It has been said in the beginning of this article that Evangeline, the heroine and central figure of the poem, is not altogether true to history as typical of the Acadian girl of that period, as seen in the annals of Port Royal; and doubtless this assertion can be borne out by the records. But, on second thoughts, it does appear, as it were, a profanation to subject such a bright creation of the poet’s mind to the analysis of history. As profitably might we set about converting the diamond into its original carbon. The magical chemistry of genius, as of nature, has in either case fused the dull and common atoms into the sparkling and priceless jewel.
The stoutest champion of her sex will not, upon consideration, contend that so absolutely perfect a creature as Evangeline is likely to be found in any possible phase of society. Is not a spice of coquetry inseparable from all women? Evangeline has none of it. She is, too, too unconscious that her lover
“Watches for the gleam of her lamp and her shadow”
under the trees in the orchard. She is the heroine of an idyl—not, indeed, of unreal Arthurian romance, but of that exalted and passionless love which the virgin heart seeks, but afterwards consoles itself for not finding. That ideal star does not shine upon this world; but its divine rays fall softly upon many an unknown heart in the cloister.
But it is incontestable that the Acadian maidens of Port Royal and Mines shared in some of the agreeable frivolities which still, it is said, sometimes distinguish their sisters in the world. They had an eye for a military uniform and clanking spurs even in those “primeval” days. It is a frequent complaint of the French governors to the home authorities at Paris that their young officers were being continually led into marriage with girls of the country “without birth,” and, worse still, often “without money.” In the old parish register of Annapolis can be seen more than one entry of the union of a gallant ensign or captain to a village belle from the inland settlements whose visit to the Acadian metropolis had subjugated the Gallic son of Mars. Nor was the goddess of fashion altogether without a shrine in close contiguity to the “murmuring pines and the hemlocks.” Some of the naval and military officers sent for their wives from Paris or Quebec, and these fine ladies brought their maids with them. This is not a supposition, but a fact which can be verified by reference to the letters of M. des Goutins and others in the correspondence of the time. Imagine a Parisian soubrette of the XVIIIth century in the village of Grand Pré! It is a shock to those who derive their knowledge of Acadie from Mr. Longfellow’s poem; but those who are familiar with the voluminous records of the day, preserved in the provincial archives, are aware of a good many stranger things than that related in them. Since Evangeline was published the Canadian and Nova Scotian governments have done much to collect and edit their records, and they are now accessible to the student. Rightly understood, there is no reason why the flood of light thus thrown upon the lives of the Acadians should detract anything from our admiration for that simple and kindly race. They were not faultless; but the very fact that they shared in the common interests, and even foibles, of the rest of the world gives that tone of reality to their history which makes us sympathize with them more justly in the cruel fate that overtook them. Yet, in depicting the young Acadian girl of that period as he has done, the poet has but idealized the truth. The march of the history of her people aids him in making the portrait a faithful one. Had he placed the time a little earlier—that is to say, under the French-Acadian régime—and his heroine at Annapolis, his poem could not have borne the criticism of later research. But in selecting the most dramatic incident of Acadian history as the central point of interest, he has necessarily shifted the scene to one of the Neutral French settlements. Here, too, he is aided in maintaining the truthfulness of his portraiture by the fact that the English conquest, in depriving the Acadians of the right of political action, and cutting them off as much as possible from intercourse with Canada and France, had thrown them back upon rural occupations alone, and developed their simple virtues. Mines and Chignecto had been noted for their rustic independence and their manners uncorrupted by contact with the world, even under the old régime. One of the military governors of Port Royal complains of them as “semi-republicans” in a letter to the Minister of Marine and Colonies at Paris. After the conquest of 1710, intercourse with Annapolis and its English Government House and foreign garrison became even more restricted. No oath of allegiance being taken to the new government, the curé was recognized both by the inhabitants and the Annapolis government as their virtual ruler. Under the mild sway of Fathers Felix, Godalie, and Miniac—in turn curés of Mines—the Acadians sought to forget in the cultivation of their fields the stern military surveillance of Annapolis, and, later, Fort Edwards and Fort Lawrence. Father Miniac comes latest in time, and shared the misfortunes of his flock in their expulsion. But in Father Godalie, the accomplished scholar and long-loved friend of the people of Grand Pré, we seem best to recognize the “Father Felician” of Mr. Longfellow’s poem. He was a guide well fitted to form the lovely character of Evangeline; nor do the authentic records of the time bear less ample testimony to the virtue of his people than the glowing imagination of the poet.
It is less in the delineation of individual character than in its description of the undisturbed peace reigning at Grand Pré that the poem departs most from the truth of history. The expulsion of 1755 was not a thunderbolt in a clear sky descending upon a garden of Eden. It was a doom known to be hanging over them for forty years. Its shadow, more or less threatening for two generations, was present in every Acadian household, disabling industry and driving the young men into service or correspondence with their French compatriots. Space would not permit, in so short a paper, to enter into the history of that desperate struggle for supremacy on this continent ending on the heights of Abraham, isolated chapters of which have been narrated with a graphic pen by Mr. Francis Parkman. Acadie was one of its chosen battlegrounds. So far from the Acadians living in rural peace and content, it may be said broadly yet accurately that from the date of their first settlement to their final expulsion from the country, during a period extending over one hundred and fifty years, five years had never passed consecutively without hostilities, open or threatened. The province changed masters, or was wholly or partially conquered, seven times in a little over one hundred years, and the final English conquest, so far from establishing peace, left the Acadians in a worse position than before. They refused to take the oath of allegiance to the English government; the French government was not able to protect them, though it used them to harass the English.
They acquired, therefore, by a sort of tacit understanding, the title and position of the “Neutral French,” the English government simply waiting from year to year until it felt itself strong enough to remove them en masse from the province, and the Acadians yearly expecting succor from Quebec or Louisburg. Each party regarded the other as aliens and enemies. Hence it is that no French-Acadian would ever have used the words “his majesty’s mandate”—applied to George II.—as spoken by Basil the blacksmith in the poem. That single expression conveys a radically false impression of the feelings of the people at the time. The church at Mines, or Grand Pré, from the belfry of which
“Softly the Angelus sounded,”
had been burned down twice by the English and its altar vessels stolen by Col. Church in the old wars. Nor had permanent conquest, as we have said, brought any change for the better. The curés were frequently imprisoned on pretext of exciting attacks on the English garrisons, and sometimes, as in the case of Father Felix and Father Charlemagne, were exiled from the province. In 1714 the intention was first announced of transporting all the Acadians from their homes. It was proposed to remove them to Cape Breton, still held by the French. The pathetic remonstrance of Father Felix Palm, the curé of Grand Pré, in a letter and petition to the governor, averted this great calamity from his people at that time. But the project was again revived by the English Board of Trade, 1720-30. In pursuance of its orders, Gov. Philipps issued a proclamation commanding the people of Mines to come in and take the oath of allegiance by a certain day, or to depart forthwith out of the province, permitting, at the same time—a stretch of generosity which will hardly be appreciated at this day—each family to carry away with it “two sheep,” but all the rest of their property to be confiscated. This storm also blew over. But the result of this continual harassment and threatening was to drive the Acadians into closer correspondence with the French at Louisburg, and to cause their young men to enlist in the French-Canadian forces on the frontier. In view of this aid and comfort given to the enemy, and their persistent refusal to take the oath of allegiance, later English writers have not hesitated to declare the removal of the Acadians from the province a political and military necessity. But the otherwise unanimous voice of humanity has unequivocally denounced their wholesale deportation as one of the most cruel and tyrannical acts in the colonial history of England. We are not to suppose, however, that the Acadians folded their hands while utter ruin was thus threatening them. In 1747 they joined in the attack on Col. Noble’s force at Mines, in which one hundred of the English were killed and wounded, and the rest of his command made prisoners. They were accused, not without some show of reason, of supporting the Indians in their attack on the new settlement at Halifax. It is admitted that three hundred of them, including many of the young men from Grand Pré, were among the prisoners taken at Fort Beau Sejour on the border a few months before their expulsion. It is not our purpose to enter into any defence or condemnation of those hostilities. But it is plain that Mr. Longfellow’s beautiful lines describing the columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense, ascending
“From a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment,”