A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

Le Chien d\'Or

W >> William Kirby >> Le Chien d\'Or



*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*





This etext was prepared by Donald Lainson, charlie@idirect.com.





[Two versions, 8 bit with accents, 7 bit plain standard text.]
[This is the 8 bit plain text version.]





THE GOLDEN DOG.
(LE CHIEN D'OR.)

by William Kirby




AUTHOR'S PREFATORY NOTE.


TO THE PUBLIC:

In the year 1877 the first edition of "The Golden Dog" (Le Chien
d'Or) was brought out in the United States, entirely without my
knowledge or sanction. Owing to the inadequacy of the then existing
copyright laws, I have been powerless to prevent its continued
publication, which I understand to have been a successful and
profitable undertaking for all concerned, except the author, the
book having gone through many editions.

It was, consequently, a source of gratification to me when I was
approached by Messrs. L. C. Page & Company, of Boston, with a
request to revise "The Golden Dog," and re-publish it through them.
The result is the present edition, which I have corrected and
revised in the light of the latest developments in the history of
Quebec, and which is the only edition offered to my readers with the
sanction and approval of its author.

WILLIAM KIRBY.

Niagara, Canada, May, 1897.



CONTENTS.


CHAPTER

I. MEN OF THE OLD RÉGIME

II. THE WALLS OF QUEBEC

III. A CHATELAINE OF NEW FRANCE

IV. CONFIDENCES

V. THE ITINERANT NOTARY

VI. BEAUMANOIR

VII. THE INTENDANT BIGOT

VIII. CAROLINE DE ST. CASTIN

IX. PIERRE PHILIBERT

X. AMÉLIE DE REPENTIGNY

XI. THE SOLDIER'S WELCOME

XII. THE CASTLE OF ST. LOUIS

XIII. THE CHIEN D'OR

XIV. THE COUNCIL OF WAR

XV. THE CHARMING JOSEPHINE

XVI. ANGÉLIQUE DES MELOISES

XVII. SPLENDIDE MENDAX

XVIII. THE MEROVINGIAN PRINCESS

XIX. PUT MONEY IN THY PURSE

XX. BELMONT

XXI. SIC ITUR AD ASTRA

XXII. SO GLOZED THE TEMPTER

XXIII. SEALS OF LOVE, BUT SEALED IN VAIN

XXIV. THE HURRIED QUESTION OF DESPAIR

XXV. BETWIXT THE LAST VIOLET AND THE EARLIEST ROSE

XXVI. THE CANADIAN BOAT SONG

XXVII. CHEERFUL YESTERDAYS AND CONFIDENT TO-MORROWS

XXVIII. A DAY AT THE MANOR HOUSE

XXIX. FELICES TER ET AMPLIUS

XXX. "NO SPEECH OF SILK WILL SERVE YOUR TURN"

XXXI. THE BALL AT THE INTENDANT'S PALACE

XXXII. "ON WITH THE DANCE"

XXXIII. LA CORRIVEAU

XXXIV. WEIRD SISTERS

XXXV. "FLASKETS OF DRUGS, FULL TO THEIR WICKED LIPS"

XXXVI. THE BROAD, BLACK GATEWAY OF A LIE

XXXVII. ARRIVAL OF PIERRE PHILIBERT

XXXVIII. A WILD NIGHT INDOORS AND OUT

XXXIX. MÈRE MALHEUR

XL. QUOTH THE RAVEN, "NEVERMORE!"

XLI. A DEED WITHOUT A NAME

XLII. "LET'S TALK OF GRAVES AND WORMS AND EPITAPHS"

XLIII. SILK GLOVES OVER BLOODY HANDS

XLIV. THE INTENDANT'S DILEMMA

XLV. "I WILL FEED FAT THE ANCIENT GRUDGE I BEAR HIM"

XLVI. THE BOURGEOIS PHILIBERT

XLVII. A DRAWN GAME

XLVIII. "IN GOLD CLASPS LOCKS IN THE GOLDEN STORY"

XLIX. THE MARKET-PLACE ON ST. MARTIN'S DAY

L. "BLESSED THEY WHO DIE DOING THY WILL"

LI. EVIL NEWS RIDES POST

LII. THE LAMP OF REPENTIGNY

LIII. "LOVELY IN DEATH THE BEAUTEOUS RUIN LAY"

LIV. "THE MILLS OF GOD GRIND SLOWLY"




THE GOLDEN DOG.

(LE CHIEN D'OR.)


CHAPTER I.

MEN OF THE OLD RÉGIME.


"'See Naples, and then die!' That was a proud saying, Count, which
we used to hear as we cruised under lateen sails about the glorious
bay that reflects from its waters the fires of Vesuvius. We
believed the boast then, Count. But I say now, 'See Quebec, and
live forever!' Eternity would be too short to weary me of this
lovely scene--this bright Canadian morning is worthy of Eden, and
the glorious landscape worthy of such a sun-rising."

Thus exclaimed a tall, fair Swedish gentleman, his blue eyes
sparkling, and every feature glowing with enthusiasm, Herr Peter
Kalm, to His Excellency Count de la Galissonière, Governor of New
France, as they stood together on a bastion of the ramparts of
Quebec, in the year of grace 1748.

A group of French and Canadian officers, in the military uniforms of
Louis XV., stood leaning on their swords, as they conversed gaily
together on the broad gravelled walk at the foot of the rampart.
They formed the suite in attendance upon the Governor, who was out
by sunrise this morning to inspect the work done during the night by
the citizens of Quebec and the habitans of the surrounding country,
who had been hastily summoned to labor upon the defences of the
city.

A few ecclesiastics, in black cassocks, dignitaries of the Church,
mingled cheerfully in the conversation of the officers. They had
accompanied the Governor, both to show their respect, and to
encourage, by their presence and exhortations, the zeal of the
colonists in the work of fortifying the capital.

War was then raging between old England and old France, and between
New England and New France. The vast region of North America,
stretching far into the interior and southwest from Canada to
Louisiana, had for three years past been the scene of fierce
hostilities between the rival nations, while the savage Indian
tribes, ranged on the one side and on the other, steeped their
moccasins in the blood of French and English colonists, who, in
their turn, became as fierce, and carried on the war as
relentlessly, as the savages themselves.

Louisbourg, the bulwark of New France, projecting its mailed arm
boldly into the Atlantic, had been cut off by the English, who now
overran Acadia, and began to threaten Quebec with invasion by sea
and land. Busy rumors of approaching danger were rife in the
colony, and the gallant Governor issued orders, which were
enthusiastically obeyed, for the people to proceed to the walls and
place the city in a state of defence, to bid defiance to the enemy.

Rolland Michel Barrin, Count de la Galissonière, was remarkable no
less for his philosophical attainments, that ranked him high among
the savans of the French Academy, than for his political abilities
and foresight as a statesman. He felt strongly the vital interests
involved in the present war, and saw clearly what was the sole
policy necessary for France to adopt in order to preserve her
magnificent dominion in North America. His counsels were neither
liked nor followed by the Court of Versailles, then sinking fast
into the slough of corruption that marked the closing years of the
reign of Louis XV.

Among the people who admired deeds more than words the Count was
honored as a brave and skilful admiral, who had borne the flag of
France triumphantly over the seas, and in the face of her most
powerful enemies--the English and Dutch. His memorable repulse of
Admiral Byng, eight years after the events here recorded,--which led
to the death of that brave and unfortunate officer, who was shot by
sentence of court martial to atone for that repulse,--was a glory to
France, but to the Count brought after it a manly sorrow for the
fate of his opponent, whose death he regarded as a cruel and unjust
act, unworthy of the English nation, usually as generous and
merciful as it is brave and considerate.

The Governor was already well-advanced in years. He had entered
upon the winter of life, that sprinkles the head with snow that
never melts, but he was still hale, ruddy, and active. Nature had,
indeed, moulded him in an unpropitious hour for personal comeliness,
but in compensation had seated a great heart and a graceful mind in
a body low of stature, and marked by a slight deformity. His
piercing eyes, luminous with intelligence and full of sympathy for
everything noble and elevated, overpowered with their fascination
the blemishes that a too curious scrutiny might discover upon his
figure; while his mobile, handsome lips poured out the natural
eloquence of clear thoughts and noble sentiments. The Count grew
great while speaking: his listeners were carried away by the magic
of his voice and the clearness of his intellect.

He was very happy this morning by the side of his old friend, Peter
Kalm, who was paying him a most welcome visit in New France. They
had been fellow-students, both at Upsal and at Paris, and loved each
other with a cordiality that, like good wine, grew richer and more
generous with age.

Herr Kalm, stretching out his arms as if to embrace the lovely
landscape and clasp it to his bosom, exclaimed with fresh
enthusiasm, "See Quebec, and live forever!"

"Dear Kalm," said the Governor, catching the fervor of his friend,
as he rested his hand affectionately on his shoulder, "you are as
true a lover of nature as when we sat together at the feet of
Linnaeus, our glorious young master, and heard him open up for us the
arcana of God's works; and we used to feel like him, too, when he
thanked God for permitting him to look into his treasure-house and
see the precious things of creation which he had made."

"Till men see Quebec," replied Kalm, "they will not fully realize
the meaning of the term, 'God's footstool.' It is a land worth
living for!"

"Not only a land to live for, but a land to die for, and happy the
man who dies for it! Confess, Kalm,--thou who hast travelled in all
lands,--think'st thou not it is indeed worthy of its proud title of
New France?"

"It is indeed worthy," replied Kalm; "I see here a scion of the old
oak of the Gauls, which, if let grow, will shelter the throne of
France itself in an empire wider than Caesar wrested from Ambiotrix."

"Yes," replied the Count, kindling at the words of his friend, "it
is old France transplanted, transfigured, and glorified,--where her
language, religion, and laws shall be handed down to her posterity,
the glory of North America as the mother-land is the glory of
Europe!"

The enthusiastic Galissonière stretched out his hands and implored a
blessing upon the land entrusted to his keeping.

It was a glorious morning. The sun had just risen over the hilltops
of Lauzon, throwing aside his drapery of gold, purple, and crimson.
The soft haze of the summer morning was floating away into
nothingness, leaving every object fresh with dew and magnified in
the limpid purity of the air.

The broad St. Lawrence, far beneath their feet, was still partially
veiled in a thin blue mist, pierced here and there by the tall mast
of a King's ship or merchantman lying unseen at anchor; or, as the
fog rolled slowly off, a swift canoe might be seen shooting out into
a streak of sunshine, with the first news of the morning from the
south shore.

Behind the Count and his companions rose the white glistening walls
of the Hôtel Dieu, and farther off the tall tower of the newly-
restored Cathedral, the belfry of the Recollets, and the roofs of
the ancient College of the Jesuits. An avenue of old oaks and
maples shaded the walk, and in the branches of the trees a swarm of
birds fluttered and sang, as if in rivalry with the gay French talk
and laughter of the group of officers, who waited the return of the
Governor from the bastion where he stood, showing the glories of
Quebec to his friend.

The walls of the city ran along the edge of the cliff upwards as
they approached the broad gallery and massive front of the Castle of
St. Louis, and ascending the green slope of the broad glacis,
culminated in the lofty citadel, where, streaming in the morning
breeze, radiant in the sunshine, and alone in the blue sky, waved
the white banner of France, the sight of which sent a thrill of joy
and pride into the hearts of her faithful subjects in the New World.

The broad bay lay before them, round as a shield, and glittering
like a mirror as the mist blew off its surface. Behind the sunny
slopes of Orleans, which the river encircled in its arms like a
giant lover his fair mistress, rose the bold, dark crests of the
Laurentides, lifting their bare summits far away along the course of
the ancient river, leaving imagination to wander over the wild
scenery in their midst--the woods, glens, and unknown lakes and
rivers that lay hid far from human ken, or known only to rude
savages, wild as the beasts of chase they hunted in those strange
regions.

Across the broad valley of the St. Charles, covered with green
fields and ripening harvests, and dotted with quaint old homesteads,
redolent with memories of Normandy and Brittany, rose a long
mountain ridge covered with primeval woods, on the slope of which
rose the glittering spire of Charlebourg, once a dangerous outpost
of civilization. The pastoral Lairet was seen mingling its waters
with the St. Charles in a little bay that preserves the name of
Jacques Cartier, who with his hardy companions spent their first
winter in Canada on this spot, the guests of the hospitable
Donacana, lord of Quebec and of all the lands seen from its lofty
cape.

Directly beneath the feet of the Governor, on a broad strip of land
that lay between the beach and the precipice, stood the many-gabled
Palace of the Intendant, the most magnificent structure in New
France. Its long front of eight hundred feet overlooked the royal
terraces and gardens, and beyond these the quays and magazines,
where lay the ships of Bordeaux, St. Malo, and Havre, unloading the
merchandise and luxuries of France in exchange for the more rude,
but not less valuable, products of the Colony.

Between the Palace and the Basse Ville the waves at high tide washed
over a shingly beach where there were already the beginnings of a
street. A few rude inns displayed the sign of the fleur-de-lis or
the imposing head of Louis XV. Round the doors of these inns in
summer-time might always be found groups of loquacious Breton and
Norman sailors in red caps and sashes, voyageurs and canoemen from
the far West in half Indian costume, drinking Gascon wine and Norman
cider, or the still more potent liquors filled with the fires of the
Antilles. The Batture kindled into life on the arrival of the fleet
from home, and in the evenings of summer, as the sun set behind the
Côte à Bonhomme, the natural magnetism of companionship drew the
lasses of Quebec down to the beach, where, amid old refrains of
French ditties and the music of violins and tambours de Basque, they
danced on the green with the jovial sailors who brought news from
the old land beyond the Atlantic.

"Pardon me, gentlemen, for keeping you waiting," said the Governor,
as he descended from the bastion and rejoined his suite. "I am so
proud of our beautiful Quebec that I can scarcely stop showing off
its charms to my friend Herr Kalm, who knows so well how to
appreciate them. But," continued he, looking round admiringly on
the bands of citizens and habitans who were at work strengthening
every weak point in the fortifications, "my brave Canadians are busy
as beavers on their dam. They are determined to keep the saucy
English out of Quebec. They deserve to have the beaver for their
crest, industrious fellows that they are! I am sorry I kept you
waiting, however."

"We can never count the moments lost which your Excellency gives to
the survey of our fair land," replied the Bishop, a grave, earnest-
looking man. "Would that His Majesty himself could stand on these
walls and see with his own eyes, as you do, this splendid patrimony
of the crown of France. He would not dream of bartering it away in
exchange for petty ends and corners of Germany and Flanders, as is
rumored, my Lord."

"True words and good, my Lord Bishop," replied the Governor; "the
retention of all Flanders now in the strong hands of the Marshal de
Saxe would be a poor compensation for the surrender of a glorious
land like this to the English."

Flying rumors of some such proposal on the part of France had
reached the Colony, with wild reports arising out of the endless
chaffering between the negotiators for peace, who had already
assembled at Aix la Chapelle. "The fate of America will one day be
decided here," continued the Governor; "I see it written upon this
rock, 'Whoever rules Quebec will sway the destinies of the
continent.' May our noble France be wise, and understand in time
the signs of empire and of supremacy!"

The Bishop looked upwards with a sigh. "Our noble France has not
yet read those tokens, or she misunderstands them. Oh, these
faithful subjects of hers! Look at them, your Excellency." The
Bishop pointed toward the crowd of citizens hard at work on the
walls. "There is not a man of them but is ready to risk life and
fortune for the honor and dominion of France, and yet they are
treated by the Court with such neglect, and burdened with exactions
that take from life the sweet reward of labor! They cannot do the
impossible that France requires of them--fight her battles, till her
fields, and see their bread taken from them by these new ordinances
of the Intendant."

"Well, my Lord," replied the Governor, affecting a jocularity he
did not feel, for he knew how true were the words of the Bishop,
"we must all do our duty, nevertheless: if France requires
impossibilities of us, we must perform them! That is the old
spirit! If the skies fall upon our heads, we must, like true Gauls,
hold them up on the points of our lances! What say you, Rigaud de
Vaudreuil? Cannot one Canadian surround ten New Englanders?" The
Governor alluded to an exploit of the gallant officer whom he turned
to address.

"Probatum est, your Excellency! I once with six hundred Canadians
surrounded all New England. Prayers were put up in all the churches
of Boston for deliverance when we swept the Connecticut from end to
end with a broom of fire."

"Brave Rigaud! France has too few like you!" remarked the Governor
with a look of admiration.

Rigaud bowed, and shook his head modestly. "I trust she has ten
thousand better;" but added, pointing at his fellow-officers who
stood conversing at a short distance, "Marshal de Saxe has few the
equals of these in his camp, my Lord Count!" And well was the
compliment deserved: they were gallant men, intelligent in looks,
polished in manners, and brave to a fault, and all full of that
natural gaiety that sits so gracefully on a French soldier.

Most of them wore the laced coat and waistcoat, chapeau, boots, lace
ruffles, sash, and rapier of the period--a martial costume befitting
brave and handsome men. Their names were household words in every
cottage in New France, and many of them as frequently spoken of in
the English Colonies as in the streets of Quebec.

There stood the Chevalier de Beaujeu, a gentleman of Norman family,
who was already famed upon the frontier, and who, seven years later,
in the forests of the Monongahela, crowned a life of honor by a
soldier's death on the bloody field won from the unfortunate
Braddock, defeating an army ten times more numerous than his own.

Talking gayly with De Beaujeu were two gallant-looking young men of
a Canadian family which, out of seven brothers, lost six slain in
the service of their King--Jumonville de Villiers, who was
afterwards, in defiance of a flag of truce, shot down by order of
Colonel Washington, in the far-off forests of the Alleghenies,
and his brother, Coulon de Villiers, who received the sword of
Washington when he surrendered himself and garrison prisoners of
war, at Fort Necessity, in 1754.

Coulon de Villiers imposed ignominious conditions of surrender upon
Washington, but scorned to take other revenge for the death of his
brother. He spared the life of Washington, who lived to become the
leader and idol of his nation, which, but for the magnanimity of the
noble Canadian, might have never struggled into independence.

There stood also the Sieur de Lery, the King's engineer, charged
with the fortification of the Colony, a man of Vauban's genius in
the art of defence. Had the schemes which he projected, and vainly
urged upon the heedless Court of Versailles, been carried into
effect, the conquest of New France would have been an impossibility.

Arm in arm with De Lery, in earnest conversation, walked the
handsome Claude de Beauharnais,--brother of a former Governor of the
Colony,--a graceful, gallant-looking soldier. De Beauharnais was
the ancestor of a vigorous and beautiful race, among whose posterity
was the fair Hortense de Beauharnais, who in her son, Napoleon III.,
seated an offshoot of Canada upon the imperial throne of France long
after the abandonment of their ancient colony by the corrupt House
of Bourbon.

Conspicuous among the distinguished officers by his tall, straight
figure and quick movements, was the Chevalier La Corne St. Luc,
supple as an Indian, and almost as dark, from exposure to the
weather and incessant campaigning. He was fresh from the blood and
desolation of Acadia, where France, indeed, lost her ancient colony,
but St. Luc reaped a full sheaf of glory at Grand Pré, in the Bay of
Minas, by the capture of an army of New Englanders. The rough old
soldier was just now all smiles and gaiety, as he conversed with
Monseigneur de Pontbriant, the venerable Bishop of Quebec, and
Father de Berey, the Superior of the Recollets.

The Bishop, a wise ruler of his Church, was also a passionate lover
of his country: the surrender of Quebec to the English broke his
heart, and he died a few months after the announcement of the final
cession of the Colony.

Father de Berey, a jovial monk, wearing the gray gown and sandals of
the Recollets, was renowned throughout New France for his wit more
than for his piety. He had once been a soldier, and he wore his
gown, as he had worn his uniform, with the gallant bearing of a
King's Guardsman. But the people loved him all the more for his
jests, which never lacked the accompaniment of genuine charity. His
sayings furnished all New France with daily food for mirth and
laughter, without detracting an iota of the respect in which the
Recollets were held throughout the colony.

Father Glapion, the Superior of the Jesuits, also accompanied the
Bishop. His close, black soutane contrasted oddly with the gray,
loose gown of the Recollet. He was a meditative, taciturn man,--
seeming rather to watch the others than to join in the lively
conversation that went on around him. Anything but cordiality and
brotherly love reigned between the Jesuits and the Order of St.
Francis, but the Superiors were too wary to manifest towards each
other the mutual jealousies of their subordinates.

The long line of fortifications presented a stirring appearance that
morning. The watch-fires that had illuminated the scene during the
night were dying out, the red embers paling under the rays of the
rising sun. From a wide circle surrounding the city the people had
come in--many were accompanied by their wives and daughters--to
assist in making the bulwark of the Colony impregnable against the
rumored attack of the English.

The people of New France, taught by a hundred years of almost
constant warfare with the English and with the savage nations on
their frontiers, saw as clearly as the Governor that the key of
French dominion hung inside the walls of Quebec, and that for an
enemy to grasp it was to lose all they valued as subjects of the
Crown of France.


CHAPTER II.

THE WALLS OF QUEBEC.


Count de la Galissonière, accompanied by his distinguished
attendants, proceeded again on their round of inspection. They were
everywhere saluted with heads uncovered, and welcomed by hearty
greetings. The people of New France had lost none of the natural
politeness and ease of their ancestors, and, as every gentleman of
the Governor's suite was at once recognized, a conversation,
friendly even to familiarity, ensued between them and the citizens
and habitans, who worked as if they were building their very souls
into the walls of the old city.

"Good morning, Sieur de St. Denis!" gaily exclaimed the Governor to
a tall, courtly gentleman, who was super-intending the labor of a
body of his censitaires from Beauport. "'Many hands make light
work,' says the proverb. That splendid battery you are just
finishing deserves to be called Beauport. What say you, my Lord
Bishop?" turning to the smiling ecclesiastic. "Is it not worthy of
baptism?"

"Yes, and blessing both; I give it my episcopal benediction,"
replied the Bishop, "and truly I think most of the earth of it is
taken from the consecrated ground of the Hôtel Dieu--it will stand
fire!"

"Many thanks, my Lord!"--the Sieur de St. Denis bowed very low--
"where the Church bars the door Satan will never enter, nor the
English either! Do you hear, men?" continued he, turning to his
censitaires, "my Lord Bishop christens our battery Beauport, and
says it will stand fire!"

"Vive le Roi!" was the response, an exclamation that came
spontaneously to the lips of all Frenchmen on every emergency of
danger or emotion of joy.

A sturdy habitan came forward, and doffing his red tuque or cap,
addressed the Governor: "This is a good battery, my Lord Governor,
but there ought to be one as good in our village. Permit us to
build one and man it, and we promise your Excellency that no
Englishman shall ever get into the back door of Quebec while we have
lives to defend it." The old habitan had the eye of a soldier--he
had been one. The Governor knew the value of the suggestion, and at
once assented to it, adding, "No better defenders of the city could
be found anywhere than the brave habitans of Beauport."

Copyright (c) 2007. famouswriterz.com. All rights reserved.