One flag, smoke-blackened, said:
“Not very serious?”
Then, the English flag, which had said nothing, snapped a blow so sharp that a whip wouldn’t have been better.
“Very serious, my dear. I’ve known the French. I’ve known the French at a time when you were not such a much, be it said without offense to you. I have known Champlain. He had a jovial way. He was usually pleasant. The Indians said of him: ‘We like to hear you speak. You always have something pleasant to say.’ But, believe me, I understood him: it was as a colonial and a rough adversary, I say adversary, because that is the name that one gives to his old enemies when they have become his friends, you understand?”
“Pretty well.”
I leave the flags, ruffling. I think of this brave man, whose fête this is, at this moment, in his little sleepy and grass-grown town of Brouage: of the dreams of glory that were his, all youthful, like those of a good many men of his time, and which he accomplished because he had a heart capable of suffering for his love. For he loved France. He left her, the better to serve her. He bore with him, to the West Indies, and afterwards to Canada, a poor companion, a perfect and holy image. Almost alone among the savages, having carried upon his strong shoulders, oars, provisions and the blanket for his bed at night, enured to heat, to cold, to mosquitoes, to long exiles and the perpetual treason of men, over these identical grounds where we now are, he made his way to discovery, beholding a new world reveal itself about him, and giving it to his Lord in heaven, as he gave it to his King, secretly, hourly, by each glance with which he took possession of this unknown world. For he says: “Kings should not think of extending their domination in infidel lands, except to establish there the reign of Christ.” Commerce was not forgotten. But what superior humanity! It is still living, only disregarded. Champlain has passed here. I realize that this landscape has been reflected in his eyes as it is in mine. This landscape? Is it indeed sure? Where are the trusty witnesses? Not the meadow, which is new. Not the trees, too young for him to have known, nor the waters, which have changed, nor the clouds, nor even the ancestors of the spectators assembled on this strand. We can scarcely say that the movement of the sun sang as to-day, the same verse in the hymn universal.
M. Bazin concludes with a running account of his continued journey to Montreal and Quebec, recalling at length their wealth of historic associations.
IX. COMMENT IN APPRECIATION OF THE VISIT OF THE FRENCH DELEGATION AND HONORS CONFERRED
The mission of the French delegation proved to be of far deeper import, than the mere presentation of the Rodin bust, gratifying to Americans as was that superb gift on the part of its donors. It awakened in the people of this country, quite as much as it did in the members of that delegation, renewed interest in the activities and achievements of the peoples of the two Republics, which are the foremost democracies of the world. M. Hanotaux, a scholar, a statesman and a diplomat and his distinguished colleagues, are among the foremost citizens of France. They represented the several departments of the Government as well as the various trades and professions in the civil life of that Republic. Commerce and industries were represented by M. Antoine Girard, Counsellor of Foreign Commerce. Their reputation had long been established in science, in literature and in the fine arts and also in jurisprudence, in statesmanship and in diplomacy, as exemplified in the genial and charming personality of Ambassador Jusserand. They are among the present day celebrities of the French nation and were invited to become members of the Embassy on account of their individual standing in the official, social and intellectual life of that Republic.