Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of
the ocean,
Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary
public;
Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the
maize, hung
Over his shoulders; his forehead was high; and glasses
with horn bows
Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal.
Father of twenty children was he, and more than a
hundred
Children’s children rode on his knee, and heard
his great watch tick.
Four long years in the times of the war had he languished
a captive,
Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend
of the English.
Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion,
Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and
childlike.
He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children;
For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest,
And of the goblin that came in the night to water
the horses,
And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who
unchristened
Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers
of children;
And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable,
And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in
a nutshell,
And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover
and horseshoes,
With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village.
Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the
blacksmith,
Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending
his right hand,
“Father Leblanc,” he exclaimed, “thou
hast heard the talk in the village,
And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships
and their errand.”
Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary public,—
“Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am
never the wiser;
And what their errand may be I know not better than
others.
Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention
Brings them here, for we are at peace; and why then
molest us?”
“God’s name!” shouted the hasty
and somewhat irascible blacksmith;
“Must we in all things look for the how, and
the why, and the wherefore?
Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of
the strongest!”
But, without heeding his warmth, continued the notary
public,—
“Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally
justice
Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that often
consoled me,
When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at
Port Royal.”
This was the old man’s favorite tale, and he
loved to repeat it
When his neighbors complained that any injustice was
done them.
“Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer
remember,
Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice
Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in
its left hand,
And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice
presided
Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes
of the people.
Even the birds had built their nests in the scales
of the balance,
Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine
above them.
But in the course of time the laws of the land were
corrupted;
Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed,
and the mighty
Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a
nobleman’s palace
That a necklace of pearls was lost, and erelong a
suspicion
Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the household.
She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold,
Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of
Justice.
As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended,
Lo! o’er the city a tempest rose; and the bolts
of the thunder
Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from
its left hand
Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of
the balance,
And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a
magpie,
Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls
was inwoven.”
Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended,
the blacksmith
Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth
no language;
All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his
face, as the vapors
Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in
the winter.
Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table,
Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with
home-brewed
Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in
the village of Grand-Pre;
While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and
inkhorn,
Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the
parties,
Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and
in cattle.
Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were
completed,
And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on
the margin.
Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the
table
Three times the old man’s fee in solid pieces
of silver;
And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and
the bridegroom,
Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their
welfare.
Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and
departed,
While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside,
Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its
corner.
Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention
the old men
Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuver,
Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made
in the king-row
Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window’s
embrasure,
Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding
the moon rise
Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the meadows.
Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of
the angels.
Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell
from the belfry
Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and
straightway
Rose the guests and departed; and silence reigned
in the household.
Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the door-step
Lingered long in Evangeline’s heart, and filled
it with gladness.
Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed
on the hearth-stone,
And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the
farmer.
Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline
followed.
Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness,
Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of
the maiden.
Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door of
her chamber.
Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white,
and its clothes-press
Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully
folded
Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline
woven.
This was the precious dower she would bring to her
husband in marriage,
Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her
skill as a housewife.
Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and
radiant moonlight
Streamed through the windows, and lighted the room,
till the heart of the maiden
Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides
of the ocean.
Ah! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she
stood with
Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her
chamber!
Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of
the orchard,
Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her
lamp and her shadow.
Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling
of sadness
Passed o’er her soul, as the sailing shade of
clouds in the moonlight
Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for
a moment.
And, as she gazed from the window, she saw serenely
the moon pass
Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow
her footsteps,
As out of Abraham’s tent young Ishmael wandered
with Hagar!
