Ringfield: A Novel

by S. Frances Harrison

A CONCERT DE LUXE

"——Consumed
And vexed and chafed by levity and scorn,
And fruitless indignation, galled by pride,
Made desperate by contempt."

Ringfield, who had confessed to a fixed and abiding ignorance of the stage, was also ignorant of music, except so far as he could recognize a few patriotic airs and old-country ballads. Of church music there was nothing worth speaking of or listening to in the Methodist conventicles of those days, so that he brought an absolutely open mind to a consideration of Miss Clairville's voice and method when he first heard her sing. That had been one evening in an impromptu and carelessly inadequate manner in company with Miss Cordova—whom, with her bleached hair, green eyes accentuated by badly-drawn, purplish-black eyebrows, and a shrill American accent, he was learning to dislike and avoid as much as possible; but now a better opportunity presented itself. A Grand Evening Concert, Concert de Luxe, was to be given at Poussette's for the survivors of Telesphore Tremblay, a woodcutter who lived at the edge of the forest of Fournier, and who had generously left behind him one of those long legacies of thriving sons and daughters for which French Canada is famous. The modest birth-rate of the province of Quebec is not in these days of "race suicide" a thing to be ungrateful for: many Tremblays remain, with their family of eighteen or twenty-four, of sturdy, healthy boys and girls, for the most part pure French, with an occasional streak of Scotch or Irish, and a still rarer tincture of Indian. Frugal, sober, industrious, and intelligent along certain limited lines, the habitant sets an example of domestic bliss, which, in its unalterable and cheerful conviction of what are the duties of parents to the state and to the Church, tends to the eternal and unimpoverished perpetuation of the French Canadian race. The Tremblays were named as follows, and as some interest attaches to the choice of triple, and even quadruple, titles, largely chosen from the saints of the Roman Calendar, augmented by memories of heroes, queens, and great men in history, it is thought well to give them at length. Thus the sons, nine in number, were:—

Alexis Paul Abelard
Joseph Maurice Cleophas
Hector Jerome Panteleon Etienne
Jean Gabriel
Jules Alfred Napoleon
François-Xavier Hercule Narcisse
Patrick Zenophile
Pierre Joseph Louis-Felippe
Alphonse Arthur

while the daughters were:—

Minnie Archange
Emma Catherine Lucille
Victoria Cécile
Marie-Antoinette Colombe
Brigide Zenobie
Eugenie Louise Angelique
Bernardette Ste. Anne.

The dining-room at Poussette's was transformed for the occasion into a moderate sized concert hall, by the erection of a platform at one end by Antoine Archambault under Pauline's skilled directions, and by rows of planks crosswise over chairs, the people of the village joining forces with those at Poussette's, just as in towns others conspire together to hold fêtes and bazaars; but Ringfield stood afar off and would have nothing to say to it. Miss Clairville intercepted him that day after dinner and asked him to assist her.

"I cannot think," said she, "how you remain so narrow in one respect, while broad enough in others! I am sure that sermon yesterday about the widow and the fatherless was the most beautiful thing I ever heard, and that you have ever said. How then—is it wicked to get up a concert, act, sing, and amuse ourselves, and all for a good object, that we make money for the unfortunate? Ah—but I do not understand you at all!"

"No, I suppose I cannot expect you to do so," replied Ringfield sadly. "But I have never approved of similar practices in the city, and it seems to me that I must now include the country. Why not make a personal canvass from house to house, through the mill, and so on, and interest the members of our small community in the Tremblays—I believe you would raise more."

"Ah!" exclaimed Pauline, with a swift shrug of impatience; "see now—how we should quarrel always! Quarrel? I think it would be one grand, great long fight, if I—if I——" she faltered, and he noted with quick passion the drooping of her ordinarily flashing eyes.