by Louis Hémon
CHAPTER IX
ONE THOUSAND AVES
SINCE the coming of winter they had often talked at the Chapdelainesabout the holidays, and now these were drawing near.
"I am wondering whether we shall have any callers on New Year'sDay," said Madame Chapdelaine one evening. She went over the list ofall relatives and friends able to make the venture. "Azalma Larouchedoes not live so far away, but she--she is not very energetic. Thepeople at St. Prime would not care to take the journey. PossiblyWilfrid or Ferdinand might drive from St. Gedeon if the ice on thelake were in good condition." A sigh disclosed that she still wasdreaming of the coming and going in the old parishes at the time ofthe New Year, the family dinners, the unlooked-for visits of kindredarriving by sleigh from the next village, buried under rugs andfurs, behind a horse whose coat was white with frost.
Maria's thoughts were turning in another direction. "If the roadsare as bad as they were last year," said she, "we shall not be ableto attend the midnight mass. And yet I should so much have liked itthis time, and father promised ..."
Through the little window they looked on the gray sky, and foundlittle to cheer them. To go to midnight mass is the natural andstrong desire of every French-Canadian peasant, even of those livingfarthest from the settlements. What do they not face to accomplishit! Arctic cold, the woods at night, obliterated roads, greatdistances do but add to the impressiveness and the mystery. Thisanniversary of the birth of Jesus is more to them than a merefixture in the calendar with rites appropriate; it signifies therenewed promise of salvation, an occasion of deep rejoicing, andthose gathered in the wooden church are imbued with sincerestfervour, are pervaded with a deep sense of the supernatural. Thisyear, more than ever, Maria yearned to attend the-mass after manyweeks of remoteness from houses and from churches; the favours shewould fain demand seemed more likely to be granted were she able toprefer them before the altar, aided in heavenward flight by thewings of music.
But toward the middle of December much snow fell, dry and fine asdust, and three days before Christmas the north-west wind arose andmade an end of the roads. On the morrow of the storm Chapdelaineharnessed Charles Eugene to the heavy sleigh and departed withTit'B?; they took shovels to clear the way or lay out another route.The two men returned by noon, worn out, white with snow, assertingthat there would be no breaking through for several days. Thedisappointment must be borne; Maria sighed, but the idea came to herthat there might be other means of attaining the divine goodwill.
"Is it true, mother," she asked as evening was falling, "that if yourepeat a thousand Aves on the day before Christmas you are alwaysgranted the thing you seek?"
"Quite true," her mother reverently answered. "One desiring afavour who says her thousand Aves properly before midnight onChristmas Eve, very seldom fails to receive what she asks."
On Christmas Eve the weather was cold but windless. The two men wentout betimes in another effort to beat down the road, with no greathope of success; but long before they left, and indeed long beforedaylight, Maria began to recite her Aves. Awakening very early, shetook her rosary from beneath the pillow and swiftly repeated theprayer, passing from the last word to the first without stopping,and counting, bead by bead.
The others were still asleep; but Chien left his place at the stovewhen he saw that she moved, and came to sit beside the bed, gravelyreposing his head upon the coverings. Maria's glance wandered overthe long white muzzle resting upon the brown wool, the liquid eyesfilled with the dumb creature's pathetic trustfulness, the droopingglossy ears; while she ceased not to murmur the sacred words.--"HailMary, full of grace ..."
Soon Tit'B? jumped from bed to put wood upon the fire; an impulse ofshyness caused Maria to turn away and hide her rosary under thecoverlet as she continued to pray. The stove roared; Chien went backto his usual spot, and for another half-hour nothing was stirring inthe house save the fingers of Maria numbering the boxwood beads, andher lips as they moved rapidly in the task she had laid uponherself.
Then must she arise, for the day was dawning; make the porridge andthe pancakes while the men went to the stable to care for theanimals, wait upon them when they returned, wash the dishes, sweepthe house. What time she attended to these things, Maria was everraising a little higher toward heaven the monument of her Aves; butthe rosary had to be laid aside and it was hard to keep a truereckoning. As the morning advanced however, no urgent duty calling,she was able to sit by the window and steadily pursue herundertaking.
Noon; and already three hundred Aves. Her anxiety lessens, for nowshe feels almost sure of finishing in time. It comes to her mindthat fasting would give a further title to heavenly consideration,and might, with reason, turn hopes into certainties; wherefore sheate but little, foregoing all those things she liked the best.
Throughout the afternoon she must knit the woollen garment designedfor her father as a New Year's gift, and though the faithfulrepetition ceased not, the work of her fingers was something of adistraction and a delay; then came the long preparations for supper,and finally Tit'B? brought his mittens to be mended, so all thistime the Aves made slow and impeded progress, like some devoutprocession brought to halt by secular interruption.
But when it was evening and the tasks of the day were done, shecould resume her seat by the window where the feeble light of thelamp did not invade the darkness, look forth upon the fields hiddenbeneath their icy cloak, take the rosary once more in her hands andthrow her heart into the prayer. She was happy that so many Aveswere left to be recited, since labour and difficulty could only addmerit to her endeavour; even did she wish to humble herself furtherand give force to her prayer by some posture that would bringuneasiness and pain, by some chastening of the flesh.
Her father and Tit'B? smoked, their feet against the stove; hermother sewed new ties to old moose-hide moccasins. Outside, the moonhad risen, flooding the chill whiteness with colder light, and theheavens were of a marvellous purity and depth, sown with stars thatshone like that wondrous star of old.
"Blessed art Thou amongst women..."
Through repeating the short prayer oftentimes and quickly she grewconfused and sometimes stopped, her dazed mind lost among thewell-known words. It is only for a moment; sighing she closes hereyes, and the phrase which rises at once to her memory and her lipsceases to be mechanical, detaches itself, again stands forth in allits hallowed meaning.
"Blessed art Thou amongst women ..."
At length a heaviness weighs upon her, and the holy words are spokenwith greater effort and slowly; yet the beads pass through herfingers in endless succession, and each one launches the offering ofan Ave to that sky where Mary the compassionate is surely seated onher throne, hearkening to the music of prayers that ever rise, andbrooding over the memory of that blest night.
"The Lord is with Thee ..."
The fence-rails were very black upon the white expanse palelylighted by the moon; trunks of birch trees standing against the darkbackground of forest were like the skeletons of living creaturessmitten with the cold and stricken by death; but the glacial nightwas awesome rather than affrighting.
"With the roads as they are we will not be the only ones who have tostay at home this evening," said Madame Chapdelaine. "But is thereanything more lovely than the midnight mass at Saint Coeur de Marie,with Yvonne Boilly playing the harmonium, and Pacifique Simard whosings the Latin so beautifully!" She was very careful to say nothingthat might seem reproachful or complaining on such a night as this,but in spite of herself the words and tone had a sad ring ofloneliness and remoteness. Her husband noticed it, and, himselfunder the influence of the day, was quick to take the blame.
"It is true enough, Laura, that you would have had a happier lifewith some other man than me, who lived on a comfortable farm, nearthe 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 grumbleabout? But we have never been unhappy, we two; we have managed tolive without faring ove
r-badly; the boys are fine boys,hard-working, who bring us nearly all they earn; Maria too is a goodgirl..."
Affected by these memories of the past, they also were thinking ofthe candles already lit, of the hymns soon to be raised in honour ofthe Saviour's birth. Life had always been a simple and astraightforward thing for them; severe but inevitable toil, a goodunderstanding between man and wife, obedience alike to the laws ofnature and of the Church. Everything was drawn into the same woof;the rites of their religion and the daily routine of existence sowoven together that they could not distinguish the devout emotionpossessing them from the mute love of each for each.
Little Alma Rose heard praises in the air and hastened to demand herportion. "I have been a good girl too, haven't I, father?"
"Certainly ... Certainly. A black sin indeed if one were naughtyon the day when the little Jesus was born."
To the children, Jesus of Nazareth was ever "the little Jesus," thecurly-headed babe of the sacred picture; and in truth, for theparents as well, such was the image oftenest brought to mind by theName. Not the sad enigmatic Christ of the Protestant, but a beingmore familiar and less august, a newborn infant in his mother'sarms, or at least a tiny child who might be loved without greateffort 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 andforth.
"And are we going to sing too?"
"Yes."
"Very well; now sing with me:"
Dans son etable, Que Jesus est charmant! Qu'il est aimable Dans son abaissement
He began in quiet tones that he might not drown the other slendervoice; but soon emotion carried him away and he sang with all hismight, his gaze dreamy and remote. Telesphore drew near and lookedat him with worshipping eyes. To these children brought up in alonely house, with only their parents for companions, SamuelChapdelaine embodied all there was in the world of wisdom and might.As he was ever gentle and patient, always ready to take the childrenon his knee and sing them hymns, or those endless old songs hetaught them one by one, they loved him with a rare affection.
... Tous les palais des rois N'ont rien de comparable Aux beautes que je vois Dans cette etable.
"Once more? Very well."
This time the mother and Tit'B? joined in. Maria could not resiststaying her prayers for a few moments that she might look andhearken; but the words of the hymn renewed her ardour, and she soontook up the task again with a livelier faith ... "Hail Mary, full ofgrace ..."
Trois gros navires sont arrives, Charges d'avoine, charges de ble. Nous irons sur l'eau nous y prom-promener, Nous irons jouer dans l'ile...
"And now? Another song: which?" Without waiting for a reply hestruck in ... "No? not that one ... Claire Fontaine? Ah! That'sa beautiful one, that is! We shall all sing it together."
He glanced at Maria, but seeing the beads ever slipping through herfingers he would not intrude.
A la claire fontaine M'en allant promener, J'ai trouve l'eau si belle Que je m'y suis baigne ... Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, Jamais je ne t'oublierai...
Words and tune alike haunting; the unaffected sadness of the refrainlingering in the ear, a song that well may find its way to anyheart.
.. Sur la plus haute branche, Le rossignol chantait. Chante, rossignol, chante, Toi qui a le coeur gai ... Il y a longtemps que je t'aime Jamais je ne t'oublierai ...
The rosary lay still in the long fingers. Maria did not sing withthe others; but she was listening, and this lament of a love thatwas unhappy fell very sweetly and movingly on her spirit a littleweary with prayer.
... Tu as le coeur a rire, Moi je l'ai a pleurer, J'ai perdu ma maitresse Sans pouvoir la r'trouver, Pour un bouquet de roses Que je lui refusai Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, Jamais je ne t'oublierai.
Maria looked through the window at the white fields circled bymysterious forest; the passion of religious feeling, the tide ofyoung love rising within her, the sound of the familiar voices,fused in her heart to a single emotion. Truly the world was filledwith love that evening, with love human and divine, simple in natureand mighty in strength, one and the other most natural and right; sointermingled that the beseeching of heavenly favour upon dear oneswas scarcely more than the expression of an earthly affection, whilethe artless love songs were chanted with solemnity of voice andexaltation of spirit fit for addresses to another world.
.. Je voudrais que la rose Fut encore au rosier, Et que le rosier meme A la mer fut jete. Il y a longtemps, que je t'aime, Jamais je ne t'oublierai . .
"Hail Mary, full of grace ..."
The song ended, Maria forthwith resumed her prayers with zealrefreshed, and once again the tale of the Aves mounted.
Little Alma Rose, asleep on her father's knee, was undressed and putto bed; Telesphore followed; Tit'B? arose in turn, stretchedhimself, and filled the stove with green birch logs; the father madea last trip to the stable and came back running, saying that thecold 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 seatedherself again by the window to repeat the last Aves. When she hadfinished, a scruple assailed her, and a fear lest she had erred inthe reckoning, because it had not always been possible to count thebeads of her rosary. Out of prudence she recited yet another fiftyand then was silent-jaded, weary, but full of happy confidence, asthough the moment had brought her a promise inviolable.
The world outside was lit; wrapped in that frore splendour which thenight unrolls over lands of snow when the sky is clear and the moonis shining. Within the house was darkness, and it seemed that woodand field had illumined themselves to signal the coming of the holyhour.
"The thousand Aves have been said," murmured Maria to herself, "butI have not yet asked for anything ... not in words." She hadthought that perhaps it were not needful; that the Divinity mightunderstand without hearing wishes shaped by lips--Mary above all ...Who had been a woman upon earth. But at the last her simple mindwas taken with a doubt, and she tried to find speech for the favourshe was seeking.
Fran?ois Paradis ... Most surely it concerns Fran?ois Paradis.Hast Thou already guessed it, O Mary, full of grace? How might sheframe this her desire without impiety? That he should be sparedhardship in the woods ... That he should be true to his word andgive up drinking and swearing ... That he return in the spring.
That he return in the spring ... She goes no further, for it seemsto her that when he is with her again, his promise kept, all thehappiness in the world must be within their reach, unaided ...almost unaided ... If it be not presumptuous so to think ...
That he return in the spring ... Dreaming of his return, ofFran?ois, the handsome sunburnt face turned to hers, Maria forgetsall else, and looks long with unseeing eyes at the snow-coveredground which the moonlight has turned into a glittering fabric ofivory and mother-of-pearl-at the black pattern of the fencesoutlined upon it, and the menacing ranks of the dark forest.
