the round-arched side doors at the foot of the towers. There were the series of circular windows leading one above another, on the towers, up to the charming belfry spire which crowned them. There were high up in the air on the latter, the fleur-de-lys and cock weather-vane, symbolical of France. Nine gables too, had the church, of various sizes. Its roof was shingled and black, and where it sloped down in the rear, a little third belfry pointed its spire. A stout, stone sacristy grew out behind. A low pebbled platform, two steps high, extended in front, and had a crier's pulpit upon it. And amid these varied features, the body of the church on all sides cloaked itself in its black roof with a mien of dignity, and its graceful tin-covered belfries, fair in their mediæval patterns and pointing sweetly to heaven, glinted far over the leagues of the River.
Yet it was not alone as to prominence of appearance, situation, and architectural attractiveness—that Dormillière found its centre in the Parish Church. No relation of life, no thought, no interest, no age in years, but had its most intimate relation with it. There alike weary souls crept to pray for consolation, and vain minds sought the pomp of its ecclesiastic spectacles and ceremonies; the bailiff cried his law-sales before it, the bellman his advertisements; there was holy water for the babe, holy oil for the dying, masses for the departed; the maiden and the laborer unveiled their secret lives in its confessional-box; and all felt the influence, yea some at that period, the sternly asserted rule, of the Master of the institution.
Chamilly went with Chrysler to it on the first morning of his stay in Dormillière, which was a Sunday. As they approached it through the square, filled with the tied teams of the congregation, a beadle, gorgeous in livery of black and red, with knee-breeches and cocked hat, emerged from the side door and proceeded to drive the groups of stragglers gently inwards with his staff, as a shepherd guides a flock.
Haviland looked at his friend, smiling.
"You are not in Ontario," he said.
"Clearly not," replied Chrsyler, "In my democratic Province, such a proceeding would be impossible."
When they entered, the gorgeous beadle led them soberly up one of the aisles,—carrying his staff in a stately manner—to the seigneurial pew, a large, high enclosure, with a railing about the top like a miniature balustrade, and a coat-of-arms painted on the door; and into this he ushered them with grave form, and the Ontarian vividly began to realize that he was in a feudal land: after which he took a glance about him.
Filling the great phalanx of soiled and common pews in the nave, were the first representative mass of French-Canadians whom he had been brought to face. "Here," he thought, "are those who speak the partner voice in our Confederation, and whom we should know as brothers."
A few stood out in the quality of parts of the whole, but only to emphasize it as a mass. Above the crowd, he marked, for instance, the sober, responsible faces of the Marguilliers. A girl's face too, particularly attracted him—that of one who sat beside the Sisters attendant over the convent children in their gallery. No romantic seraphieness glowed upon her features or her form; but she was following the service with the light of simply such spiritual earnestness and intelligence about her that she seemed to sit there a superior being. But it was the faces of the laborer and the solid farmer that oftenest dotted the surface of the sea of heads. So typical to him were the features and responses of all, that he could not shake off the feeling that it was not individuals he saw, but a People.
A People! No flippant thing is it to feel oneself in the presence of so great an Organism. If some hour of one man's pain, or of the grandeur of some other one, may be thought-worthy things, how reverently must breath be hushed as we stand in presence of a race's life, and think we hear its sorrows, cries and voices! Ever, thou People's Song, must thou stir the heart that listens, sweeping its tenderest chords of pity, and chanting organ music to its aspirations.
The curé's sermon following as before detailed, the congregation appeared oppressed with its denunciation, but it produced, no effect whatever upon Haviland, the Liberal leader, whose countenance rested its dark eyes on the tablets of his ancestors in the transept wall before him.