CHAPTER XX. BELMONT.
A short drive from the gate of St. John stood the old mansion ofBelmont, the country-seat of the Bourgeois Philibert--a stately park,the remains of the primeval forest of oak, maple, and pine; trees ofgigantic growth and ample shade surrounded the high-roofed, many-gabledhouse that stood on the heights of St. Foye overlooking the broad valleyof the St. Charles. The bright river wound like a silver serpent throughthe flat meadows in the bottom of the valley, while the opposite slopesof alternate field and forest stretched away to the distant range of theLaurentian hills, whose pale blue summits mingled with the blue sky atmidday or, wrapped in mist at morn and eve, were hardly distinguishablefrom the clouds behind them.
The gardens and lawns of Belmont were stirring with gay company to-dayin honor of the fete of Pierre Philibert upon his return home from thecampaign in Acadia. Troops of ladies in costumes and toilettes of thelatest Parisian fashion gladdened the eye with pictures of grace andbeauty which Paris itself could not have surpassed. Gentlemen in fulldress, in an age when dress was an essential part of a gentleman'sdistinction, accompanied the ladies with the gallantry, vivacity, andpoliteness belonging to France, and to France alone.
Communication with the mother country was precarious and uncertain byreason of the war and the blockade of the Gulf by the English cruisers.Hence the good fortune and daring of the gallant Captain Martiniere inrunning his frigate, the Fleur-de-Lis, through the fleet of the enemy,enabling him among other things to replenish the wardrobes of the ladiesof Quebec with latest Parisian fashions, made him immensely popularon this gala day. The kindness and affability of the ladies extendedwithout diminution of graciousness to the little midshipmen even, whomthe Captain conditioned to take with him wherever he and his officerswere invited. Captain Martiniere was happy to see the lads enjoy afew cakes on shore after the hard biscuit they had so long nibbled onshipboard. As for himself, there was no end to the gracious smiles andthanks he received from the fair ladies at Belmont.
At the great door of the Manor House, welcoming his guests as theyarrived, stood the Bourgeois Philibert, dressed as a gentleman of theperiod, in attire rich but not ostentatious. His suit of dark velvetharmonized well with his noble manner and bearing. But no one for amoment could overlook the man in contemplating his dress. The keen,discriminating eye of woman, overlooking neither dress nor man, foundboth worthy of warmest commendation, and many remarks passed betweenthe ladies on that day that a handsomer man and more ripe and perfectgentleman than the Bourgeois Philibert had never been seen in NewFrance.
His grizzled hair grew thickly all over his head, the sign of atenacious constitution. It was powdered and tied behind with a broadribbon, for he hated perukes. His strong, shapely figure was handsomelyconspicuous as he stood, chapeau in hand, greeting his guests as theyapproached. His eyes beamed with pleasure and hospitality, and hisusually grave, thoughtful lips were wreathed in smiles, the sweeterbecause not habitually seen upon them.
The Bourgeois had this in common with all complete and earnestcharacters, that the people believed in him because they saw that hebelieved in himself. His friends loved and trusted him to the uttermost,his enemies hated and feared him in equal measure; but no one, great orsmall, could ignore him and not feel his presence as a solid piece ofmanhood.
It is not intellect, nor activity, nor wealth, that obtains most powerover men; but force of character, self-control, a quiet, compressed willand patient resolve; these qualities make one man the natural ruler overothers by a title they never dispute.
The party of the Honnetes Gens, the "honest folks" as they werederisively called by their opponents, regarded the Bourgeois Philibertas their natural leader. His force of character made men willingly standin his shadow. His clear intellect, never at fault, had extended hispower and influence by means of his vast mercantile operations overhalf the continent. His position as the foremost merchant of New Francebrought him in the front of the people's battle with the Grand Company,and in opposition to the financial policy of the Intendant and themercantile assumption of the Friponne.
But the personal hostility between the Intendant and the Bourgeois hadits root and origin in France, before either of them crossed the oceanto the hither shore of the Atlantic. The Bourgeois had been made verysensible of a fact vitally affecting him, that the decrees of theIntendant, ostensibly for the regulation of trade in New France, hadbeen sharply pointed against himself. "They draw blood!" Bigot hadboasted to his familiars as he rubbed his hands together withintense satisfaction one day, when he learned that Philibert's largetrading-post in Mackinaw had been closed in consequence of the Indianshaving been commanded by royal authority, exercised by the Intendant,to trade only at the comptoirs of the Grand Company. "They draw blood!"repeated he, "and will draw the life yet out of the Golden Dog." It wasplain the ancient grudge of the courtly parasite had not lost a toothduring all those years.
The Bourgeois was not a man to talk of his private griefs, or seeksympathy, or even ask counsel or help. He knew the world was engrossedwith its own cares. The world cares not to look under the surface ofthings for sake of others, but only for its own sake, its own interests,its own pleasures.
To-day, however, cares, griefs, and resentments were cast aside, andthe Bourgeois was all joy at the return of his only son, and proud ofPierre's achievements, and still more of the honors spontaneously paidhim. He stood at the door, welcoming arrival after arrival, the happiestman of all the joyous company who honored Belmont that day.
A carriage with outriders brought the Count de la Galissoniere andhis friend Herr Kalm and Dr. Gauthier, the last a rich old bachelor,handsome and generous, the physician and savant par excellence ofQuebec. After a most cordial reception by the Bourgeois the Governorwalked among the guests, who had crowded up to greet him with therespect due to the King's representative, as well as to show theirpersonal regard; for the Count's popularity was unbounded in the Colonyexcept among the partizans of the Grand Company.
Herr Kalm was presently enticed away by a bevy of young ladies, Hortensede Beauharnais leading them, to get the learned professor's opinion onsome rare specimens of botany growing in the park. Nothing loath--for hewas good-natured as he was clever, and a great enthusiast withal in thestudy of plants--he allowed the merry, talkative girls to lead him wherethey would. He delighted them in turn by his agreeable, instructiveconversation, which was rendered still more piquant by the odd medley ofFrench, Latin, and Swedish in which it was expressed.
An influx of fresh arrivals next poured into the park--the Chevalier dela Corne, with his pretty daughter, Agathe La Corne St. Luc; the Ladyde Tilly and Amelie de Repentigny, with the brothers de Villiers. Thebrothers had overtaken the Chevalier La Corne upon the road, but thecustom of the highway in New France forbade any one passing anotherwithout politely asking permission to do so.
"Yes, Coulon," replied the Chevalier; "ride on!" He winked pleasantly athis daughter as he said this. "There is, I suppose, nothing left for anold fellow who dates from the sixteen hundreds but to take the side ofthe road and let you pass. I should have liked, however, to stir up thefire in my gallant little Norman ponies against your big New Englandhorses. Where did you get them? Can they run?"
"We got them in the sack of Saratoga," replied Coulon, "and they ranwell that day, but we overtook them. Would Mademoiselle La Corne care ifwe try them now?"
Scarcely a girl in Quebec would have declined the excitement of a raceon the highroad of St. Foye, and Agathe would fain have driven herselfin the race, but being in full dress to-day, she thought of her wardrobeand the company. She checked the ardor of her father, and entered thepark demurely, as one of the gravest of the guests.
"Happy youths! Noble lads, Agathe!" exclaimed the Chevalier, admiringly,as the brothers rode rapidly past them. "New France will be proud ofthem some day!"
The rest of the company now began to arrive in quick succession.The lawn was crowded with guests. "Ten thousand thanks for coming!"exclaimed Pierre Philibe
rt, as he assisted Amelie de Repentigny and theLady de Tilly to alight from their carriage.
"We could not choose but come to-day, Pierre," replied Amelie, feelingwithout displeasure the momentary lingering of his hand as it touchedhers. "Nothing short of an earthquake would have kept aunt at home,"added she, darting a merry glance of sympathy with her aunt's supposedfeelings.
"And you, Amelie?" Pierre looked into those dark eyes which shyly turnedaside from his gaze.
"I was an obedient niece, and accompanied her. It is so easy to persuadepeople to go where they wish to go!" She withdrew her hand gently, andtook his arm as he conducted the ladies into the house. She felt a flushon her cheek, but it did not prevent her saying in her frank, kindlyway,--"I was glad to come to-day, Pierre, to witness this gathering ofthe best and noblest in the land to honor your fete. Aunt de Tilly hasalways predicted greatness for you."
"And you, Amelie, doubted, knowing me a shade better than your aunt?"
"No, I believed her; so true a prophet as aunt surely deserved one firmbeliever!"
Pierre felt the electric thrill run through him which a man feels at themoment he discovers a woman believes in him. "Your presence here to-day,Amelie! you cannot think how sweet it is," said he.
Her hand trembled upon his arm. She thought nothing could be sweeterthan such words from Pierre Philibert. With a charming indirectness,however, which did not escape him, she replied, "Le Gardeur is veryproud of you to-day, Pierre."
He laid his fingers upon her hand. It was a delicate little hand, butwith the strength of an angel's it had moulded his destiny and led himto the honorable position he had attained. He was profoundly consciousat this moment of what he owed to this girl's silent influence. Hecontented himself, however, with saying, "I will so strive that one dayAmelie de Repentigny shall not shame to say she too is proud of me."
She did not reply for a moment. A tremor agitated her low, sweet voice."I am proud of you now, Pierre,--more proud than words can tell to seeyou so honored, and proudest to think you deserve it all."
It touched him almost to tears. "Thanks, Amelie; when you are proud ofme I shall begin to feel pride of myself. Your opinion is the one thingin life I have most cared for,--your approbation is my best reward."
Her eyes were eloquent with unspoken words, but she thought, "If thatwere all!" Pierre Philibert had long received the silent reward of hergood opinion and approbation.
The Bourgeois at this moment came up to salute Amelie and the Lady deTilly.
"The Bourgeois Philibert has the most perfect manner of any gentleman inNew France," was the remark of the Lady de Tilly to Amelie, as heleft them again to receive other guests. "They say he can be roughand imperious sometimes to those he dislikes, but to his friends andstrangers, and especially to ladies, no breath of spring can be moregentle and balmy." Amelie assented with a mental reservation in thedepths of her dark eyes, and in the dimple that flashed upon her cheekas she suppressed the utterance of a pleasant fancy in reply to heraunt.
Pierre conducted the ladies to the great drawing-room, which was alreadyfilled with company, who overwhelmed Amelie and her aunt with thevivacity of their greeting.
In a fine shady grove at a short distance from the house, a row oftables was set for the entertainment of several hundreds of the hardydependents of the Bourgeois; for while feasting the rich the Bourgeoiswould not forget his poorer friends, and perhaps his most exquisitesatisfaction was in the unrestrained enjoyment of his hospitality bythe crowd of happy, hungry fellows and their families, who, under thedirection of his chief factor, filled the tables from end to end, andmade the park resound with songs and merriment--fellows of infinitegaiety, with appetites of Gargantuas and a capacity for good liquorsthat reminded one of the tubs of the Danaides. The tables groanedbeneath mountains of good things, and in the centre of each, like MontBlanc rising from the lower Alps, stood a magnificent Easter pie, theconfection of which was a masterpiece of the skill of Maitre GuillotGobet, the head cook of the Bourgeois, who was rather put out, however,when Dame Rochelle decided to bestow all the Easter pies upon the hungryvoyageurs, woodmen, and workmen, and banished them from the menu of themore patrician tables set for the guests of the mansion.
"Yet, after all," exclaimed Maitre Guillot, as he thrust his head out ofthe kitchen door to listen to the song the gay fellows were singingwith all their lungs in honor of his Easter pie; "after all, the finegentlemen and ladies would not have paid my noble pies such honor asthat! and what is more the pies would not have been eaten up to the lastcrumb!" Maitre Guillot's face beamed like a harvest moon, as he chimedin with the well-known ditty in praise of the great pie of Rouen:
"'C'est dans la ville de Rouen, Ils ont fait un pate si grand, Ils ont fait un pate si grand, Qu'ils ont trouve un homme dedans!'"
Maitre Guillot would fain have been nearer, to share in the shouting andclapping of hands which followed the saying of grace by the good Cure ofSt. Foye, and to see how vigorously knives were handled, and how chinswagged in the delightful task of levelling down mountains of meat, whileGascon wine and Norman cider flowed from ever-replenished flagons.
The Bourgeois and his son, with many of his chief guests, honored fora time the merry feast out-of-doors, and were almost inundated by theflowing cups drunk to the health and happiness of the Bourgeois and ofPierre Philibert.
Maitre Guillot Gobet returned to his kitchen, where he stirred up hiscooks and scullions on all sides, to make up for the loss of his Easterpies on the grand tables in the hall. He capered among them like amarionette, directing here, scolding there, laughing, joking, or withuplifted hands and stamping feet despairing of his underlings' cooking adinner fit for the fete of Pierre Philibert.
Maitre Guilot was a little, fat, red-nosed fellow, with twinkling blackeyes, and a mouth irascible as that of a cake-baker of Lerna. His heartwas of the right paste, however, and full as a butter-boat of the sweetsauce of good nature, which he was ready to pour over the heads of allhis fellows who quietly submitted to his dictation. But woe to man ormaid servant who delayed or disputed his royal orders! An Indian typhooninstantly blew. At such a time even Dame Rochelle would gather herpetticoats round her and hurry out of the storm, which always subsidedquickly in proportion to the violence of its rage.
Maitre Guillot knew what he was about, however. He did not use, he said,to wipe his nose with a herring! and on that day he was going to cook adinner fit for the Pope after Lent, or even for the Reverend Father DeBerey himself, who was the truest gourmet and the best trencherman inNew France.
Maitre Guillot honored his master, but in his secret soul he did notthink his taste quite worthy of his cook! But he worshipped FatherDe Berey, and gloried in the infallible judgment and correct tasteof cookery possessed by the jolly Recollet. The single approbationof Father De Berey was worth more than the praise of a world full ofordinary eating mortals, who smacked their lips and said things weregood, but who knew no more than one of the Cent Suisses why things weregood, or could appreciate the talents of an artiste of the cordon bleu.
Maitre Guillot's Easter pie had been a splendid success. "It wasworthy," he said, "to be placed as a crown on top of the new Cathedralof St. Marie, and receive the consecration of the Bishop."
Lest the composition of it should be forgotten, Maitre Guillot had, withthe solemnity of a deacon intoning the Litany, ravished the ear of JulesPainchaud, his future son-in-law, as he taught him the secrets of itsconfection.
With his white cap set rakishly on one side of his head and arms akimbo,Maitre Guillot gave Jules the famous recipe:
"Inside of circular walls of pastry an inch thick, and so rich as easilyto be pulled down, and roomy enough within for the Court of KingPepin, lay first a thick stratum of mince-meat of two savory hams ofWestphalia, and if you cannot get them, of two hams of our habitans."
"Of our habitans!" ejaculated Jules, with an air of consternation.
"Precisely! don't interrupt me!" Maitre Guillot grew red about
the gillsin an instant. Jules was silenced. "I have said it!" cried he; "two hamsof our habitans! what have you to say against it--stock fish, eh?"
"Oh, nothing, sir," replied Jules, with humility, "only I thought--"Poor Jules would have consented to eat his thought rather than fall outwith the father of his Susette.
"You thought!" Maitre Guillot's face was a study for Hogarth, who alonecould have painted the alto tone of voice as it proceeded from his roundO of a mouth. "Susette shall remain upon my hands an old maid for theterm of her natural life if you dispute the confection of Easter pie!"
"Now listen, Jules," continued he, at once mollified by the contrite,submissive air of his future son-in-law: "Upon the foundation of themince-meat of two hams of Westphalia,--or, if you cannot get them, oftwo hams of our habitans,--place scientifically the nicely-cut piecesof a fat turkey, leaving his head to stick out of the upper crust, inevidence that Master Dindon lies buried there! Add two fat capons, twoplump partridges, two pigeons, and the back and thighs of a brace ofjuicy hares. Fill up the whole with beaten eggs, and the rich contentswill resemble, as a poet might say, 'fossils of the rock in golden yolksembedded and enjellied!' Season as you would a saint. Cover with a slabof pastry. Bake it as you would cook an angel, and not singe a feather.Then let it cool, and eat it! And then, Jules, as the Reverend Father deBerey always says after grace over an Easter pie, 'Dominus vobiscum!'"