Go 'way, go 'way, don't ring no more, ole bell of Saint Michel,For if you do, I can't stay here, you know dat very well,No matter how I close ma ear, I can't shut out de soun',It rise so high 'bove all de noise of dis beeg Yankee town.
An' w'en it ring, I t'ink I feel de cool, cool summer breezeDat's blow across Lac Peezagonk, an' play among de trees,Dey're makin' hay, I know mese'f, can smell de pleasant smellO! how I wish I could be dere to-day on Saint Michel!
It's fonny t'ing, for me I'm sure, dat's travel ev'ryw'ere,How moche I t'ink of long ago w'en I be leevin' dere;I can't 'splain dat at all, at all, mebbe it's naturel,But I can't help it w'en I hear de bell of Saint Michel.
Dere's plaintee t'ing I don't forget, but I remember bes'De spot I fin' wan day on June de small san'piper's nes'An' dat hole on de reever w'ere I ketch de beeg, beeg troutWas very nearly pull me in before I pull heem out.
An' leetle Elodie Leclaire, I wonner if she stillLeev jus' sam' place she use to leev on 'noder side de hill,But s'pose she marry Joe Barbeau, dat's alway hangin' roun'Since I am lef' ole Saint Michel for work on Yankee town.
Ah! dere she go, ding dong, ding dong, its back, encore againAn' ole chanson come on ma head of "a la claire fontaine,"I'm not surprise it soun' so sweet, more sweeter I can tellFor wit' de song also I hear de bell of Saint Michel.
It's very strange about dat bell, go ding dong all de w'ileFor when I'm small garçon at school, can't hear it half a mile;But seems more farder I get off from Church of Saint Michel,De more I see de ole village an' louder soun' de bell.
O! all de monee dat I mak' w'en I be travel roun'Can't kip me long away from home on dis beeg Yankee town,I t'ink I'll settle down again on Parish Saint Michel,An' leev an' die more satisfy so long I hear dat bell.
Pelang! Pelang! Mon cher garçon,I t'ink of you—t'ink of you night and day—Don't mak' no difference, seems to meDe long long tam you're gone away.
* * * * *
De snow is deep on de Grande Montagne—Lak tonder de rapide roar below—De sam' kin' night, ma boy get los'On beeg, beeg storm forty year ago.
An' I never was hear de win' blow hard,An' de snow come sweesh on de window pane—But ev'ryt'ing 'pear lak' it's yesterdayAn' whole of ma troub' is come back again.
Ah me! I was foolish young girl denIt's only ma own plaisir I care,An' w'en some dance or soirée come offDat's very sure t'ing you will see me dere.
Don't got too moche sense at all dat tam,Run ev'ry place on de whole contree—But I change beeg lot w'en Pelang come 'longFor I love him so well, kin' o' steady me.
An' he was de bes' boy on Coteau,An' t'ink I am de bes' girl too for sure—He's tole me dat, geev de ring alsoWas say on de inside "Je t'aime toujours."
I geev heem some hair dat come off ma head,I mak' de nice stocking for warm hees feet,So ev'ryt'ing's feex, w'en de spring is comeFor mak' mariée on de church toute suite.
"W'en de spring is come!" Ah I don't see dat,Dough de year is pass as dey pass before,An' de season come, an' de season go,But our spring never was come no more.
* * * * *
It's on de fête of de jour de l'an,An' de worl' outside is cole an' w'ite,As I sit an' watch for mon cher PelangFor he's promise come see me dis very night.
Bonhomme Peloquin dat is leev near us—He's alway keep look heem upon de moon—See fonny t'ing dere only week before,An' say he's expec' some beeg storm soon.
So ma fader is mak' it de laugh on me'"Pelang he's believe heem de ole BonhommeDat t'ink he see ev'ryt'ing on de moonAn' mebbe he's feel it too scare for come."
But I don't spik not'ing I am so sureOf de promise Pelang is mak' wit' me—An' de mos' beeg storm dat is never blowCan't kip heem away from hees own Marie.
I open de door, an' pass outsideFor see mese'f how de night is lookAn' de star is commence for go couchéDe mountain also is put on hees tuque.
No sooner, I come on de house againW'ere ev'ryt'ing feel it so nice an' warm,Dan out of de sky come de Nor'Eas' win'—Out of de sky come de beeg snow storm.
Blow lak not'ing I never see,Blow lak le diable he was mak' grande tour;De snow come down lak wan avalanche,An' cole! Mon Dieu, it is cole for sure!
I t'ink, I t'ink of mon pauvre garçon,Dat's out mebbe on de Grande Montagne;So I place chandelle we're it's geev good light,An' pray Le Bon Dieu he will help Pelang.
De ole folk t'ink I am go crazee,An' moder she's geev me de good night kiss;She say "Go off on your bed, Marie,Dere's nobody come on de storm lak dis."
But ma eye don't close dat long long, nightFor it seem jus' lak phantome is near,An' I t'ink of de terrible Loup GarouAn' all de bad story I offen hear.
Dere was tam I am sure somet'ing call "Marie"So plainly I open de outside door,But it's meet me only de awful storm,An de cry pass away—don't come no more.
An' de morning sun, w'en he's up at las',Fin' me w'ite as de face of de snow itse'f,For I know very well, on de Grande Montagne,Ma poor Pelang he's come dead hese'f.
It's noon by de clock w'en de storm blow off,An' ma fader an' broder start out for seeAny track on de snow by de Mountain side,Or down on de place w'ere chemin should be.
No sign at all on de Grande Montagne,No sign all over de w'ite, w'ite snow;Only hear de win' on de beeg pine tree,An' roar of de rapide down below.
An' w'ere is he lie, mon cher Pelang!Pelang ma boy I was love so well?Only Le Bon Dieu up aboveAn' mebbe de leetle snow bird can tell.
An I t'ink I hear de leetle bird say,"Wait till de snow is geev up it's dead,Wait till I go, an' de robin come,An' den you will fin' hees cole, cole bed."
An' it's all come true, for w'en de sunIs warm de side of de Grande MontagneAn' drive away all de winter snow,We fin' heem at las', mon cher Pelang!
An' here on de fête of de jour de l'an,Alone by mese'f I sit again,W'ile de beeg, beeg storm is blow outside,An' de snow come sweesh on de window pane.
Not all alone, for I t'ink I hearDe voice of ma boy gone long ago;Can hear it above de hurricane,An' roar of de rapide down below.
Yes—yes—Pelang, mon cher garçon!I t'ink of you, t'ink of you night an' day,Don't mak' no difference seems to meHow long de tam you was gone away.
I'm poor man, me, but I buy las' MayWan horse on de Comp'nie Passengaire,An' auction feller w'at sole heem sayShe's out of de full-breed "Messengaire."
Good trotter stock, also galluppe,But work long tam on de city car,Of course she's purty well break heem up,So come leetle cheap—twenty-wan dollarre.
Firs' chance I sen' heem on St. Cesaire,W'ere I t'ink he's have moche better sight,Mebbe de grass an' de contree airVery soon was feex heem up all right.
I lef' heem dere till de fall come 'long,An' dat trotter he can't eat grass no more,An' w'en I go dere, I fin' heem strongLak not'ing I never see before.
I heetch heem up on de light sulkee,L'enfant! dat horse he is cover groun'!Don't tak' long tam for de crowd to seeMon choual he was leek all trotter roun'.
Come down de race course lak' oiseauTail over datch boar', nice you please,Can't tell for sure de quick he go,S'pose somew'ere 'bout two, t'ree forties.
I treat ma frien' on de whiskey blanc,An' we drink "Castor" he's bonne santéFrom L'Achigan to St. Armand,He's bes' horse sure on de whole comté.
* * * * *
'Bout week on front of dis, Lalime,Dat man drive horse call "Clevelan' Bay"Was challenge, so I match wit' heemFor wan mile heat on straight away.
Dat's twenty dollarre on wan side,De lawyer's draw de paper out,But if dem trotter come in tied,Wall! all dat monee's go on spout.
Nex' t'ing ma backer man, Labrie,Tak' off his catch-book vingt cinq cents,An' toss Lalime bes' two on t'reeFor see who's go on inside fence.
Bateese Lalime, he's purty smart,An' gain dat toss wit' jockey trick.I don't care me, w'en "Castor" start,Very soon I t'ink he's mak' heem sick.
Beeg crowd of course was dere for seeDem trotter on de grand match raceSome people come from St. RemiAn' some from plaintee 'noder place.
W'en all is ready, flag was fallAn' way dem trotter pass on fenceLak not'ing you never see at all,It mak' me t'ink of "St. Lawrence."[1]
"Castor," hees tail was stan' so straightCould place chapeau on de en' of topAn' w'en he struck two forty gaitDon't seem he's never go for stop.
Wall! dat's all right for firs' half mileW'en Clevelan' Bay commence for break,Dat mak' me feel very moche lak smile,I'm sure "Castor" he's took de cake.
But Lalime pull heem hard on lineAn' stop "Clevelan'" before go far,It's all no good, he can't ketch mineI'm go more quicker lak express car.
I'm feel all right for my monee,For sure mon Choual he's took firs' place,W'en 'bout arpent from home, sapré,Somet'ing she's happen, I'm los' de race.
Wan bad boy he's come out on track,I cannot see dat bad boy's han';He's hol' somet'ing behin' hees back,It was small bell, I understan'.
Can spik for dat, ma horse go well,An' never show no sign of sweat,Until dat boy he's ring hees bell—Misere! I t'ink I hear heem yet!
Wall! jus' so soon mon Choual "Castor"Was hear dat bell go kling! klang! kling!He's tink of course of city car,An' spose mus' be conductor ring.
Firs' t'ing I know ma trotter's dropDat tail was stan' so straight before,An' affer dat, mebbe he stopFor me, I don't know not'ing more.
But w'en I'm come alive againI fin' dat horse call "Clevelan' Bay"Was got firs' place, an' so he's gainDat wan mile heat on straight away.
An' now w'erever I am goBad boy he's sure for holler an' yellDis donc! Dis donc! Paul Archambault!W'at's matter wit' your chestnutte bell?
Mak' plaintee troub' dem bad garçons,An' offen ring some bell also,Was mad! Could plonge on de St. LaurentAn' w'at to do, "Castor" don't know.
Las' tam I pass de railway trackFor drive avec mon frere Alfred,In-jinne she's ring, "Castor" he's back,Monjee! it's fonny I'm not come dead!
Toujours comme ça! an' mak' me sick,But horse dat work long on les charsCan't broke dem off on fancy trickSo now I'm busy for sole "Castor."
[Footnote 1: "St. Lawrence," the Canadian "Dexter."]
I lak on summer ev'ning, w'en nice cool win' is blowin'An' up above ma head, I hear de pigeon on de roof,To bring ma chair an' sit dere, an' watch de current flowin'Of ole Riviere des Prairies as she pass de Bord-a Plouffe.
But it seem dead place for sure now, on shore down by de lan'in'—No more de voyageurs is sing lak dey was sing alway—De tree dey're commence growin' w'ere shaintee once is stan'in',An' no one scare de swallow w'en she fly across de bay.
I don't lak see de reever she's never doin' not'in'But passin' empty ev'ry day on Bout de l'ile below—Ma ole shaloup dat's lyin' wit' all its timber rottin'An' tam so change on Bord-a Plouffe since forty year ago!
De ice dat freeze on winter, might jus' as well be stay dere,For w'en de spring she's comin' de only t'ing I seeIs two, t'ree piqnique feller, hees girl was row away dere,Don't got no use for water now, on Riviere des Prairies.
'Twas diff'rent on dem summer you couldn't see de reever,Wit' saw-log an' squar' timber raf', mos' all de season t'roo—Two honder man an' more too—all busy lak de beaver,An' me! I'm wan de pilot for ronne 'em down de "Soo."
Don't 'member lak I use to, for now I'm gettin' ole, me—But still I can't forget Bill Wade, an' Guillaume Lagassé,Joe Monferrand, Bazile Montour—wit' plaintee I can't tole, me,An' king of all de Bord-a Plouffe, M'sieu' Venance Lemay.
Lak small boy on hees lesson, I learn de way to han'leMos' beeges' raf' is never float upon de Ottawaw,Ma fader show me dat too, for well he know de channel,From Dutchman Rapide up above to Bout de l'ile en bas.
He's smart man too, ma fader, only t'ing he got de bow-leg,Ridin' log w'en leetle feller, mebbe dat's de reason w'y,All de sam', if he's in hurry, den Bagosh! he's got heem no legBut wing an' fedder lak oiseau, was fly upon de sky!
O dat was tam we're happy, an' man dey're alway singin',For if it's hard work on de raf', w'y dere's your monee sure!An' ev'ry summer evenin', ole Bord-a Plouffe she's ringin'Wit' "En Roulant ma Boulé" an' "J'aimerai toujour."
Dere dey're comin' on de wagon! fine young feller ev'ry wan too,Dress im up de ole tam fashion, dat I lak for see encore,Yellin' hooraw! t'roo de village, all de horse upon de ronne too,Ah poor Bord-a Plouffe! she never have dem tam again no more!
Very offen w'en I'm sleepin', I was feel as if I'm goin'Down de ole Riviere des Prairies on de raf' de sam as den—An' ma dream is only lef' me, w'en de rooster commence crowin'But it can't do me no harm, 'cos it mak me young again.
An' upon de morning early, wen de reever fog is clearin'An' sun is makin' up hees min' for drive away de dew,W'en young bird want hees breakfas', I wak' an' t'ink I'm hearin'Somebody shout "Hooraw, Bateese, de raf' she's wait for you."
Dat's voice of Guillaume Lagassé was call me on de morningJus' outside on de winder w'ere you look across de bay,But he's drown upon de Longue "Soo," wit' never word of warningAn' green grass cover over poor Guillaume Lagassé.
I s'pose dat's meanin' somet'ing—mebbe I'm not long for stay here,Seein' all dem strange t'ing happen—dead frien' comin' roun' me so—But I'm sure I die more happy, if I got jus' wan more day here,Lak we have upon de ole tam Bord-a Plouffe of long ago!
To the hut of the peasant, or lordly hall,To the heart of the king, or humblest thrall,Sooner or late, love comes to all,And it came to the Grand Seigneur, my dear,It came to the Grand Seigneur.
The robins were singing a roundelay,And the air was sweet with the breath of May,As a horseman rode thro' the forest way,And he was a Grand Seigneur, my dear,He was a grand Seigneur.
Lord of the Manor, Count Bellefontaine,Had spurr'd over many a stormy plainWith gallants of France at his bridle rein,For he was a brave Cavalier, my dear—He was a brave Cavalier.
But the huntsman's daughter, La Belle Marie,Held the Knight's proud heart in captivity,And oh! she was fair as the fleur de lys,Tho' only a peasant maid, my dear,Only a peasant maid.
Thro' the woodland depths on his charger greyTo the huntsman's cottage he rides away,And the maiden lists to a tale to-dayThat haughtiest dame might hear, my dear,That haughtiest dame might hear.
But she cried "Alas! it may never be,For my heart is pledged to the young Louis,And I love him, O Sire, so tenderly,Tho' he's only a poor Chasseur, my Lord,Only a poor Chasseur."
"Enough," spake the Knight with a courtly bow,"Be true to thy lover and maiden vow,For virtue like thine is but rare, I trow,And farewell to my dream of love, and thee,Farewell to my dream of thee."
And they say the gallant Count BellefontaineBestowed on the couple a rich domain,But you never may hear such tale again,For he was a Grand Seigneur, my dear,He was a Grand Seigneur!
Wan morning de walkim boss say "Damase,I t'ink you're good man on canoe d'ecorce,So I'll ax you go wit' your frien' PhiléasAn' meet M'sieu' Smit' on Chenail W'ite Horse.
"He'll have I am sure de grosse baggage—Mebbe some valise—mebbe six or t'ree—But if she's too moche for de longue portage'Poleon he will tak' 'em wit' mail buggee."
W'en we reach Chenail, plaintee peep be dere,An' wan frien' of me, call Placide Chretien,'Splain all dat w'en he say man from AngleterreWas spik heem de crowd on de "Parisien."
Fonny way dat Englishman he'll be dress,Leetle pant my dear frien' jus' come on knee,Wit' coat dat's no coat at all—only ves'An' hat—de more stranger I never see!
Wall! dere he sit on de en' some logAn' swear heem in English purty loudDen talk Français, w'ile hees chien boule dogGo smellim an' smellim aroun' de crowd.
I spik im "Bonjour, M'sieu' Smit', Bonjour,I hope dat yourse'f and famille she's well?"M'sieu Smit' he is also say "Bonjour,"An' call off hees dog dat's commence for smell.
I tell heem my name dat's Damase LabrieI am come wit' Philéas for mak' de trip,An' he say I'm de firs' man he never seeSpik English encore since he lef' de ship.
He is also ax it to me "Damase,De peep she don't seem understan' Français,W'at's matter wit' dat?" An' I say "BecosYou mak' too much talk on de Parisien."
De groun she is pile wit' baggage—Sapré!An' I see purty quick we got plaintee troub—Two tronk, t'ree valise, four-five fusil,An' w'at M'sieu Smit' he is call "bat' tubbe."
M'sieu Smit' he's tole me w'at for's dat t'ing,An' it seem Englishman he don't feel correc'Until he's go plonge on some bat' morningAn' sponge it hees possibill high hees neck.
Of course dat's not'ing of my beez-nesse,He can plonge on de water mos' ev'ry day,But I t'ink for mese'f it mak foolishnessAn' don't do no good w'en your bonne santé.
W'en I tell 'Poleon he mus' mak' dat job,Dere's leetle too moche for canoe d'écorce,He's mad right away an' say "Sapré diable!You t'ink I go work lak wan niggerhorse?
"I'm not manufacture dat way, bâ non,Dat rich stranger man he have lot monee,I go see my frien' Onésime Gourdon,An' tole heem bring horse wit' some more buggee."
Wall! affer some w'ile dey'll arrange all dat,'Poleon an' hees frien' Onésime Gourdon,But w'en 'Poleon is tak' hole of bat',He receive it beeg scare immediatement!
Dat chien boule dog, I was tole you 'bout,I am not understan' w'at good she's for,Eat 'Poleon's leg w'it hees teet' an' mout,'Poleon he is feel very mad—by Gor!
Of course I am poule heem hees tail toute suiteBut I don't know some reason mak all dis troub',W'en I hear me dat Englishman, M'sieu Smit'Say 'Poleon, w'at for you took my tubbe?
"Leff 'im dere—for I don't low nobodeeWalk heem off on any such way lak dat;You may tak' all de res', an' I don't care me—But de man he'll be keel who is tak' my bat'."
"I will carry heem wit' me," say M'sieu Smit'—"W'erever dat tubbe she mus' go, I go—No matter de many place we visite,An' my sponge I will tak' mese'f also."
Philéas say "Damase, we mus buil' some raf'Or mebbe some feller be sure get drown";Dis geev me plaisir, but I'm scare mak' laf',So I'll do it mese'f, inside, way down.
At las' we are start on voyage, sure nuff,M'sieu Smit' carry tubbe on de top hees head,Good job, I t'ink so, de lac isn't rough,Or probably dis tam, we're all come dead.
De dog go wit' Onésime Gourdon,An' Onésime afferwar' say to me,"Dat chien boule dog is eat 'PoleonWas de more quiet dog I never see."
But fun she's commence on very nex' dayW'en we go camp out on de Castor Noir.Dat Englishman he'll come along an' say"I hope some wil' Injun she don't be dere.
"I have hear many tam, dat de wood be fouleOf Injun w'at tak' off de hair your head.But so surely my name she's Johnnie BouleIf I see me dem feller I shoot it dead."
Philéas den pray harder, more quick he canMebbe he's t'ink dat's hees las' portageDe moder hees fader, she's Injun manDerefore an' also, he is wan Sauvage.
I say "Don't mak' it some excitement;Saison she is 'close' on de spring an' fall,An' dem peep dat work on de GouvernementDon't lak you shoot Injun dis mont' at all."
Nex' day M'sieu Smit' is perform hees plongeWe see heem go done it—Philéas an' me,An' w'en he's hang up bat' tubbe an' spongeWe go on de wood for mak' Chasse perdrix.
An' mebbe you will not believe to me,But w'en we come back on de camp encoreDe sponge of dat Englishman don't be see,An' we fin' beeg bear she's go dead on shore.
Very fonny t'ing how he's loss hees life,But Philéas he'll know hese'f purty quick,He cut M'sieu Bear wit' hees hunter knife,An' sponge she's fall out on de bear stummick.
Day affer we get two fox houn' from BossDat's good for ketch deer on de fall an' spring,Den place Englishman w'ere he can't get los'An' tole heem shoot quicker he see somet'ing.
Wat's dat leetle deer got no horn at all?She'll be moder small wan en suite bimeby,Don't remember mese'f w'at name she's call,But dat's de kin' start w'en de dog is cry.
We see heem come down on de runawayDe dog she is not very far behin'An' w'en dey pass place M'sieu Smit' is stayWe expec' he will shoot or make noise some kin'!
But he's not shoot at all, mon cher ami,So we go an' we ax "Is he see some deer?"He say "Dat's long tam I am stay on treeBut I don't see not'ing she's pass on here."
We spik heem once more, "He don't see fox houn'?"W'at you t'ink he is say, dat Englishman?"Yes, I see dem pass quickly upon de groun',Wan beeg yellow dog, an' two small brown wan."
He's feel de more bad I don't see beforeW'en he know dat beeg dog, she's wan small deer,An' for mak' ev'ryt'ing correc' encoreWe drink I am sure six bouteilles de bière.
Nex' day—dat's Dimanche—he is spik to me,"Damase, you mus' feel leetle fatigué,You may slep' wit' Philéas w'ile I go an' seeI can't get some nice quiet tam to-day."
So for keep 'way skeeter, an' fly alsoBouteille from de shelf M'sieu Smit' he tak',Den he start wit' his chien boule dog an' goFor nice quiet walk on shore of lac.
We don't slep' half hour w'en dere's beeg, beeg yell,Lak somet'ing I'm sure don't hear long tam,An' we see wan feller we cannot tell,Till he spik it, "Damase! Philéas!! dam dam!!!"
Den we know it at once, mon cher ami,But she's swell up hees face—hees neck an' han'!It seem all de skeeter on w'ole contreeIs jump on de head of dat Englishman.
Some water on poor M'sieu Smit' we'll t'row,An' w'en he's tranquille fin' out ev'ryt'ing;Bouteille he's rub on, got some nice siropI was mak' mese'f on de wood las' spring.
Dere was jus' 'noder t'ing he seem for careAn' den he is feel it more satisfy,Dat t'ing, my dear frien', was for keel some bear,If he'll do dat wan tam, he's prepare for die.
Philéas say he know w'ere some blue berreeMak' very good place for de bear have fonne,So we start nex' day on morning earlee,An' M'sieu Smit' go wit' hees elephan' gun.
Wan woman sauvage she is come be dere,Mebbe want some blue berree mak' some pie,Dat' Englishman shoot, he is t'ink she's bear,An' de woman she's holler, "Mon Dieu, I'm die!"
M'sieu Smit' he don't do no harm, becosHe is shake hese'f w'en he shoot dat squaw,But scare he pay hunder' dollar cos'For keel some sauvage on de "close" saison.
T'ree day affer dat, we start out on lacFor ketch on de water wan Cariboo,But win' she blow strong, an' we can't get backTill we t'row ourse'f out on dat canoe.
We t'ink M'sieu Smit' he is sure be drown,Leetle w'ile we can't see heem again no more,An' den he's come up from de place go downAn' jomp on hees bat' tubbe an' try go shore.
W'en he's pass on de bat', he say "Hooraw!"An' commence right away for mak' some sing;I'm sure you can hear heem ten-twelve arpent'Bout "Brittanie, she alway mus' boss somet'ing."
Dat's all I will tole you jus' now, my frien';I s'pose you don't know de more fonny case,But if Englishman go on wood againI'll have more storee w'en you pass my place.
Was workin' away on de farm dere, wanmorning not long ago,Feexin' de fence for winter—'cos dat'sw'ere we got de snow!W'en Jeremie Plouffe, ma neighbor, comeover an' spik wit' me,"Antoine, you will come on de city,for hear Ma-dam All-ba-nee?"
"W'at you mean?" I was sayin' right off, me,"Some woman was mak' de speech,Or girl on de Hooraw Circus, doin' highkick an' screech?""Non—non," he is spikin'—"Excuse me,dat's be Ma-dam All-ba-neeWas leevin' down here on de contree, twomile 'noder side Chambly.
"She's jus' comin' over from Englan', onsteamboat arrive Kebeck,Singin' on Lunnon an' Paree, an' havin'beeg tam, I expec',But no matter de moche she enjoy it, fortravel all roun' de worl',Somet'ing on de heart bring her back here,for she was de Chambly girl.
"She never do not'ing but singin' an' makin'de beeg grande tourAn' travel on summer an' winter, so mus' bede firs' class for sure!Ev'ryboddy I'm t'inkin' was know her, an' Ialso hear 'noder t'ing,She's frien' on La Reine Victoria an' showher de way to sing!"
"Wall," I say, "you're sure she is Chambly,w'at you call Ma-dam All-ba-nee?Don't know me dat nam' on de Canton—I hopeyou're not fool wit' me?"An' he say, "Lajeunesse, dey was call her,before she is come mariée,But she's takin' de nam' of her husban'—Is'pose dat's de only way."
"C'est bon, mon ami," I was say me, "If I gett'roo de fence nex' dayAn' she don't want too moche on de monee denmebbe I see her play."So I finish dat job on to-morrow, Jeremie hewas helpin' me too,An' I say, "Len' me t'ree dollar quickly formak' de voyage wit' you."
Correc'—so we're startin' nex' morning, an'arrive Montreal all right,Buy dollar tiquette on de bureau, an' pass onde hall dat night.Beeg crowd, wall! I bet you was dere too, alldress on some fancy dress,De lady, I don't say not'ing, but man's allw'ite shirt an' no ves'.
Don't matter, w'en ban' dey be ready, de foremanstrek out wit' hees steek,An' fiddle an' ev'ryt'ing else too, begin forplay up de musique.It's fonny t'ing too dey was playin' don't lakit mese'f at all,I rader be lissen some jeeg, me, or w'at you call"Affer de ball."
An' I'm not feelin' very surprise den, w'en decrowd holler out, "Encore,"For mak' all dem feller commencin' an' try leetlepiece some more,'Twas better wan' too, I be t'inkin', but slowlak you're goin' to die,All de sam', noboddy say not'ing, dat meandey was satisfy.
Affer dat come de Grande piano, lak we got onChambly Hotel,She's nice lookin' girl was play dat, so ofcourse she's go off purty well,Den feller he's ronne out an' sing some, it'sall about very fine moon,Dat shine on Canal, ev'ry night too, I'm sorryI don't know de tune.
Nex' t'ing I commence get excite, me, for Idon't see no great Ma-dam yet,Too bad I was los all dat monee, an' too latefor de raffle tiquette!W'en jus' as I feel very sorry, for come allde way from Chambly,Jeremie he was w'isper, "Tiens, Tiens, prenezgarde, she's comin' Ma-dam All-ba-nee!"
Ev'ryboddy seem glad w'en dey see her, comewalkin' right down de platform,An' way dey mak' noise on de han' den, w'y!it's jus' lak de beeg tonder storm!I'll never see not'ing lak dat, me, no matterI travel de worl',An' Ma-dam, you t'ink it was scare her? Non,she laugh lak de Chambly girl!
Dere was young feller comin' behin' her, walknice, comme un Cavalier,An' before All-ba-nee she is ready an' pianoget startin' for play,De feller commence wit' hees singin', morestronger dan all de res',I t'ink he's got very bad manner, know not'ingat all politesse.
Ma-dam, I s'pose she get mad den, an' beforeanyboddy can spik,She settle right down for mak' sing too, an'purty soon ketch heem up quick,Den she's kip it on gainin' an' gainin', tillde song it is tout finis,An' w'en she is beatin' dat feller, Bagosh!I am proud Chambly!
I'm not very sorry at all, me, w'en de fellerwas ronnin' away,An' man he's come out wit' de piccolo, an'start heem right off for play,For it's kin' de musique I be fancy, Jeremiehe is lak it also,An' wan de bes' t'ing on dat ev'ning is manwit' de piccolo!
Den mebbe ten minute is passin', Ma-dam she iscomin' encore,Dis tam all alone on de platform, dat fellerdon't show up no more,An' w'en she start off on de singin' Jeremie say,"Antoine, dat's Français,"Dis give us more pleasure, I tole you, 'cos w'y?We're de pure Canayen!
Dat song I will never forget me, 'twas song ofde leetle bird,W'en he's fly from it's nes' on de tree top,'fore res' of de worl' get stirred,Ma-dam she was tole us about it, den start offso quiet an' low,An' sing lak de bird on de morning, de poorleetle small oiseau.
I 'member wan tam I be sleepin' jus' onder somebeeg pine treeAn song of de robin wak' me, but robin hedon't see me,Dere's not'ing for scarin' dat bird dere, he'sfeel all alone on de worl',Wall! Ma-dam she mus' lissen lak dat too, w'enshe was de Chambly girl!
Cos how could she sing dat nice chanson, de sam'as de bird I was hear,Till I see it de maple an' pine tree an' Richelieuronnin' near,Again I'm de leetle feller, lak young colt uponde springDat's jus' on de way I was feel, me, w'en Ma-damAll-ba-nee is sing!
An' affer de song it is finish, an' crowd is mak'noise wit' its han',I s'pose dey be t'inkin' I'm crazy, dat mebbeI don't onderstan',Cos I'm set on de chair very quiet, mese'f an'poor Jeremie,An' I see dat hees eye it was cry too, jus' sam'way it go wit' me.
Dere's rosebush outside on our garden, ev'ry springit has got new nes',But only wan bluebird is buil' dere, I know herfrom all de res',An' no matter de far she be flyin' away onde winter tam,Back to her own leetle rosebush she's comindere jus' de sam'.
We're not de beeg place on our Canton, mebbecole on de winter, too,But de heart's "Canayen" on our body, an'dat's warm enough for true!An' w'en All-ba-nee was got lonesome fortravel all roun' de worl'I hope she 'll come home, lak de bluebird,an' again be de Chambly girl!
You 'member de ole log-camp, Johnnie, up on de Cheval Gris,W'ere we work so hard all winter, long ago you an' me?Dere was fourteen man on de gang, den, all from our own paroisse,An' only wan lef' dem feller is ourse'f an' Pierre Laframboise.
But Pierre can't see on de eye, Johnnie, I t'ink it's no good at all!An' it wasn't for not'ing, you're gettin' rheumateez on de leg las' fall!I t'ink it's no use waitin', for neider can come wit' me,So alone I mak' leetle visit dat camp on de Cheval Gris.
An' if only you see it, Johnnie, an' change dere was all aroun',Ev'ryt'ing gone but de timber an' dat is all fallin' down;No sign of portage by de reever w'ere man dey was place canoe,W'y, Johnnie, I'm cry lak de bebé, an' I'm glad you don't come, mon vieux!
But strange t'ing's happen me dere, Johnnie, mebbe I go asleep,As I lissen de song of de rapide, as pas' de Longue Soo she sweep,Ma head she go biz-z-z lak de sawmeel, I don't know w'at's wrong wit' me,But firs' t'ing I don't know not'ing, an' den w'at you t'ink I see?
Yourse'f an' res' of de boy, Johnnie, by light of de coal oil lamp,An' you're singin' an' tolin' story, sittin' aroun' de camp,We hear de win' on de chimley, an' we know it was beeg, beeg storm,But ole box stove she is roarin', an' camp's feelin' nice an' warm.
I t'ink you're on boar' of de raf', Johnnie, near head of Riviere du Loup,W'en LeRoy an' young Patsy Kelly get drown comin' down de Soo,Wall! I see me dem very same feller, jus' lak you see me to-day,Playin' dat game dey call checker, de game dey was play alway!
An' Louis Charette asleep, Johnnie, wit' hees back up agen de wall,Makin' soche noise wit' hees nose, dat you t'ink it was moose on de fall,I s'pose he's de mos' fattes' man dere 'cept mebbe Bateese La Rue,But if I mak fonne on poor Louis, I know he was good boy too!
W'at you do over dere on your bunk, Johnnie, lightin' dem allumettes,Are you shame 'cos de girl she write you, is dat de las' wan you get?It's fonny you can't do widout it ev'ry tam you was goin' bed,W'y readin' dat letter so offen, you mus have it all on de head!
Dat's de very sam' letter, Johnnie, was comin' t'ree mont' ago,I t'ink I know somet'ing about it, 'cos I fin' it wan day on de snow.An' I see on de foot dat letter, Philomene she is do lak dis: * * *I'm not very moche on de school, me, but I t'ink dat was mean de kiss.
Wall! nobody's kickin' de row, Johnnie, an' if allumettes' fini,Put Philomene off on your pocket, an' sing leetle song wit' me;For don't matter de hard you be workin' toujours you're un bon garçon,An' nobody sing lak our Johnnie, Kebeck to de Mattawa!
An' it's den you be let her go, Johnnie, till roof she was mos' cave in,An' if dere's firs' prize on de singin', Bagosh! you're de man can win!Affer dat come fidelle of Joe Pilon, an' he's feller can make it play,So we're clearin' de floor right off den, for have leetle small danser.
An' w'en dance she was tout finis, Johnnie, I go de sam' bunk wit' youW'ere we sleep lak two broder, an' dream of de girl on Riviere du Loup,Very nice ontil somebody call me, it soun' lak de boss Pelang,"Leve toi, Jeremie ma young feller, or else you'll be late on de gang."
An' den I am wak' up, Johnnie, an' w'ere do you t'ink I be?Dere was de wood an' mountain, dere was de Cheval Gris,But w'ere is de boy an' musique I hear only w'ile ago?Gone lak de flower las' summer, gone lak de winter snow!
An' de young man was bring me up, Johnnie, dat's son of ma boy Maxime,Say, "Gran'fader, w'at is de matter, you havin' de bad, bad dream?Come look on your face on de well dere, it's w'ite lak I never see,Mebbe 't was better you're stayin', an' not go along wit' me."
An' w'en I look down de well, Johnnie, an' see de ole feller dere,I say on mese'f "you be makin' fou Jeremie Chateauvert,For t'ink you're garçon agen. Ha! ha! jus' 'cos you are close de eye,An' only commence for leevin' w'en you're ready almos' for die!"
Ah! dat's how de young day pass, Johnnie, purty moche lak de t'ing I see,Sometam dey be las' leetle longer, sam' as wit' you an' me,But no matter de ole we're leevin', de tam she must come some day,W'en boss on de place above, Johnnie, he's callin' us all away.
I'm glad I was go on de camp, Johnnie, I t'ink it will do me good,Mebbe it's las' tam too, for sure, I'll never pass on de wood,For I don't expec' moche longer ole Jeremie will be lef',But about w'at I see dat day, Johnnie, tole nobody but yourse'f.
Dat's very cole an' stormy night on Village St. Mathieu,W'en ev'ry wan he's go couché, an' dog was quiet, too—Young Dominique is start heem out see Emmeline Gourdon,Was leevin' on her fader's place, Maxime de Forgeron.
Poor Dominique he's lak dat girl, an' love her mos' de tam,An' she was mak' de promise—sure—some day she be his famme,But she have worse ole fader dat's never on de worl',Was swear onless he's riche lak diable, no feller's get hees girl.
He's mak' it plaintee fuss about hees daughter Emmeline,Dat's mebbe nice girl, too, but den, Mon Dieu, she's not de queen!An' w'en de young man's come aroun' for spark it on de door,An' hear de ole man swear "Bapteme!" he's never come no more.
Young Dominique he's sam' de res',—was scare for ole Maxime,He don't lak risk hese'f too moche for chances seein' heem,Dat's only stormy night he come, so dark you cannot see,An dat's de reason w'y also, he's climb de gallerie.
De girl she's waitin' dere for heem—don't care about de rain,So glad for see young Dominique he's comin' back again,Dey bote forget de ole Maxime, an' mak de embrasserAn affer dey was finish dat, poor Dominique is say—
"Good-bye, dear Emmeline, good-bye; I'm goin' very soon,For you I got no better chance, dan feller on de moon—It's all de fault your fader, too, dat I be go away,He's got no use for me at all—I see dat ev'ry day.
"He's never meet me on de road but he is say 'Sapré!'An' if he ketch me on de house I'm scare he's killin' me,So I mus' lef' ole St. Mathieu, for work on 'noder place,An' till I mak de beeg for-tune, you never see ma face."
Den Emmeline say "Dominique, ma love you'll alway beAn' if you kiss me two, t'ree tam I'll not tole noboddy—But prenez garde ma fader, please, I know he's gettin ole—All sam' he offen walk de house upon de stockin' sole.
"Good-bye, good-bye, cher Dominique! I know you will be true,I don't want no riche feller me, ma heart she go wit' you."Dat's very quick he's kiss her den, before de fader come,But don't get too moche pleasurement—so 'fraid de ole Bonhomme.
Wall! jus' about dey're half way t'roo wit all dat love beez-nesseEmmeline say, "Dominique, w'at for you're scare lak all de res?Don't see mese'f moche danger now de ole man come aroun',"W'en minute affer dat, dere's noise, lak' house she's fallin' down.
Den Emmeline she holler "Fire! will no wan come for me?"An Dominique is jomp so high, near bus' de gallerie,—"Help! help! right off," somebody shout, "I'm killin' on ma place,It's all de fault ma daughter, too, dat girl she's ma disgrace."
He's kip it up long tam lak dat, but not hard tellin' now,W'at's all de noise upon de house—who's kick heem up de row?It seem Bonhomme was sneak aroun' upon de stockin' sole,An' firs' t'ing den de ole man walk right t'roo de stove pipe hole.
W'en Dominique is see heem dere, wit' wan leg hang below,An' 'noder leg straight out above, he's glad for ketch heem so—De ole man can't do not'ing, den, but swear and ax for w'yNoboddy tak' heem out dat hole before he's comin' die.
Den Dominique he spik lak dis, "Mon cher M'sieur GourdonI'm not riche city feller, me, I'm only habitant,But I was love more I can tole your daughter Emmeline,An' if I marry on dat girl, Bagosh! she's lak de Queen.
"I want you mak de promise now, before it's come too late,An' I mus' tole you dis also, dere's not moche tam for wait.Your foot she's hangin' down so low, I'm 'fraid she ketch de cole,Wall! if you give me Emmeline, I pull you out de hole."
Dat mak' de ole man swear more hard he never swear before,An' wit' de foot he's got above, he's kick it on de floor,"Non, non," he say "Sapré tonnerre! she never marry you,An' if you don't look out you get de jail on St. Mathieu."
"Correc'," young Dominique is say, "mebbe de jail's tight place,But you got wan small corner, too, I see it on de face,So if you don't lak geev de girl on wan poor habitant,Dat's be mese'f, I say, Bonsoir, mon cher M'sieur Gourdon."
"Come back, come back," Maxime is shout—I promise you de girl,I never see no wan lak you—no never on de worl'!It's not de nice trick you was play on man dat's gettin' ole,But do jus' w'at you lak, so long you pull me out de hole."
"Hooraw! Hooraw!" Den Dominique is pull heem out tout suiteAn' Emmeline she's helpin' too for place heem on de feet,An' affer dat de ole man's tak' de young peep down de stair,W'ere he is go couchè right off, an' dey go on parloir.
Nex' Sunday morning dey was call by M'sieur le CuréGet marry soon, an' ole Maxime geev Emmeline away;Den affer dat dey settle down lak habitant is do,An' have de mos' fine familee on Village St. Mathieu.
O leetle bird dat's come to us w'en stormy win' she's blowin',An' ev'ry fiel' an' mountain top is cover wit' de snow,How far from home you're flyin', noboddy's never knowin'For spen' wit' us de winter tam, mon cher petit oiseau!
We alway know you're comin', w'en we hear de firs' beeg storm,A sweepin' from de sky above, an' screamin' as she go—Can tell you're safe inside it, w'ere you're keepin' nice an' warm,But no wan's never see you dere, mon cher petit oiseau!
Was it 'way behin' de mountain, dat de nort' win' ketch you sleepin'Mebbe on your leetle nes' too, an' before de wing she grow,Lif' you up an' bring you dat way, till some morning fin' you peepin'Out of new nes' on de snow dreef, mon pauv' petit oiseau!
All de wood is full on summer, wit' de many bird is sing dere,Dey mus' offen know each oder, mebbe mak' de frien' also,But w'en you was come on winter, never seein' wan strange wing dereWas it mak' you feelin' lonesome, mon pauv' petit oiseau?
Plaintee bird is alway hidin' on some place no wan can fin' dem,But ma leetle bird of winter, dat was not de way you go—For de chil'ren on de roadside, you don't seem to care for min' demW'en dey pass on way to schoolhouse, mon cher petit oiseau!
No wan say you sing lak robin, but you got no tam for singin'So busy it was keepin' you get breakfas' on de snow,But de small note you was geev us, w'en it join de sleigh bell ringin'Mak' de true Canadian music, mon cher petit oiseau!
O de long an' lonesome winter, if you're never comin' near us,If we miss you on de roadside, an' on all de place below!But le bon Dieu he will sen' you troo de storm again for cheer us,W'en we mos' was need you here too, mon cher petit oiseau!
I read on de paper mos' ev'ry day, all about JubileeAn' grande procession movin' along, an' passin' across de sea,Dat's chil'ren of Queen Victoriaw comin' from far awayFor tole Madame w'at dey t'ink of her, an' wishin' her bonne santé.
An' if any wan want to know pourquoi les Canayens should be dereWit' res' of de worl' for shout "Hooraw" an' t'row hees cap on de air,Purty quick I will tole heem de reason, w'y we feel lak de oder do,For if I'm only poor habitant, I'm not on de sapré fou.
Of course w'en we t'ink it de firs' go off, I know very strange it seemFor fader of us dey was offen die for flag of L'Ancien Regime,From day w'en de voyageurs come out all de way from ole St. Malo,Flyin' dat flag from de mas' above, an' long affer dat also.
De English fight wit' de Frenchman den over de whole contree,Down by de reever, off on de wood, an' out on de beeg, beeg sea,Killin', an' shootin', an' raisin' row, half tam dey don't know w'at for,W'en it's jus' as easy get settle down, not makin' de crazy war.
Sometam' dey be quiet for leetle w'ile, you t'ink dey don't fight no more,An' den w'en dey're feelin' all right agen, Bang! jus' lak' she was before.Very offen we're beatin' dem on de fight, sometam' dey can beat us, too,But no feller's scare on de 'noder man, an' bote got enough to do.
An' all de long year she be go lak' dat, we never was know de peace,Not'ing but war from de wes' contree down to de St. Maurice;Till de las' fight's comin' on Canadaw, an' brave Generale MontcalmDie lak' a sojer of France is die, on Battle of Abraham.
Dat's finish it all, an' de English King is axin' us stayin' dereW'ere we have sam' right as de 'noder peep comin' from Angleterre.Long tam' for our moder so far away de poor Canayens is cry,But de new step-moder she's good an' kin', an' it's all right bimeby.
If de moder come dead w'en you're small garçon leavin' you dere alone,Wit' nobody watchin' for fear you fall, an hurt youse'f on de stone,An' 'noder good woman she tak' your han' de sam' your own moder do,Is it right you don't call her moder, is it right you don't love her too?
Bâ non, an' dat was de way we feel, w'en de ole Regime's no more,An' de new wan come, but don't change moche, w'y it's jus' lak' it be before.Spikin' Français lak' we alway do, an' de English dey mak no fuss,An' our law de sam', wall, I don't know me, 'twas better mebbe for us.
So de sam' as two broder we settle down, leevin' dere han' in han',Knowin' each oder, we lak' each oder, de French an' de Englishman,For it's curi's t'ing on dis worl', I'm sure you see it agen an' agen,Dat offen de mos' worse ennemi, he's comin' de bes', bes' frien'.
So we're kipin' so quiet long affer dat, w'en las' of de fightin's done,Dat plaintee is say, de new Canayens forget how to shoot de gun;But Yankee man's smart, all de worl' know dat, so he's firs' fin' mistak'wan dayW'en he's try cross de line, fusil on hee's han', near place dey callChateaugay.
Of course it's bad t'ing for poor Yankee man, De Salaberry be dereWit' habitant farmer from down below, an' two honder Voltigeurs,Dem feller come off de State, I s'pose, was fightin' so hard dey canBut de blue coat sojer he don't get kill, is de locky Yankee man!
Since den w'en dey're comin on Canadaw, we alway be treat dem well,For dey're spennin' de monee lak' gentil-hommes, an' stay on de bes' hotel,Den "Bienvenu," we will spik dem, an' "Come back agen nex' week,So long you was kip on de quiet an' don't talk de politique!"
Yass, dat is de way Victoriaw fin' us dis jubilee,Sometam' we mak' fuss about not'ing, but it's all on de familee,An' w'enever dere's danger roun' her, no matter on sea or lan',She'll find that les Canayens can fight de sam' as bes' Englishman.
An' onder de flag of Angleterre, so long as dat flag was fly—Wit' deir English broder, les Canayens is satisfy leev an' die.Dat's de message our fader geev us w'en dey're fallin' on Chateaugay,An' de flag was kipin' dem safe den, dat's de wan we will kip alway!
Ole Docteur Fiset of Saint Anicet,Sapré tonnerre! he was leev long tam!I'm sure he's got ninety year or so,Beat all on de Parish 'cept Pierre Courteau,An' day affer day he work all de sam'.
Dat house on de hill, you can see it still,She's sam' place he buil' de firs' tam' he comeBehin' it dere's one leetle small jardinGot plaintee de bes' tabac CanayenWit' fameuse apple an' beeg blue plum.
An' dey're all right dere, for de small boy's scareNo matter de apple look nice an' red,For de small boy know if he's stealin' someDen Docteur Fiset on dark night he come,An' cut leetle feller right off hees head!
But w'en dey was rap, an' tak' off de cap,M'sieu' le Docteur he will say "Entrez,"Den all de boy pass on jardin behin'W'ere dey eat mos' ev'ryt'ing good dey fin',Till dey can't go on school nearly two, t'ree day.
But Docteur Fiset, not moche fonne he get,Drivin' all over de whole contree,If de road she's bad, if de road she's good,W'en ev'ryt'ing's drown on de Spring-tam flood,An' workin' for not'ing half tam' mebbe!
Let her rain or snow, all he want to knowIs jus' if anywan's feelin' sick,For Docteur Fiset's de ole fashion kin'Doin' good was de only t'ing on hees min'So he got no use for de politique.
An' he's careful too, 'cos firs' t'ing he do,For fear dere was danger some fever case,Is tak' w'en he's come leetle w'isky chaud,Den 'noder wan too jus' before he go,He's so scare carry fever aroun' de place!
On nice summer day w'en we're makin' hayDere's not'ing more pleasant for us I'm sureDan see de ole man come joggin' along,Alway singin' some leetle song,An' hear heem say "Tiens, mes amis, Bonjour!"
An' w'en de cole rain was commence againAn' we're sittin' at home on some warm cornerre,If we hear de buggy an' see de lightTearin' along t'roo de black, black night,We know right off dat's de ole Docteur!
An' he's smart horse sure, w'at he call "Faubourg,"Ev'ry place on de Parish he know dem all,An' you ought to see de nice way he goFor fear he's upsettin' upon de snow,W'en ole man's asleep on de cariole!
I 'member w'en poor Hormisdas CoutureGet sick on hees place twenty mile awayAn' hees boy Ovide he was come "Raquette"W'at you call "Snowshoe," for Docteur Fiset,An' Docteur he start wit' hees horse an' sleigh.
All de night before, de beeg storm she roar,An' mos' of de day it's de sam' also,De drif' was pilin' up ten feet highYou can't see not'ing dis side de sky,Not'ing but wan avalanche of snow.
I'm hearin' de bell w'en I go on de wellFor water de cattle on barn close by,But I only ketch sight of hees cheval blancAn' hees coonskin coat wit' de capuchonAn' de storm tak' heem off, jus' de sam' he fly.
Mus' be le Bon Dieu dat is help him t'roo,Ole Docteur Fiset an' hees horse "Faubourg,"'Twas somet'ing for splain-me, wall I don't care,But somehow or 'noder he's gettin' dere,An' save de life Hormisdas Couture.
But it's sam' alway, lak' dat ev'ry day,He never was spare hese'f pour nous autres,He don't mak' moche monee, Docteur Fiset,An' offen de only t'ing he was getIs de prayer of poor man, an' wan bag of oat.
* * * * *
Wall! Docteur Fiset of Saint AnicetHe is not dead yet! an' I'm purty sureIf you're passin' dat place about ten year moreYou will see heem go roun' lak' he go beforeWit' de ole cariole an' hees horse "Faubourg!"