Let Us Now Translate And Condense, From The Interesting Narrative Of A
Visit Paid To The Hermitage In 1831, By Mr. Amedee Papineau And His
Talented Father, The Hon.
Louis Joseph Papineau, the legend which attaches
to it:
CAROLINE, OR THE ALGONQUIN MAID.
(BY AMEDEE PAPINEAU.)
"We drove, my father and I, with our vehicle to the foot of the
mountain, and there, took a foot-path which led us through a dense
wood. We encountered and crossed a rivulet, and then ascended a
plateau cleared of wood, a most enchanting place; behind us and on our
right was a thick forest: on our left the eye rested on boundless
green fields, diversified [325] with golden harvests and with the neat
white cottages of the peasantry. In the distance was visible the broad
and placid waters of the St. Lawrence, at the foot of the citadel of
Quebec, and also the shining cupolas and tin roofs of the city houses;
in front of us, a confused mass of ruins, crenelated walls embedded in
moss and rank grass, together with a tower half destroyed, beams, and
the mouldering remains of a roof. After viewing the tout ensemble,
we attentively examined each portion in detail - every fragment was
interesting to us; we with difficulty made our way over the wall,
ascending the upper stories by a staircase which creaked and trembled
under our weight. With the assistance of a lighted candle we
penetrated into the damp and cavernous cellars, carefully exploring
every nook and corner, listening to the sound of our own footsteps,
and occasionally startled by the rustling of bats which we disturbed
in their dismal retreat. I was young, and consequently very
impressionable. I had just left college; these extraordinary sounds
and objects would at times make me feel very uneasy. I pressed close
to my father and dared scarcely breathe; the remembrance of this
subterranean exploration will not easily be forgotten. What were my
sensations when I saw a tombstone, the reader can imagine? 'Here we
are at last,' exclaimed my father and echo repeated his words.
Carefully did we view this monument; presently we detected the letter
'C,' nearly obliterated by the action of time; after remaining there a
few moments, to my unspeakable delight we made our exit from the
chamber of death, and stepping over the ruins, we again alighted on
the green sward. Evidently where we stood had formerly been a garden;
we could still make out the avenues, the walks and plots, over which
plum, lilac and apple trees grew wild.
"I had not yet uttered a word, but my curiosity getting the better of
my fear, I demanded an explanation of this mysterious tombstone. My
father beckoned me towards a shady old maple; we both sat on the turf,
and he then told me as follows: - You have, no doubt, my son, heard of
a French Intendant, of the name of Bigot, who had charge of the public
funds in Canada somewhere about the year 1757; you have also read how
he squandered these moneys and how his Christian Majesty had him sent
to the Bastille when he returned to France, and had his property
confiscated. All this you know. I shall now tell you what, probably,
you do not know. This Intendant attempted to lead in Canada the same
dissolute life which the old noblesse led in France before the
Revolution had levelled all classes. He it was who built this
country seat, of which you now contemplate the ruins. Here he came to
seek relaxation from the cares of office; here he prepared
entertainments to which the rank and fashion of Quebec, including the
Governor General, eagerly flocked; nothing was wanting to complete the
eclat of this little Versailles. Hunting was a favorite pastime of
our ancestors, and Bigot was a mighty hunter. As active as a chamois,
as daring as a lion was this indefatigable Nimrod, in the pursuit of
bears and moose.
"On one occasion, when tracking with some sporting friends an old bear
whom he had wounded, he was led over mountainous ridges and ravines
very far from the castle. Nothing could restrain him; on he went in
advance of every one, until the bloody trail brought him on the
wounded animal, which he soon dispatched.
"During the chase the sun had gradually sunk over the western hills;
the shades of evening were fast descending; how was the lord of the
manor to find his way back? he was alone in a thick forest; in this
emergency his heart did not fail him, - he hoped by the light of the
moon to be able to return to his stray companions. Wearily he walked
on, ascending once or twice a lofty tree, in order to see further, but
all in vain; soon the unpleasant conviction dawned on him that like
others in similar cases, he had been walking round a circle. Worn out
and exhausted with fatigue and hunger, he sat down to ponder on what
course he should adopt. The Queen of night, at that moment shedding
her silvery rays around, only helped to show the hunter how hopeless
was his present position. Amidst these mournful reflections, his ear
was startled by the sound of footsteps close by; his spirits rose at
the prospect of help being at hand; soon he perceived the outlines of
a moving white object. Was it a phantom which his disordered
imagination had conjured up; terrified he seized his trusty gun and
was in the act of firing, when the apparition, rapidly advancing
toward him, assumed quite a human form; a little figure stood before
him with eyes as black as night, and raven tresses flowing to the
night wind; a spotless garment enveloped in its ample folds this airy
and graceful spectre. Was it a sylph, the spirit of the wilderness?
Was it Diana, the goddess of the chase, favoring one of her most
ardent votaries with a glimpse of her form divine?
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