 CHAPTER VI THE STUFF OF DREAMS In July the haze was maturing, and by the middle of August it was only a question of awaiting a few dry days to cut and store it. But after many weeks of fine weather the frequent shifts of wind which are usual in Quebec once more ruled the skies. Every morning the men scammed the heavens and took counsel together. The wind is backing to the south-east, bad luck, beyond question it will rain again, said Edwidge Leger for the gloomy face. It was old Shepterland that followed the movement of the white clouds that rose above the treetops, sailed in great possession across the clearing and disappeared behind the dark spires on the other side. If the Norwests hold till tomorrow we shall begin, he announces. But the next day the wind had backed afresh, and the cheerful clouds of yesterday, now torn and shapeless, draggling in disorderly rout, seemed to be fleeing like the wreckage of a broken army. Madam Shepterland foretold inevitable misfortune. Mark my words, we shall not have good hay-making weather. They say that down by the end of the lake some people of the same parish have gone to law with one another, and certainly the good God does not like that sort of thing. Yet the power at length was pleased to show indulgence, and the north-west wind blew for three days on end, steady and strong, promising a rainless week. The sighs were long since sharpened and ready, and the five men set to work on the morning of the third day. The Gare, Estras and the father cut. Dabe and Tetepe followed close on their heels, raking the hay together. Toward evening all five took their forks in hand and made it into cocks, high and carefully built, lest a change of winds should bring rain. But the sunshine lasted. For five days they carried on, swinging the sighs steadily from right to left with that broad free movement that seemed so easy to the practice hand, and is in truth the hardest to learn and the most fatiguing of all the labours known to husbandry. Flies and mosquitoes rose in swarms from the cut hay, stinging and tormenting the workers. A blazing sun scorched their necks, and smarting sweat ran into their eyes. When evening came, such was the ache of backs continually bent, they could not straighten themselves without making rye faces. Yet they toiled from dawn to nightfall without loss of a second, hurrying their meals, feeling nothing but gratitude and happiness that the weather stood fair. Three or four times a day Maria or Telethfor bought them a bucket of water, which they stood in a shady spot to keep it cool, and when throats became unbearably dry with heat, exertion and the dust of the hay, they went by turns to swallow great draughts and deluged wrists or head. In five days all the hay was cut, and the drought persisting. On the morning of the sixth day they began to break and scatter the cocks they intended lodging in the barn before night. The sides had done their work, and the forks came into play. They threw down the cocks, spread the hay in the sun, and toward the end of the afternoon, when dry, heaped it anew in piles of such a size that a man could just lift one with a single motion to the level of a well-filled hay cart. Charles Eugene pulled gallantly between the shafts. The cart was swallowed up in the barn, stopped beside the mow, and once again the forks were plunged into the hard-pagged hay, raised a thick mat of it with strain of wrist and back, and unloaded it to one side. By the end of the week the hay, well dried and of excellent colour, was all under cover. The men stretched themselves and took long breaths, knowing the fight was over and won. It may rain now, if it likes, said Shepter Lane, it will be all the same to us. But it appeared that the sunshine had not been tined with exact relation to their peculiar needs, for the wind held in the north-west, and fine day has followed one upon the other in unbroken succession. The women of the Shepter Lane household had no part in the work of the fields. The father and his three tall sons, all strong and skilled in farm labour, could have managed everything by themselves. If they continued to employ legueur and pay him wages, it was because he had entered their service eleven years before, when the children were young, and they kept him now partly through habit, partly because they were loathed to lose the help of so tremendous a worker. During the hay-making then, Maria and her mother had only their usual tasks, housework, cooking, washing and mending, the milking of three cows and the care of the hens, and once a week the baking, which often lasted well into the night. On the eve of a baking, tellers four were sent to hunt up the bread pans, which habitually found their way into all corners of the house and shed, being in daily use to measure oats for the horse or Indian corn for the fails, not to mention twenty other casual purposes they were continually serving. By the time all were routed out and scrubbed, the dough was rising, and the women hastened to finish other work that their evening watch might be shortened. Tellers four made a blazing fire below the oven with branches of gummy cypress that smelt of resin, then fed it with tamarack logs, giving a steady and continuous heat. When the oven was hot enough, Maria slipped in the pans of dough, after which nothing remained but to tend the fire and change the positions of the pans as the baking required. Too small an oven had been built five years before, and ever since then the family did not escape a weekly discussion about the new oven it was imperative to construct, which unquestionably should have been put in hand without delay. But on each trip to the village, by one piece of bad luck and another, someone forgot the necessary cement, and so it happened that the oven had to be filled two or even three times to make weekly provision for the nine miles of the household. Maria invariably took charge of the first baking, invariably too when the oven was ready for the second batch of bread, and the evening well advanced her mother would say considerably, You can go to bed, Maria, I will look after the second baking. And Maria would reply never a word, knowing full well that the mother would presently stretch herself on the bed for a little nap and not wake till morning. She would then revive the smudge that smoldered every evening in the damaged tin pail, install the second batch of bread and seat herself upon the doorstep, her chin resting in her hands upheld through the long hours of night by her inexhaustible patience. Twenty paces from the house, the clay oven with its sheltering roof of boards loomed dark, but the door of the fireplace fitted badly and one red gleam escaped through the chink. The dusky border of the forest stole a little closer in the night. Maria sat very still, delighting in the quiet and then the coolness, while a thousand vague dreams circled about her like a flock of wheeling birds. There was a time when this nightwashed past in drowsiness as she had repeatedly awaited the moment when the finished task would bring her sleep. But since the coming of Francois Paradis the long weekly vigil was very sweet to her, for she could think of him and of herself with nothing to distract her dear imaginings. Simple they were, these thoughts of hers, and never did they travel far afield. In the springtime he will come back, this return of his, the joy of seeing him again, the words he will say when they find themselves once more alone, the first touch of hands and lips. Not so easy was it for Maria to make a picture for herself of how these things were to come about. Yet she assayed, first she repeated his full name two or three times, formally as others spoke it. Paradis from Michel de Mestassini. Francois Paradis. Then suddenly was sweet intimacy. Francois. The avocation fails not. He stands before her tall and strong, bold of eye, his face bronzed with sun and snow glare. He is by her side rejoicing at the sight of her, rejoicing that he has kept his faith, has lived the whole year discreetly without drinking or swearing. There are no blueberries yet together in his only springtime, yet some good reason they find for rambling off to the woods. He walks beside her without word or joining of hands and the mast lol flaming into blossom, and naught beyond does either need to flush the cheek to quicken the beating of the heart. Now they are seated upon a fallen tree, and thus he speaks. Were you lonely without me, Maria? Most certainly that is the first question he will put to her, but she is able to carry the dream no further for the sudden pain stabbing her heart. Ah, dear God, how long will she have been lonely for him before the moment comes? A summer to be lived through, an autumn, and all the endless winter. She sighs, but the steadfast patience of the race sustains her and her thoughts turn upon herself on what the future may be holding. When she was at St. Prime, one of her cousins, who was about to be wedded, spoke often to her of marriage. A young man from the village in another from Normandine had both courted her for long months spending the Sunday evenings together at the house. I was fond of them both, thus she declared to Maria, and I really think I liked Sotik best, but he went off to the drive on the St. Maurice, and he wasn't to be back till summer. Then Romeo asked me, and I said, yes, I like him very well too. Maria made no answer, but even then her heart told her that all marriages are not like that. Now she is very sure. The love of Francois Paradis for her, her love for him, is a thing apart, a thing wholly and inevitable, for she was unable to imagine that between them it should have before and otherwise. So must this love give warmth and unfading colour to every day of the dullest life. Always had she dim consciousness of such a presence, moving the spirit like a solemn joy of chanted masses. The intoxication of a sunny windy day, a happiness that some unlooked forward fortune brings, a certain promise of abundant harvest. In the stillness of the night the roar of the fall sounds loud and near. The north-west winds sways the tops of spruce and fir with a sweet cool sighing, again and again, farther away and yet farther, an owl is hooting. The chill that ushers in the dawn is still remote. And Maria, in perfect contentment, rests upon the step, watching the ruddy beam from her fire, flickering, disappearing, quickened again to birth. She seems to remember someone long ago whispering in her ear that the world and life were cheerless and gray. The daily round brightened only by a few unsatisfying, fleeting pleasures. The slow passage of unchanging years, the encounter with some young man, like other young men, whose patient and hopeful courting ends by whining affection, a marriage thin and afterwards a vista of days under another roof, but scarce different from those that went before. So does one live, the voice had told her, not very dreadful in the prospect, and even were it so, what possible but submission. Yet all level dreary and chill as an autumn field. It is not true. Alone there in the darkness, Maria shakes her head, a smile upon her lips, and knows how far from true it is. When she thinks of Paradis, his look, his bearing, of what they are and will be to one another, he and she, something within her bosom, has strange power to burn with a touch of fire, and yet to make her shiver. All the strong youth of her, the long suffering of her smooth, fast heart, finds place in it. It is in the upspringing of hope and of longing, this vision of her approaching miracle of happiness. Below the oven, the red gleam quivers and fails. The bread must be ready, she murmurs to herself, but she cannot bring herself at once to rise, loath as she is to win the fair dream that seems only beginning. End of chapter 6 Chapter 7 of Maria Chapter Lane This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Anibob Maria Chapter Lane by Louis Hemmel Translated by W. H. Blake Chapter 7 Amiga Reaping September arrived, and the dryness, so welcome for the hay-making, persisted till it became a disaster. According to the chapter lanes, never had the country been visited with such a drought as this, and every day a fresh motive was suggested for the divine displeasure. Oats and wheat took on a sickly colour, air attaining their growth. A merciless sun withered the grass and the clover aftermath, and all day long the famished cow stood, lowing with their heads over the fences. They had to be watched continually, for even the meagre-standing crop was a sore temptation. Never a day went by, but one of them broke through the rails in the attempt to appease her hunger among the grain. Then, of a sudden one evening, as the wary of Constancy so unusual, the wind shifted, and in the morning came the rain. It fell off and on for a week, and when it seized and the wind hauled again to the north-west, autumn had come. The autumn, and it seemed as though spring were here but yesterday. The grain was yet unripe, though yellowed by the drought. Nothing saved the hay was in barn, the other crops could draw nutriment from the soil, only while the two brief summer warmed it, and already autumn was here, the forerunner of relentless winter, of the frosts and soon the snows. Between the wed days there was still fine bright weather, hot toward noon, when one might fancy that all was as it had been. The harvests still unreaped, the changeless setting of spruces and furs, and ever the same sunsets of grey and opal, opal and gold, and skies of misty blue above the same dark woodland. In the mornings, the grass was sometimes white with rime, and swiftly followed the earliest dry frosts, which killed and blackened the tops of the potatoes. Then, for the first time, a film of ice appeared upon the drinking trough. Melted by the afternoon sun, it was there a few days later, and yet a third time in the same week. Frequent changes of wind brought an alteration of mild rainy days and frosty mornings. But every time the wind came afresh from the northwest, it was a little colder, a little more mindful of the icy winter blasts. Everywhere as autumn and melancholy season, charged with regrets for what that which is departing, with shrinking from what is to come. But under the Canadian skies it is sadder and more moving than elsewhere, as so one were beveiling the death of a mortal, summoned and timely by the gods, before he has lived out his ban. Through the increasing cold, the early frosts, the threats of snow, they held back their hands and put off the reaping from day to day, encouraging the meagre grain to steal a little nourishment from the earth's veiling veins and the spiritless sun. At length, harvest they must, if October approached. About the same time when the leaves of birches and aspen's were turning, the oats and wheat were cut and carried to the barn under cloudless sky, but without rejoicing. The yield of grain was poor enough, yet the hay crop had been excellent, so that the year as a whole gave occasion neither for excess of joy nor sorrow. However, it was long before the shelter lanes and evening talk seized deploring the unheard of August droughts, the unprecedented September frosts which betrayed their hopes. Against the miserly shortness of the summer and the harshness of a climate that shows no mercy, they did not rebel or even without a touch of bitterness, but they did not give up contrasting the season with that other year of wonders which fond imagination made the standard of their comparisons. And thus was ever on the lips the countryman's perpetual lament so reasonable to the year, but which recurs unfailingly, had it only been an ordinary year. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. One October morning, Maria's first vision on a rising was of countless snowflakes sifting lazily from the skies. The ground was covered, the trees white. Verily it seemed that autumn was over when in other lands it had scarce begun. But Edwig Lagar thus pronounced sentence after the first snowfall layer is yet a month before winter sets in. The old folks always so declared and I believed it myself. He was right, for in two days a rain carried off the snow and the dark soil again lay bare. Still the warning was heeded and may set about preparations the yearly defences against the snow that may not be trifled with and the pissing cold. Estre and Debe protected the foundation of their dwelling with earth and sand, making an embankment at the foot of the walls. The other men armed with hammer and nails went round the outside of the house, nailing up, closing chinks, remedying as best they could the years where and tear. Within the women forced rags into the crevices, pasted upon the way and scotting at the north-west side old newspapers brought from the village and carefully preserved, tested with their hands in every corner for draps. These things accomplished the next task was to lay in the winter store of wood. Beyond the fields at the border of the forest, plenty of dead trees were standing. Estre and Lagarde took acts in hand and felled for three days. The trunks were piled, awaiting another fall of snow when they could be loaded on the big wood slay. All through October frosty and rainy days came alternately and meanwhile the woods were putting on a dress of unearthly loveliness. Five hundred paces from the chapter-lane house, the bank of the Perebonca fell steeply to the rapid border and the huge blocks of stone above the fall and across the river the opposite bank rose in the fashion of a rocky amphitheater, mounting to loftier heights an amphitheater trending in a vast curve to the northward. Aspens, elders and wild cherries scattered upon the slope October made splashes of many tinted red and gold. Throughout these weeks the ruddy brown of mosses the changeless green of fur and cypress were no more than a background a setting only for the ravishing colours of those leaves born with the spring that perish with the autumn. The wonder of their dying spread over the hills and unrolled itself an endless ryband following the river ever as beautiful as rich in shades brilliant and soft as in rapturing when they poured into the remoteness of far northern regions and were unseen by human eye. But along these sweeps there was a cold north a mighty wind like a final sentence of death the cruel ending to a reprieve and soon the poor leaves brown, red and golden shaken too unkindly strove the ground the snow covers them and the white expanse has only for adornment the somber green of trees that alter not their garb as do those women inspired with the bitter wisdom who bartered their right to beauty for life everlasting. In November Estre, Debe and Edwin Lugar went off again to the shanties the father and the titby harness Charles Eugene to the wood slay and lay there at hauling in the trees that had been cut laying them near the house that done the two men took the double-handed saw and sawed sawed from morning till night it was then the turn of the axes and the logs were split as their size required nothing remained but to cord the split wood in the shed beside the house where it was sheltered from the snow for miles mingling the resinous cypress which gives a quick hot flame spruce and red birch burning steadily and longer close gained white birch with its marble life surface slowing yet to be consumed and leaving red embers in the morning after a long winter's night the moment for laying in wood is also that of the slaughtering after entrenching against cold comes the defence against hunger the quarters of pork went into the brine tub from a beam in the shed there hung the side of the fat heifer the other half sold to people in on-fleur which the cold would keep fresh till spring sacks of flour were piled in a corner of the house and titby provided with a spool a brass wire set himself to making nooses for hairs after the bustle of summer they relapsed into easy going ways for the summer is painfully short and one must not lose a single hour of those precious weeks when it is possible to work on the land whereas the winter drags slowly it's all too much time for the tasks it brings the house became the centre of the universe in truth the only spot where life could be sustained and more than ever the great cast iron stove was the sole of it every little while some member of the family fetched a couple of blogs from under the staircase Cyprus in the morning spruce throughout the day in the evening birch pushing them in upon the live coals whenever the heat failed mother chapter lane might be heard saying anxiously don't let the fire out children whereupon Maria titby or talas for would open the little door glance in and hasten to the pile of wood in the mornings titby jumped out of bed long before daylight to see if the great sticks of birch had done their duty and burned all night should unluckily the fire be out he lost no time in rekindling it with birch bark and cyprus branches placed heavier pieces on the mountain flame and ran back to snuggle on blankets and patchwork quilt till the comforting warmth once more filled the house outside the neighbouring forest and even the fields one from it where an alien unfriendly world upon which they looked wonderingly through the little square windows and sometimes this world was strangely beautiful in its frozen immobility with the sky of fall as blue and a brilliant sun that sparkled on the snow but the immaculateness of the blue and the white alike was pitiless and gave hint at the murderers cold days there were when the weather was tempered and the snow fell straight from the clouds concealing all the ground and the low growth was covered little by little the dark line of the woods was hidden behind the curtain of serred flakes then in the morning the sky was clear again but the fierce northwest wind swayed the heavens powdery snow whipped from the ground drove across the burnt lands and the clearings in blinding squalls and heaped itself behind whatever broke the force of the gale to the southeast of the house it built an enormous cone and between house and stable raised a drift five feet high through which the shovel had to carve a path but to win wood the ground was bare scored by the persistent blast on such days as these the men scarcely left the house except to care for the beasts and came back on the run their faces rasped with the coal and shining wet with snow crystals melted by the heat of the house chapterlain would pluck the icicles from his moustache slowly draw off his sheepskin line coat and settle himself by the stove with a satisfied sigh the pump is not frozen he asks is there plenty of wood in the house assured that the frail wooden fortress is provided with water wood and food he gives himself up to the indolences of winter quarters smoking pipes innumerable while the women folk are busy with the evening meal the cold snaps and the plank falls with reports like pistol shots the stove crammed with birch rules lustily the howling of the wind without is like the cries of a besieging host it must be a bad day in the woods thinks Maria to herself and then perceives that she has spoken aloud in the woods answers her father up there where the trees stand close together one does not feel the wind you can be sure that Estre and Debay are all right yes, but it was not of Estre and Debay that she had just been thinking end of chapter 8 chapter 9 of Maria's chapterlain this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Eleni Maria's chapterlain by Louis Emond translated by W.H. Blake chapter 9 1000 Aves since the coming of winter they had often talked at the chapterlains about the holidays and now these were drawing near I am wondering whether we shall have any callers on New Year's Day said Madame Chapterlain one evening she went over the list of all relatives and friends able to make the venture as Almala Houch does not live so far away, but she she's not very energetic the people at Saint-Prime would not mean to take the journey possibly Wilfred or Ferdinand might drive from Saint-Gédion if the ice on the lake were in good condition a sigh disclosed that she still was dreaming of the coming and going in the old parishes at the time of the New Year the family dinners the unlooked-for visits of Kindred arriving by a slave from the next village buried under rugs and furs behind a horse whom coat was white with frost Maria's thoughts were turning in another direction if the Rose are as bad as they were last year, said she would not be able to attend the Midnight Mass and yet I should so much have liked it this time and father promised through the little window they looked on the grey sky and found little to cheer them to go to Midnight Mass is the natural and strong desire of every French-Canadian peasant even of those living farthest from the settlements what do they not face to accomplish it arctic cold the woods at night the roads, great distances do but add to the impressiveness in the mystery this anniversary of the birth of Jesus is more to them than a mere fixture in the calendar with rights appropriate it signifies the renewed promise of salvation an occasion of deep rejoicing and those gathered in the wooden church are imbued with the sincerest fervor are pervaded with a deep sense of the supernatural this year, more than ever Maria yearned to attend the Mass after many weeks of remoteness from houses and from churches the favors she would fain the man seemed more likely to be granted were she able to prefer them before the altar aided in heavenward flight by the winds of music but toward the middle of December much snow fell dry and fine as dust and three days before Christmas the northwest wind arose and made an end of the roads on the morrow of the storm chapped Lane Harness, Charles O'Geen to the heavy sleigh and departed with Titbe they took shovels to clear the way or lay out another route the two men returned by noon worn out, white with snow asserting that there would be no breaking through for several days the disappointment must be borne or reasside but Maria came to her that there might be other means of attaining the divine goodwill is it true mother she asked as evening was falling that if you repeat a thousand aves on the day before Christmas you are always granted the thing you seek quite true her mother reverently answered one desiring a favor who says her thousand aves properly before midnight on Christmas Eve the weather was cold but windless the two men went out in another effort to beat down the road with no great hopes of success but long before they left and indeed long before daylight Maria began to recite her aves awakening very early she took her rosary from beneath the pillow and swiftly repeated the prayer passing from the west to the first without seeing the last word to the first without stopping and counting bead by bead the others were still asleep but she left his place at the stove when he saw that she moved and came to sit beside the bed gravely reposing his head upon the coverings Maria's glance wondered over the long white muzzle resting upon the brown wool the liquid eyes filled with the dumb creature's pathetic trustfulness the drooping glossy ears while she sees not to murmur the sacred words Hail Mary full of grace soon to bed jumped from bed to put wood upon the fire an impulse of shyness caused Maria to turn away and hide her rosary under the coverlet as she continued to pray the stove roared she all went back to his usual spot and for another half hour nothing was stirring in the house save the fingers of Maria numbering the box with beads and her lips as they moved rapidly in the task she had laid upon herself then must she arise for the day was dawning make the porridge and the pancakes while the men went to the stable to care for the animals wait upon them when they returned wash the dishes, sweep the house what time she attended to these things Maria was ever raising a little higher toward heaven the monument of her aves but the rosary had to be laid aside and it was hard to keep it through reckoning as the morning advanced however no urgent duty calling she was able to sit by the window and steadily pursue her undertaking noon and already 300 aves her anxiety lessens for now she feels almost sure of finishing in time it comes to her mind that fasting would give a further title to heavenly consideration and might, with reason turn hopes into certainties wherefore she ate but little forgoing all those things she liked the best throughout the afternoon she must knit the woollen garment designed for her father as a New Year's gift and though the faithful repetition sees not the work of her fingers was something of a distraction and a delay then came the long preparations for supper and finally Tidbay brought his mittens to be mended so all this time the aves made slow and impeded progress like some devout procession brought to halt by secular interruption but when it was evening and the tasks of the day were done she could resume her seat by the window where the feeble light of the lamp did not invade the darkness look forth upon the fields hidden beneath their icy cloak take the rosary once more in her hands and throw her heart into the prayer she was happy that so many aves were left to be recited since labor and difficulty could only add merit to her endeavor even did she wish to humble herself further and give force to her prayer by some posture that could bring uneasiness and pain by some chastening of the flesh her father and Tidbay smoked their feet against the stove her mother sewed new ties to old moves hide moccasins upside the moon had risen flooding the chill whiteness with colder light and the heavens were of a marvelous purity and depth sewn with stars that shone like that wondrous star of old blessed are thou amongst women through repeating the short prayer often times and quickly she grew confused time stopped her day's mind lost among the well-known words it is only for a moment sighing she closes her eyes and the phrase which rises at once to her memory and her lips ceases to be mechanical detaches itself again stands forth in all its hallowed meaning blessed are thou amongst women at length a heaviness weighs upon her and the holy words are spoken create her effort and slowly yet the beads pass through her fingers in endless succession and each one launches the offering of an avid to that sky where Mary, the compassionate is surely seated on her throne hurricanning to the music of prayers that ever rise and brooding over the memory of that blessed night the lords with thee the fence rails were very black upon the white expense palely lighted by the moon trunks of birch trees standing against a dark background of forest were like the skeletons of living creatures smitten with the cold and stricken by death but the glacial night was awesome rather than a frightening with the roads as they are we will not be the only ones who have to stay at home this evening said Madame Chaplain but is there anything more lovely than the midnight mass at Saint-Claire-de-Marie with Yvonne Boyille playing the harmonium and Pacifique Simarro sings the Latin so beautifully she was very careful to say nothing that might seem reproachful or complaining on such a night as this but in spite of herself the words and tone had a sad ring of loneliness and remoteness her husband noticed it and himself under the influence of the day was quick to take the blame it is true enough Laura that you would have had a happier life with some other men than me who lived on a comfortable farm near the settlements no Samuel what the good God does is always right I grumble of course I grumble is there anyone who hasn't something to grumble about but we have never been unhappy we too we have managed to live without fearing over badly the boys are fine boys hard working nearly all they earn Maria too is a good girl affected by these memories of the past they also were thinking of the candles already lit of the hymns soon to be raised in honor of the savior's birth life had always been a simple and a straightforward thing for them severe but inevitable toil a good understanding between man and wife obedience alike to the laws of nature and of the church drawn into the same roof the rites of their religion and the daily routine of existence so woven together that they could not distinguish the devout emotion possessing them from the mute love of each for each little Alma Rose heard praises in the air and hastened to demand her portion I have been a good girl too haven't I father certainly certainly a black sin indeed if one were naughty on the day little Jesus was born to the children Jesus of Nazareth was ever the little Jesus the curly-headed babe of the sacred picture and in truth for the parents as well such was the image oftenest brought to mind by the name not the sad enigmatic Christ of the Protestant but a being more familiar in less August a newborn infant in his mother's arms or at least a tiny child who might be loved without great effort of the mind or any thought of the coming sacrifice would you like me to rock you yes he took the little girl on his knees and began to swing her back and forth and are we going to sing too yes very well now sing with me dance on the table that jesus is charming what a dreadful dance he began in quiet tones that he might not drown the other slender voice but soon emotion carried him away and he sang with all his might his gaze dreamy and remote that was for a dreamer and looked at him with worshiping eyes to these children brought up in a lonely house with only their parents for companions Samuel, Shepter Lane embodied all there was in the world of wisdom and might as he was ever gentle and patient always ready to take the children on his knees and sing them hymns or those endless old songs he taught them one by one, they loved him with a rare affection once more, very well this time the mother and Titbe joined in Maria could not resist staying in her prayers for a few moments she looked and heard him but the words of the hymn renewed her order and she soon took up the task again with a livelier faith Hail Mary, full of grace and now, another song which? without waiting for a reply he struck in no, not that one Croire Fontaine? ah, that's a beautiful one that is we shall all sing it together he glanced at Maria but seeing the beats ever slipping through her fingers, he would not intrude words in tune like haunting the unaffected sadness of the refrain lingering in the ear a song that well may find its way to any heart the rosary lay still in long fingers Maria did not sing with the others but she was listening of a love that was unhappy fell very sweetly and movingly on her spirit a little wary with prayer Maria looked through the window at the wide field circled by a mysterious forest the passion of religious feeling the tide of young love rising within her the sound of the familiar voices fused in her heart to a single emotion truly, the world was filled with love that evening with love, human and divine simple in nature and mighty in strength one and the other most natural and right so intermingled that the beseeching of heavenly favor upon dear ones was scarcely more than the expression of an earthly affection while the artless love songs were chanted with solemnity of voice an exaltation of spirit fit for addresses to another world the song ended forthwith resumed her prayers with zeal refreshed and once again the tale of the aves mounted little Alma Rose asleep on her father's knee was undressed and put to bed telus four followed tit bea rose in turn stretch himself and find the stove with green birch logs the father made a last trip to the stable and came back running saying that the cold was increasing soon all had retired save Maria you won't forget to put out the lamp no father forthwith she quenched the light preferring it so and seated herself again by the window to repeat the last aves when she had finished a scruple assailed her and a fear less she had erred in the reckoning because it had not always been possible to count the beads of her rosary out of prudence she recited yet another fifty and then was silent jaded weary but full of happy confidence as though the moment had brought her a promise inviolable the world outside was lit wrapped in that forest splendor which the night unrolls over lens of snow when the sky is clear and the moon is shining within the house was darkness and it seemed that wood and field had illumined themselves to signal the coming of the holy hour the thousand aves had been said murmuring Maria to herself but I have not yet asked for anything not in words she had thought that perhaps it were not needful that the divinity might understand without hearing wishes shaped by lips Mary above all who had been a woman upon earth but at the last her simple mind was taken with a doubt and she tried to find speech for the favor she was seeking François Paradis most surely it concerns François Paradis has thou already guessed it oh Mary full of grace how might she frame this her desire without impiety that he should be spared hardship in the woods that he should be true to his word and give up drinking and swearing that he return in the spring that he return in the spring she goes no further for it seems to her that when he is with her again his promise kept all the happiness in the world must be within the reach almost unaided if it be not presumptuous so to think that he return in the spring dreaming of his return of François the handsome sunburned face turned to hers Maria forgets all else with unseen eyes at the snow-covered ground which the moonlight has turned into a glittering fabric of ivory and mother of pearl at the black pattern of the fences outlined upon it in the menacing ranks of the dark forest End of Chapter 9 Maria Chaptolaine by Louis Emond translated by W. H. Blake Chapter 10 Straying Tracks New Year's Day and not a single caller toward evening the mother of the family a trifle cast down hit her depression behind a mask of extra cheeriness even if no one comes, said she that is no reason for allowing ourselves to be unhappy we are going to make leteer the children exclaimed with delight and followed the preparations with impatient eyes molasses and brown sugar were set on the stove to boil and when this had proceeded far enough Teless Four brought in a large dish of lovely white snow they all gathered about the table as a few drops of the boiling syrup were allowed to fall upon the snow where they instantly became crackly bubbles deliciously cold each was helped in turn the big people making a merry pretense of the children's unfamed greed but soon and very wisely the tasting was checked that appetite might not be in peril for the real leteer the confection of which had only begun after further cooking and just at the proper moment the cooling toffee must be pulled for a long time the mother's strong hands plied unceasingly for five minutes folding and drawing out the sugary skin the movement became slower and slower until stretched for the last time to the thickness of a finger it was cut into lengths with scissors not too easily for it was already hard the leteer was made the children were busy with their first portions when a knocking was heard on the door Euchope Guignan at once declared Chaplain I was just saying to myself that it would be an odd thing if he did not come and spend the evening with us Euchope Guignan it was in truth he obeyed them all the evening and laid his woolen cap upon the table Maria looked at him a blush upon her cheek custom ordains that on the first day of the year the young men shall kiss the women folk and Maria knew well enough that Euchope shy as he was would exercise his privilege she stood motionless by the table unprotesting yet thinking of another kiss she would have dearly welcomed but the young man took the chair offered him and sat down his eyes upon the floor you are the only visitor who has come our way today, said Chaplain and I suppose you have seen no one either I felt pretty certain you would be here this evening naturally I would not let New Year's Day go by without paying you a visit but besides that I have news to tell news under the questioning eyes of the household with his eyes by your face I am afraid you have bad news yes with a start of fear the mother half rose not about the boys no, Madame Chaplain as Dresent Abbey are well if that be God's pleasure the word I bring is not of them not of your own kin it concerns the young man you know pausing a moment he spoke a name under his breath Francois Paradis his glance was lifted to Maria and as quickly fell but she did not so much as see his look of honest distress deep stillness weighed upon the house upon the whole universe everything alive and dead was breathlessly awaiting news of such dreadful moment touching him that was for her the one man in all the world this is what happened he knew perhaps that he was a foreman in a shanty above Latouc on the Vermillion River about the middle of December he suddenly told the boss that he was going off to spend Christmas and New Year at Lake St. John up here the boss objected naturally enough for if the men take ten or fifteen days leave right in the middle of the winter you might as well stop the work altogether the boss did not wish him to go and said so plainly but you know Francois a man not to be thwarted when a notion entered his head he answered that he was set on going to the lake for the holidays and that go he would then the boss let him have his way afraid to lose a man useful beyond the common and of such experience in the bush Euchobe Gagnan was speaking with unusual ease slowly but without seeking words as though his story had been shaped beforehand amid her overwhelming grief the thought flitted through Maria's heart Francois wished to come here to me and a fugitive Joy touched it as a swallow in flight ruffles the water with his wing the shanty was not very far in the woods only two days journey from the transcontinental which passes Latouc but as the luck was something had happened to the line and the trains were not running I heard all this through Johnny Diquette of Saint-Honorie who arrived from Latouc two days ago yes when Francois found that he could not take the train he burst into a laugh and in that sort of a humor said that as it was a case of walking he would walk all the way reaching the lake by following the rivers first the croche and then the Euchoen which falls in near Robaral that is so it can be done I have gone that way not at this time of year Mr. Chaplin certainly not just at this time everyone there told Francois that it would be foolhardy to attempt such a trip in midwinter about Christmas with the cold as great as it was some four feet of snow lying in the woods and alone but he only laughed and told them that he was used to the woods and that a little difficulty was not going to frighten him because he was bound to get to the upper side of the lake for the holidays and that where the Indians were able to cross he could make the crossing too only you know it very well Mr. Chaplin when the Indians take that journey it is in company and with their dogs Francois set off alone on snowshoes pulling his blankets and provisions on a toboggan no one had uttered a word to hasten or check the speaker they listened as to him whose stories end stocks into view before the eyes but darkly veiled like a figure drawing near who hides his face you will remember the weather a week before Christmas the heavy snow that fell and after it the Norwest Gale it happened that was then in the great burnt lands where the fine snow drives and drifts so terribly in such a place the best of men have little chance very cold and the storm lasts and if you recall it the Norwest was blowing for three days on end stiff enough to flay you yes and then the narrative he had framed did not carry him further or perhaps he could not bring himself to speak the final words for it was some time before the low voiced answer came he went to stray those who have passed their lives in the shadow of the Canadian forests know the meaning but too well the daring youths to whom this evil fortune happens in the woods who go astray are lost but seldom return sometimes a search party finds their bodies in the spring after the melting of the snows in Quebec and above all in the far regions of the north the very word a carte has taken on a new and sinister import from the peril overhanging him who loses his way for a short day only in that limitless forest he went astray the storm caught him in the burnt country and he halted for a day so much we know for the Indians found a shelter of fur branches he had made for himself and they saw his tracks he set out again because his provisions were low and he was in haste to reach the end of his journey as I suppose but the weather did not mend snow was falling nor west wind never eased and it is likely he caught no glimpse of the sun to guide him for the Indians said that his tracks turned off from the river Kroos which he had been following and wandered away straight to the north there was no further speech neither from the two men who had listened as well they followed every turn of Utropes Grimm's story nor from the mother whose hands were clasped upon her knees as an ablated supplication nor from Maria when they heard this men from Uchuan set forth after the weather was a little better but all his footsteps were covered and they returned saying that they had found no trace that three days ago is lost the listeners stirred and broke the stillness with a sigh the tale was told nor was there a word that anyone might speak the fate of Francois Paradis was as mournfully sure as though he were buried in the cemetery at Saint-Michel de Mistassanie to the sound of chance with the blessing of a priest silence fell upon the house and all within it the chaplain was leaning forward elbows on his knees his face working upon the other at length he spoke it shows we are but little children in the hand of the good God Francois was one of the best men of these parts in the woods and at finding his way people who came here used to take him as guide and always did he bring them back without mishap and now he himself is lost we are but little children some there be who think themselves pretty strong they get on without God's help in their houses and on their lands but in the bush with solemn voice and slowly moving head he repeated we are but little children a good man he was said he choped Gagnon in very truth a good man strong and brave with ill will to none indeed that is true I am not saying that the good God had caused to send him to his death him more than another he was a fine fellow hard working and I loved him well but it shows you no one ever had a thing against him you tropes generous insistence carried him on a man hard to match for work afraid of nothing and obliging with all everyone who knew him was fond of him you will not find his like raising his eyes to Maria repeated with emphasis he was a good man you will not find his like when we were at Mestassini began Madame Cheptolin seven years ago he was only a lad but very strong and quick and as tall as he is now I mean as he was when he came here last summer always good natured too no one could help liking him they all looked straight before them in speaking and yet what they said seemed to be for Maria alone as if the dear secret of her heart were open to them but she spoke not nor moved her eyes fixed upon the frosted panes of the little window impenetrable as the wall you tropes Gagnon did not linger the Cheptolens left to themselves were long without speech at last the father said in a halting voice Francois Paradis was almost alone in the world as we all had an affection for him we perhaps might have a mass or two said what do you think Laura yes indeed three high masses with music and when the boys returned from the woods in health if such be the will of the good God three more for the repose of his soul poor lad and every Sunday we shall say a prayer for him he was like the rest of us Cheptolin continued not without fault of course he was very well living God and the Holy Virgin will have pity on him again silence Maria well knew it was for her they said these things aware of her grief and seeking to assuage it but she was not able to speak either to praise the dead or to utter her sorrow a hand had fastened upon her throat stifling her as the narrative unfolded in the end loomed inevitable this hand had found its way into her breast and was crushing her heart presently she would know a yet more intolerable pain but now she only felt the deadly grasp of those five fingers closed about her heart other words were said but they scarce reached her ear then came the familiar evening stir of preparation for the night the father's departure on a last visit to the stable and his swift return face red with the cold slamming the door hastily in a swirl of frosty vapor come Maria the mother called her very gently and laid a hand upon her shoulder she rose and went to kneel and pray with the others voice answered to voice for ten minutes murmuring the sacred words in low monotone the usual prayer at an end the mother whispered yet five patterns and five obvies for the souls of those who have suffered and the voices again rose this time more subdued sometimes breaking to a sob when they were silent and all had risen after the last sign of the cross Maria went back to the window the frost upon the panes made of them so many fretted squares through which the eye could not penetrate shutting away the outside world but Maria saw them not for the tears welled to her eyes and blinded her she stood there motionless with arms hanging piteously by her side a stricken figure of grief and then a sudden anguish yet keener and more unbearable seized upon her blindly she opened the door and went out upon the step the world that lay beyond the threshold sunken, moveless, white repose was of an immense serenity but when Maria passed from the sheltering walls the cold smote her like the hungry blade of a sword and the forest leaped toward her in menace its inscrutable face concealing a hundred dreadful secrets which called aloud to her in lamentable voices with a little moan she drew back and closing the door sat shivering beside the stove numbness was yielding sorrow taking on an edge and the hand that clutched her heart set itself to devising new agonies each one subtler and more cruel than the last how he must have suffered far off there amid the snows so thought she as still her own face remembered the sting of the bitter air men threatened by this fate had told her that death coming in such a guise smote with gentle and painless hand a hand that merely lulled to sleep but she could not make herself believe it and all the sufferings that Francois might have endured before giving up falling to the white ground passed before her eyes no need for her to see the spot too well she knew the winter terrors of the great forest the snow heaped to the fur's lower branches alders almost buried beneath it birches and aspen's naked as skeletons and shuddering in the icy wind a sunless sky above the masked and gloomy spires of green she seized Francois making his way through the close set trees limbs stiffened with the cold his skin raw with that pitiless norwester, gnawed by hunger stumbling with fatigue his feet so weary that with no longer strength to lift them his snowshoes often catch the snow and throw him to his knees doubtless when the storm abated he saw his error knew that he was walking toward the barren Northland turned at once and took the right course he's so experienced the woods his home from boyhood but his food is nearly gone the cold tortures him with lowered head and clenched teeth he fights the implacable winter calling to aid his every reserve of strength and high courage he thinks of the road he must follow the miles to be overcome measures his chances of life and fitful memories arise of a house so warm and snug for all will greet him gladly and of Maria, who knowing what he has dared for her sake will at length raise to him her truthful eyes shining with love perhaps he fell for the last time when sucker was near a few yards only from house or shanty often so it happens cold and his ministers of death flung themselves upon him as their prey they have stilled the strong limbs forever covered his open handsome face with snow closed the fearless eyes without gentleness or pity changed his living body into a thing of ice Maria has no more tears that she may shed but she shivers and trembles as he must have trembled and shivered before he sank into merciful unconsciousness horror and pity in her face Maria draws nearer the stove as though she might thus bring him warmth and shield his dear life against the assassin oh Christ Jesus who did stretch forth Thine arm to those in need why did Thou not disperse the snows with those pale hands of Thine Holy Virgin why did Thou not sustain him by Thy power when for the last time his feet were stumbling and all the legions of heaven why was there found no angel to show him the way but it is her grief that utters these reproaches and the steadfast heart of Maria is fearful of having sinned and yearling to it another dread is soon to assail her perhaps Francois Paradis was not able quite faithfully to keep the promises he made to her in the shanty among the rough and careless men may he not have had moments of weakness blasphemed or taken the names of the saints in vain and thus have gone to his death with sin upon his conscience under the weight of divine wrath her parents had promised but a little ago that masses should be said how good they were having guessed her secret how kindly had they been silent but she herself might help with prayers the poor soul and torment her beads still lay upon the table she takes them in her hands and forthwith the words of the Ave mount to her lips Hail Mary full of grace did you doubt of her, O mother of the Galilean since that only eight days before she strove to reach your ear with her thousand prayers and you but clothed yourself in divine impassivity while fate accomplished its purpose think you that she questions your goodness or your power it would indeed have been to misjudge her as once she sought your aid for a man so now she asks your pardon for a soul in the same words with the same humility and boundless faith blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus but still she cowers by the great stove and though the fire's heat strikes through her she ceases not to shudder as she thinks of the frozen world about her of parody who cannot be insentient who must be so bitter cold in his bed of snow End of Chapter 10 Chapter 11 of Maria Chaplain This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Linny Maria Chaplain by Louis Hemmann translated by W. H. Blake Chapter 11 The Interpreter of God One evening in February Samuel Chaplain said to his daughter the roads are passable if you wish it Maria we shall go to Lapeep on Sunday for the Mass Very well Father but she replied in a voice so dejected almost indifferent that her parents exchanged glances behind her back Country folk do not die for love nor spend the rest of their days nursing a wound they are too near to nature and know too well the stern laws that rule their lives thus it is perhaps that they are sparing of high sounding words choosing to say liking rather than loving and we rather than grief that so the joys and sorrows of the heart may bear a fit proportion to those more anxious concerns of life which have to do with their daily toil the yield of their lands provision for the future Maria did not for a moment dream that life for her was over or that the world must hence forward be a sad wilderness because François Paradis would not return in the spring nor ever again but her heart was aching and while sorrow possessed it the future held no promise for her when Sunday arrived father and daughter early began to make ready for the two hours journey which would bring them to Saint-Anthony de Taillon and the church before half past seven Charles Eugene was harnessed still wearing a heavy winter cloak had carefully deposited in her purse the list of her mother's commissions a few minutes later the sleigh bells were tinkling and the rest of the family grouped themselves at the little square window to watch the departure for the first hour the horse could not go beyond a walk sinking knee deep in snow for only the chaplains used this road laid out and cleared by themselves and not enough travel to become smooth and hard but when they reached the beaten highway Charles Eugene trotted along briskly they passed through Homme Fleur a hamlet of eight scattered houses and then re-entered the woods after a time they came upon clearings then houses appeared dotted along the road little by little the dusky ranks of the forest retreated and soon they were in the village with other sleighs before and following them all going toward the church since the beginning of the year Maria had gone three times to hear Mass at St. Henri de Taillon which the people of the country persist in calling La Pipe as in the gallant days of the first settlers for her, besides being an exercise of piety this was almost the only distraction possible and her father sought to furnish it whenever he could do so believing that the impressive rights of the church and a meeting with acquaintances in the village would help to banish her grief on this occasion when the Mass was ended instead of paying visits they went to the Curie's house it was already throng with members of the congregation from remote farms for the Canadian priest not only has the consciences of his flock in charge but is their counselor in all affairs and the composer of their disputes the solitary individual of different station to whom they can resort for the solving of their difficulties the Curie of St. Henri sent none away empty who asked his advice some he dealt with in a few swift words amidst a general conversation where he bore his cheerful part others at greater length in the privacy of an adjoining room when the turn of the chaplain's cane he looked at his watch we shall have dinner first I say you my good friends you must have found an appetite on the road as for myself singing Mass makes me hungry beyond anything you could believe he laughed heartily more tickled than anyone at his own joke and led his guests into the dining room another priest was there from a neighboring parish and two or three farmers the meal was one long discussion about husbandry with a few amusing stories and bits of harmless gossip thrown in now and then one of the farmers suddenly remembering where he was would labor some pious remark which the priests acknowledged with a nod where nebson minded yes, yes the dinner over at last some of the guests departed after lighting their pipes the cure catching a glance from chaplain seemed to recall something arising he motioned to Maria and went before her into the next room the visitors and as his office a small harmonium stood against the wall on the other side was a table with agricultural journals a civil code and a few books bound in black leather on the walls hung a portrait of Pius X an engraving of the holy family the collared broadside of a Quebec merchant with slays and threshing sheen side by side and a number of official notices as to precautions against forest fires and epidemics amongst cattle turning to Maria the cure said kindly enough so it appears that you are distressing yourself beyond what is reasonable and right she looked at him humbly not far from believing that the priests supernatural power had divine her trouble without need of telling he inclined his tall figure and bent towards her his thin peasant face for beneath the robe was still the tiller of the soil the gout and yellow visage the cautious eyes the huge bony shoulders even his hands hands wanted to dispense the favors of heaven were those of the husband men with swollen veins beneath the dark skin but Maria saw in him only the priest the cure of the parish appointed of God to interpret life to her and show her the path of duty be seated there pointing to a chair she sat down somewhat like a schoolgirl who is to have a scolding somewhat like a woman in a sorceress den who awaits and mangled hope and dread the working of his unearthly spells an hour later the slave was speeding over the hard snow Sheptalane drowsed and the reins were slipping from his open hands rousing himself and lifting his head he began in full voice fervor the hymn he was singing as they left the village then he fell silent his chin dropping slowly toward his breast and the only sound upon the road was the tingle of the sleigh bells Maria was thinking of the priest's words if there was affection between you it is very proper that you should now regret but you were not pledged to one another because neither you nor he had spoken to your parents therefore it is not befitting or right that you should sorrow thus nor feel so deep a grieve for a young man who after all is sad was nothing to you and again that masses should be sung that you should pray for him such things are useful and good you could do no better three high masses with music when the boys return from the woods as your father has asked me most assuredly these will help him and also you may be certain they will delight him more than your lamentations since they will shorten by so much his time of expiation but to grieve like this and to go about casting gloom over the household is not well nor is it pleasing in the sight of God he did not appear in the guise of a comforter of one who gives counsel in the secret affairs of the heart but rather as a man of the law or a chemist who enunciates his bold formulas invariable and unfailing the duty of a girl like you good looking healthy active with all and a clever housewife is in the first place to help her old parents and in good time to marry and bring up a Christian family of her own you have no call to the religious life no then you must give up torturing yourself in this fashion because it is a sacrilegious thing and unseemly seeing that the young man was nothing whatever to you the good God knows what is best for us we should neither rebel nor complain in all this but one phrase left Maria a little doubting it was the priest's assurance that François Paradis in the place where now he was he had no access to repose his soul and never at all for the deep and tender regrets lingering behind him this she could not constrain herself to believe unable to think of him otherwise in death than in life she felt it must bring him something of happiness and consolation that her sorrow was keeping alive their ineffectual love for a little space beyond death yet since the priest had said it the road wound its way among the trees rising somberly from the snow here and there a squirrel alarmed by the swiftly passing sleigh and the tinkling bells sprang upon a trunk and scrambled upward clinging to the bark from the gray sky a biting cold was falling and the wind stung the cheek for this was February with two long months of winter yet to come as Charles Eugene trotted along the beaten road bearing the travelers to their lonely house Maria in obedience to the words of the cure at Saint Henry strove to drive away gloom and put mourning from her as simple-mindedly as she would have fought the temptation of a dance of a doubtful amusement or anything that was plainly wrong and hence forbidden they reached home as night was falling the coming of evening was only a slow fading of the light for since morning the heavens had been overcast the sun obscured a sadness rested upon the pallid earth the furs and cypresses did not wear the aspect of living trees and the naked birches seemed to doubt of the springtime Maria shivered as she left the sleigh and hardly noticed Jean barking and gambling a welcome or the children who called to her from the doorstep the world seemed strangely empty for this evening at least love was snatched away and they forbade remembrance she went swiftly into the house without looking about her conscious of a new dread and hatred for the bleak wind the forest's eternal shade the snow and the cold for all those things she had lived her life amongst which now had wounded her End of Chapter 11 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 of Maria Shepterlane This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Lény Maria Shepterlane by Louis Emond translated by W. H. Blake Chapter 12 Love-Bearing Gifts March came and one day Titbe brought the news from Hon Fleur that there would be a large gathering in the evening at Ephraim Surprinence to which everyone was invited but someone must stay to look after the house and as Madame Shepterlane had set her heart on this little diversion after being cooped up for all these months it was Titbe himself who was left at home Hon Fleur, the nearest village to their house was eight miles away but what were eight miles over the snow and through the woods compared with the delight of hearing songs and stories and of talk with people from afar a numerous company was assembled under the Surprinence roof several of the villagers the three Frenchmen who had bought his nephew Lorenzo's farm and also to the Shepterlane's great surprise Lorenzo himself from the States upon business that related to the sale and the settling of his father's affairs he greeted Maria very warmly and seated himself beside her the men lit their pipes they chatted about the weather the condition of the roads the country news but the conversation lagged as though all were looking for it to take some unusual turn their glances sought Lorenzo and the three Frenchmen expecting strange and marvelous tales of distant lands and unfamiliar manners from an assembly so far out of the common the Frenchmen only a few months in the country apparently felt alike curiosity for they listened and spoke with little Samuel Shepterlane who was meeting them for the first time deemed himself called upon to put them through a catechism in the ingenious Canadian fashion so you have come here to till the land how'd you like Canada? it is a beautiful country new and so vast in the summertime there are many flies and the winters are trying but I suppose that one gets used to these things in time the father it was who made reply had sons only nodding their heads in ascend with eyes glued to the floor their appearance alone would have served to distinguish them from other dwellers in the village but as they spoke the gap widened and the words that fell from their lips had a foreign ring there was none of the slowness of the Canadian speech nor of that indefinable accent found in no corner of France which is only a peasant blend of the different pronunciations of former immigrants they used words in turns of phrase one never hears in Quebec in which to these simple men seemed fastidious and wonderfully refined before coming to these parts were you farmers in your own country? no what trade then did you follow? the Frenchman hesitated a moment before replying possibly thinking that what he was about to say would be novel and hard for them to understand I was a tuner myself a piano tuner my two sons here were clerks Edmond in an office Pierre in a shop clerks that was plain enough for anyone but their minds were a little hazy as to the father's business however Ephraim's superintendent chimed in with piano tuner that was it just so and his glance at Conran-Éron his neighbor was a trifle superior and challenging as though intimating you would not believe me and maybe you don't know what it means but now you see piano tuner Samuel Chaplain echoed in turn slowly grasping the meaning of the words and is that a good trade? do you earn handsome wages? not too handsome, eh? at any rate you are well educated you and your sons you can read and write and cipher? and here am I not able even to read nor I striking Ephraim's superintendent Conran-Éron and Ejid Hasicot added nor I nor I in chorus were upon the whole of them broke out laughing a motion of the Frenchman's hand told them indulgently that they could very well dispense with these accomplishments to himself of little enough use at the moment you were not able to make a decent living out of your trades over there that is so, is it not? and therefore you came here? the question was put simply without thought of offence for he was amazed that anyone should abandon callings that seemed so easy and so pleasant for this arduous life on the land why indeed had they come? a few months earlier they would have discovered a thousand reasons and clothed them in words straight from the hard weariness of the footway and the pavement of the town's sullied air revolt against the prospect of lifelong slavery some chance stirring word of an irresponsible speaker preaching the gospel of vigor and enterprise of a free and healthy life upon a fruitful soil but a few months ago they could have found glowing sentences to tell it all now their best was a sorry effort to evade the question as they groped for any of the illusions that remained to them people are not always happy in the cities said the father everything is dear and one is confined in their narrow Parisian lodging it had seemed so wonderful a thing to them the notion that in Canada they would spend their days out of doors breathing the taintless air of a new country closed beside the mighty forest the black flies they had not foreseen nor comprehended the depth of the winter's code the countless ill turns of a land that has no pity were undivined did you picture it to yourselves as you have found it? Chapter Lane persisted the country here, the life? not exactly replied the Frenchman in a low voice no, not exactly and a shadow crossed his face which brought from effin-surprident it is rough here, rough and hard their heads ascended and their eyes fell three narrow-shouldered men their faces with the pallor of the towns till upon them after six months on the land three men whom a fancy had torn from counter office, piano stool from the only lives for which they were bred for it is not the peasant alone who suffers by uprooting from his native soil they were seeing their mistake and knew they were too unlike ingrained to copy those about them lacking the strength, the rude health the toughened fiber the training for every task which fits the Canadian to be farmer woodsman or carpenter according to season and need the father was dreamily shaking his head lost in thought one of the sons, elbows on knees gazed wonderingly at the palms of his delicate hands calloused by the rough work of the fields all three seemed to be turning over and over in their minds the melancholy balance sheet of a failure those about them were thinking Lorenzo sold his place for more than it was worth they have but little money left and are in hard case men like these are not built for the living on the land Madame Shop de Laine partly in pity and partly for the honor of farming let fall a few encouraging words it is something of a struggle at the beginning if you are not used to it but when your land is in better order you will see that life becomes easier it is a queer thing said Conrad Naron how every man finds it equally hard to rest content here are three who left their homes and came this long way to settle and farm and here am I always saying to myself that nothing would be so pleasant as to sit quietly in an office all the day a pen behind my ear sheltered from cold wind and hot sun everyone to his own notion declared Lorenzo's supernon with unbiased mind and your notion is not to stick in on flares sweating over the stumps added rascicot with a loud laugh you are quite right there and I make no bones about it that sort of thing would never have suited me these men here brought my land a good farm and no one can't gain say it they wanted to buy a farm and I sold them mine but as for myself I am well enough where I am and have no wish to return a dumb shop the lane shook her head there is no better life than the life of a farmer who has good health and owes no debts he is a free man has no boss, owns his beasts works for his own profit the finest life there is I hear them all say that Lorenzo retorted one is free his own master and you seem to pity those who work in factories because they have a boss and must do as they are told free on the land come now he spoke defiantly with more and more animation there is no man in the world less free than a farmer when you tell of those who have succeeded who are well provided with everything needful on a farm who have had better luck than others you say ah what a fine life they lead they are comfortably off own good cattle that is not how to put it the truth is that their cattle own them in all the world there is no boss who behaves as stupidly as the beasts you favor pretty nearly every day they give you trouble or do you some mischief now it is a skittish horse that runs away or lashes out with his heels then it is a cow however good tempered that won't keep still to be milked your toes when the flies annoy her and even if by good fortune they don't harm you they are forever finding a way to destroy your comfort and vex you I know how it is I was brought up on a farm and you most of you farmers know how it is too all the morning you have worked hard and go to your house for dinner and a little rest then before you are well seated at table a child is yelling the cows are over the fence the sheep are in the crop and everyone jumps up and runs thinking of the oats or the barley it has been such a trouble to raise that these miserable foals are ruining the men dash about brandishing sticks till they are out of breath the women stand screaming in the farmyard and when you have managed to drive the cows or the sheep into their paddock and put up the rails you get back to the house nicely rested to find the piece of code and full of flies you are parked under the table gnawed by dogs and cats and you eat what you can lay your hands on watching for the next trick the wretched animals are getting ready to play on you you are their slaves that's what you are you tend them, you clean them you gather up their dung as the poor do the rich men's scrumps it is you who must keep them alive by hard work because the earth is miserly and the summer is so short that's the way of it without them but for cattle there would be no living on the land but even if you could even if you could still would you have other masters the summer beginning too late and ending too soon the winter eating up seven long months of the year and bringing in nothing drought and rain which always come just at the wrong moment in the towns these things do not matter but here you have no defense against them they do you hurt and I have not taken into account the extreme cold the badness of the roads the loneliness of being far away from everything with no amusements life it was one kind of hardship on top of another from beginning to end it is often said that only those make a real success who are born and brought up on the land and of course that is true as for the people in the cities small danger that they would ever be foolish enough to put up with such a way of living he spoke with heat and volubly a man of the town who talks every day with his equals reads the papers hears public speakers the listeners of a race easily moved by words were carried away by his planes and criticisms the very real harshness of their lives was presented in such a new and startling light as to surprise even themselves however madame chaplain again shook her head do not say such things as that there is no happier life in the world than the life of a farmer who owns good land not in these parts madame chaplain you are too far north the summer is too short the grain is hardly up before the frosts come each time that I return from the states and see the tiny wooden houses lost in this wilderness so far from one another that they seem frightened at being alone and the woods hemming you in on every side by heaven I lose heart for you I will live here no longer and I ask myself how it comes about that all you folk did not long ago seek a kinder climate where you would find everything that makes for comfort where you could go out for a walk in the wintertime without being in fear of death without being in fear of death where we are shuttered as the thoughts swiftly awoke of those dark secrets hidden beneath the everlasting green and white of the forest Lorenzo Serprenant was right in what he had been saying it was a pitiless, un-gentle land the manna lurking just outside the door the cold the shrouding snows the blank solitude forced a sudden entrance and crowded about the stove an evil swarm sneering presages of ill were hovering in a yet more dreadful silence do you remember my sister the man brave and well-beloved whom we have stained and hidden in the woods their souls have known how to escape us but their bodies their bodies none shall ever snatch them from our hands the voice of the wind at the corners of the house was loud with hollow laughter and to Maria it seemed that all gathered within the wooden walls huddled and spoke low like men whose lives are under a threat and who go in dread a burden of sadness was upon the rest of the evening at least for her Hasiko told stories of the chase of trapped bears struggling and growling so fiercely at the sight of the trapper that he loses courage and falls a trembling then giving up suddenly when the hunters come in force and the deadly guns are aimed giving up covering their head with their paws and whimpering with groans and outcries almost human very heart-rending and pitiful after these tales came others of ghosts and apparitions of blood-curdling visitations or solemn warnings to men who had blasphemed or spoken ill of the priests then as no one could be persuaded to sing they played at cards and the conversation dropped to more commonplace themes the only memory that Maria carried away of the later talk as the slave bore them homework through the midnight woods was of Lorenzo Serpene extolling the United States and the magnificence of its great cities the easy and pleasant life the never-ending spectacle of the fine straight streets flooded with light at evening before she departed Lorenzo sat in quiet tones almost in her ear tomorrow is Sunday I shall be over to see you in the afternoon a few short hours of night a morning of sunlight on the snow and again he's by her side renewing his tale of wonders his interrupted plea for it was to her he had been speaking the evening before Maria knew it well the scorn he showed for a country life his praises of the town these were but a preface to the allurements he was about to offer in all their varied forms as one shows the pictures in a book turning page by page Maria he began you have not the faintest idea as yet the most wonderful things you ever saw were the shops in robberville a high mass evening entertaining me at the convent with acting city people would laugh to think of it you simply cannot imagine just to stroll through the big streets in the evening not on little plank walks like those in robberville but on fine broad, asphalt pavements as level as a table just that and no more what with the lights the electric cars coming and going continually the shops and the crowds you would find enough there to amaze you for weeks together and then all the amusements one has theaters, circuses illustrated papers and places everywhere that you can go into for a nickel, five cents and past two hours laughing and crying to think Maria, you do not even know what the moving pictures are he stopped for a little reviewing in his mind the marvels of the cinematograph whether he could hope to describe convincingly the fare it provided those thrilling stories of young girls deserted or astray which crowd the screen with twelve minutes of heart-rending misery and three of a man's and heavenly reward in surroundings of incredible luxury the frenzied galloping of cowboys in pursuit of Indian ravishers the tremendous fuzzillate the rescue at the last conceivable second by soldiers arriving in a whirlwind waving triumphantly the star-spangled banner after pausing in doubt he shook his head conscious that he had no words to paint such glories they walked on snowshoes side by side over the snow through the burnt lands that lie on the peri-bonka's high bank above the fall Lorenzo had used no while to secure Maria's company he simply invited her before them all and now he told of his love in the same straightforward practical way the first day I saw you Maria the very first day that is only the truth for a long time I had not been back in this country and I was thinking what a miserable place it was to live in that the man were a lot of simpletons who had never seen anything and the girls not nearly so quick and clever as they are in the states and then the moment I set eyes on you there was I saying to myself that I was the simpleton for neither at Lowell nor Boston had I ever met a girl like yourself when I returned I used to be thinking a dozen times a day that some wretched farmer would make love to you and carry you off and every time my heart sank it was on your account that I came back Maria came up here from near Boston three days journey the business I had all by letter it was you I wished to see to tell you what was in my heart to say and to hear the answer you would give me wherever the snow was clear for a few yards free of dead trees and stumps and he could lift his eyes without fear of stunning they were fixed upon Maria between the wooden cab and the long wooden jersey curving to her vigorous form he saw the outline of her face downward turned only gentleness and patience every glance gave fresh reason for his love but brought him no hint of a response this this is no place for you Maria the country is too rough the work too hard barely earning one's bread is killing toil in a factory over there clever and strong as you are soon you would be in the way of making nearly as much as I do that if you were my wife I earn enough for both of us and we should have every comfort good clothes to wear a pretty flat in a brick house with gas and hot water and all sort of contrivances you never heard of to save you labor and worry every moment of the day and don't let the idea enter your head that all the people are English I know many Canadian families who work as I do or even keep shops and there is a splendid church with a Canadian priestess cure Mr. Tremblay from Saint-Yacinth he would never be lonesome pausing again he surveyed the white plain with its rag crop of brown stumps the bleak plateau dropping a little further in a long slope to the levels of the frozen river meanwhile ransacking his mind for some final persuasive word I hardly know what to say you have always lived here and it is not possible for you to guess what life is elsewhere nor would I be able to make you understand were I to talk forever but I love you Maria I earn a good wage and I never touch a drop if you will marry me as I ask I will take you off to a country that will open your eyes with astonishment a fine country not a bit like this where we can live in a decent way and be happy for the rest of our days Maria still was silent and yet the sentences of Lorenzo Serpina beat upon her heart as succeeding waves roll against the shore it was not his avows of love honest and sincere though they were but the lures he used which tempted her only of cheap pleasures had he spoken of trivial things ministering to comfort or vanity but of these alone was she able to conjure up a definite idea all else the distant glamour of the city of a life new and incomprehensible to her full in the centre of the bustling world and no longer at its very confinus enticed her but the more in its shimmering remoteness with the mystery of a great light that shines from afar whatsoever there may be of wonder and exhilaration in the sight and touch of the crowd the rich harvests of mind and sense for which the city dweller has bartered his rough heritage of pride in the soil Maria was dimly conscious of as part of this other life in a new world this glorious rebirth for which she was already yearning but above all else the desire was strong upon her now to flee away to escape the wind from the cast was driving before it the wind calling its snow laden clouds threateningly they swept over white ground and sullen wood and the earth seemed awaiting another fold of its winding sheet cypress, spruce and fur closed side by side and motionless were passive in their attitude of uncomplaining endurance the stumps above the snow were like floating wreckage on a dreary sea there was not that spoke of a spring to come of warmth and growth rather did it seem a shard of some disinherited planet under the eternal rule of deadly cold all of her life had Maria known this cold this snow the land's deathlike sleep these austere and frowning woods now was she coming to view them with fear and hate why surely must it be this country to the south where march is no longer winter and in april the leaves are green at midwinter one takes to the road without snowshoes uncladding furs beyond sight of the cruel forest and the cities the pavements questions frame themselves upon her lips she would know if lofty houses and shops stood unbrokenly as she had been told if the electric cars ran all the year round if the living was very dear and the answers to her questions would have satisfied but a little of this eager curiosity would scarcely have disturbed the enchanting vagueness of her illusion she was silent however dreading to speak any word that might seem like the foreshadowing of a promise the friends of gaze at her long as they walked together across the snow he was able to guess nothing of what was passing in her heart you will not have me maria you have no liking for me or is it perhaps that you cannot make up your mind as still she gave no reply he clung to this idea fearing that she might hastily refuse him no need whatever that he should say yes at once it will be very long but think of what I have said to you I will come back maria it is a long journey and costly but I will come and if only you give thought to it you will see there is no young fellow here who could give you such a future as I can because if you marry me you shall live like human beings and not have to kill ourselves standing cattle and grubbing in the earth in this out of the way corner of the world they returned to the house Lorenzo gossiped a little about his journey to the states where the springtime would have arrived before him of the plentiful and well paid work to which his good clothes and prosperous air bore witness then he bade a madieu and maria whose eyes had carefully been avoiding his seated herself by the window and watched the night and the snow falling together in the deep unrest of her spirit end of chapter 12