Chapter 1

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THE HABITANT AND OTHER FRENCH-CANADIAN POEMS

By William Henry Drummond, M.D.

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY

Louis Frechette

AND WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

Frederick Simpson Coburn

TO MY DEAR FRIEND AND FORMER TEACHER

GEORGE MURRAY, ESQ., B.A., A.K.C., F.R.S.C.

THESE VERSES ARE DEDICATED WITH SINCERE ADMIRATION AND RESPECT

INTRODUCTION

On me demande, pour ce charmant volume, un mot de preface en francais; le voici:

Quand, en 1863, je publiai mon premier recueil de poesies--ecrites au college, pour la plupart,--le grand poete americain Longfellow eut la flatteuse bienveillance de m'appeler _The pathfinder of a new land of song_.

Avec mille fois plus de raison puis-je aujourd'hui passer le compliment a mon sympathique confrere et ami, l'auteur de ce livre; car, si jamais quelqu'un, chez nous, a merite le titre de _pathfinder of a new land of song_, c'est assurement lui.

Non seulement il a decouvert le champ, la clairiere, la vallee fertile et encore inexploree; il en a fait l'exploitation a sa maniere, avec des outils et des moyens de son invention; et, fier de sa conquete, il laisse, de son epaule robuste, tomber a nos pieds le fruit de son travail, la gerbe plantureuse aux ors vierges, a l'arome sauvage, aux savoureuses promesses, toute fraiche et toute crissante dans sa rusticite saine.

N'est-elle pas, en effet, d'une originalite peu commune, l'idee de prendre un pauvre illettre, de le presenter comme un type national a part, de lui mettre aux levres une langue qui n'est pas la sienne et qu'il ne connait qu' a demi; d'en faire en meme temps un personnage bon, doux, aimable, honnete, intelligent et droit, l'esprit en eveil, le coeur plein d'une poesie native stimulant son patriotisme, jetant un rayon lumineux dans son modeste interieur, bercant ses heures reveuses de souvenirs lointains et melancoliques?

Et cela sans que jamais, dans ce portrait d'un nouveau genre, le plus subtil des critiques puisse surprendre nulle part le coup de crayon de la caricature!

Dans ses inimitables contes villageois, George Sand a peint les paysans du Berry sous des dehors tres interessants. Elle nous les montre meme d'un sentiment tres affine dans leur simplicite naive et leur cordiale bonhomie. En somme, elle en fait des natures, des temperaments, quelque chose de typique, en meme temps qu' harmonieux de teinte et de forme.

Mais George Sand faisait parler ses personnages dans la langue du pays, dans la langue de la chaumiere, dans leur propre dialecte, enfin. Elle n'avait, pour ainsi dire, qu' a faire penetrer le souffle de son talent sous le reseau de la phrase, pour animer celle-ci d'un reflet de lyrisme ou d'une vibration attendrie.

La tache abordee par M. Drummond presentait un caractere beaucoup plus difficile.

Ici, le poete avait bien, il est vrai, le milieu a saisir, place, droit en face de son objectif. Il etait assez familier avec ses acteurs pour les grouper avantageusement, en menageant les effets d'ombres et de lumiere. Il est naturellement assez artiste pour ne rien negliger de ce qui ajoute du pittoresque a la pose; surtout, il connaissait a fond le type a reproduire, ses moeurs, ses passions, ses sentiments, ses penchants, ses superstitions et ses faiblesses.

Mais comment, sans tomber dans la charge ou la bouffonnerie, faire parler systematiquement a ses personnages une langue etrangere, forcement incorrecte dans la bouche de quelqu'un qui l'a apprise par oreille, sans savoir lire meme dans sa propre langue?

La tentative etait hardie; mais on sait que le succes a un faible pour les audacieux.

Dans son etude des Canadiens-francais, M. Drummond a trouve le moyen d'eviter un ecueil qui aurait semble inevitable pour tout autre que pour lui. Il est reste vrai, sans tomber dans la vulgarite, et piquant sans verser dans le grotesque.

Qu'il mette en scene le gros fermier fier de son bien ou de ses filles a marier, le vieux medecin de campagne ne comptant plus ses etats de service, le jeune amoureux qui reve au clair de la lune, le vieillard qui repasse en sa memoire la longue suite des jours revolus, le conteur de legendes, l'aventurier des "pays d'en haut," et meme le Canadien exile--le _Canadien errant_, comme dit la chanson populaire--qui croit toujours entendre resonner a son oreille le vague tintement des cloches de son village; que le recit soit plaisant ou pathetique, jamais la note ne sonne faux, jamais la bizarrerie ne degenere en puerilite burlesque.

C'est la un tour de force comme il ne s'en fait pas souvent, et c'est avec enthousiasme que je tends la main a M. Drummond pour le feliciter de l'avoir accompli.

Il a veritablement fait la oeuvre de poete et d'artiste.

J'ajouterai qu'il a fait aussi oeuvre de bon citoyen. Car le jour sous lequel il presente mes compatriotes illettres ne peut manquer de valoir a ceux-ci--et partant a tout le reste de la nationalite--un accroissement desirable dans l'estime de nos compatriotes de langue anglaise, qui n'ont pas ete a meme de les etudier d'aussi pres que M. Drummond.

La peinture qu'en fait le poete est on ne peut plus sympathique et juste; et de semblables procedes ne peuvent que cimenter l'union de coeur et d'esprit qui doit exister entre toutes les fractions qui composent la grande famille canadienne appelee a vivre et a prosperer sous la meme loi et le meme drapeau.

En lisant les vers de M. Drummond, le Canadien-francais sent que c'est la l'expression d'une ame amie; et, a ce compte, je dois a l'auteur plus que mes bravos, je lui dois en meme temps un chaleureux merci.

LOUIS FRECHETTE.

MONTREAL, 13 octobre 1897.

PREFACE

In presenting to the public "The Habitant and other French-Canadian Poems," I feel that my friends who are already, more or less, familiar with the work, understand that I have not written the verses as examples of a dialect, or with any thought of ridicule.

Having lived, practically, all my life, side by side with the French-Canadian people, I have grown to admire and love them, and I have felt that while many of the English-speaking public know perhaps as well as myself the French-Canadian of the cities, yet they have had little opportunity of becoming acquainted with the habitant, therefore I have endeavored to paint a few types, and in doing this, it has seemed to me that I could best attain the object in view by having my friends tell their own tales in their own way, as they would relate them to English-speaking auditors not conversant with the French tongue.

My good friend, Dr. Louis Frechette, Poet Laureate, has as a French-Canadian, kindly written an "Introductory" in his own graceful language, and I have to thank him above all for his recognition of the spirit which has actuated me in writing "dialect" verse.

To Mr. F. S. Coburn, the artist, also, I am deeply indebted for the faithful manner in which he has interpreted the different characters and scenes contained in this volume. All the pictures have been sketched from nature or life, and the keenest critic will agree with me, that Mr. Coburn's illustrations are most typical, both of the people and the soil.

WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND.

CONTENTS.

DE HABITANT THE WRECK OF THE "JULIE PLANTE" LE VIEUX TEMPS DE PAPINEAU GUN HOW BATEESE CAME HOME DE NICE LEETLE CANADIENNE 'POLEON DORE DE NOTAIRE PUBLIQUE MAXIME LABELLE MEMORIES PHIL-O-RUM JUNEAU DE BELL OF ST. MICHEL PELANG MON CHOUAL "CASTOR" OLE TAM ON BORD-A PLOUFFE THE GRAND SEIGNEUR M'SIEU SMIT' WHEN ALBANI SANG DE CAMP ON DE "CHEVAL GRIS" DE STOVE PIPE HOLE DE SNOWBIRD THE HABITANT'S JUBILEE ODE OLE DOCTEUR FISET

DE HABITANT.

De place I get born, me, is up on de reever Near foot of de rapide dat's call Cheval Blanc Beeg mountain behin' it, so high you can't climb it An' whole place she's mebbe two honder arpent.

De fader of me, he was habitant farmer, Ma gran' fader too, an' hees fader also, Dey don't mak' no monee, but dat isn't fonny For it's not easy get ev'ryt'ing, you mus' know--

All de sam' dere is somet'ing dey got ev'ryboddy, Dat's plaintee good healt', wat de monee can't geev, So I'm workin' away dere, an' happy for stay dere On farm by de reever, so long I was leev.

O! dat was de place w'en de spring tam she's comin', W'en snow go away, an' de sky is all blue-- W'en ice lef' de water, an' sun is get hotter An' back on de medder is sing de gou-glou--

W'en small sheep is firs' comin' out on de pasture, Deir nice leetle tail stickin' up on deir back, Dey ronne wit' deir moder, an' play wit' each oder An' jomp all de tam jus' de sam' dey was crack--

An' ole cow also, she's glad winter is over, So she kick herse'f up, an' start off on de race Wit' de two-year-ole heifer, dat's purty soon lef' her, W'y ev'ryt'ing's crazee all over de place!

An' down on de reever de wil' duck is quackin' Along by de shore leetle san'piper ronne-- De bullfrog he's gr-rompin' an' dore is jompin' Dey all got deir own way for mak' it de fonne.

But spring's in beeg hurry, an' don't stay long wit' us An' firs' t'ing we know, she go off till nex' year, Den bee commence hummin', for summer is comin' An' purty soon corn's gettin' ripe on de ear.

Dat's very nice tam for wake up on de morning An' lissen de rossignol sing ev'ry place, Feel sout' win' a-blowin' see clover a-growin' An' all de worl' laughin' itself on de face.

Mos' ev'ry day raf' it is pass on de rapide De voyageurs singin' some ole chanson 'Bout girl down de reever--too bad dey mus' leave her, But comin' back soon' wit' beaucoup d'argent.

An' den w'en de fall an' de winter come roun' us An' bird of de summer is all fly away, W'en mebbe she's snowin' an' nort' win' is blowin' An' night is mos' t'ree tam so long as de day.

You t'ink it was bodder de habitant farmer? Not at all--he is happy an' feel satisfy, An' cole may las' good w'ile, so long as de wood-pile Is ready for burn on de stove by an' bye.

W'en I got plaintee hay put away on de stable So de sheep an' de cow, dey got no chance to freeze, An' de hen all togedder--I don't min' de wedder-- De nort' win' may blow jus' so moche as she please.

An' some cole winter night how I wish you can see us, W'en I smoke on de pipe, an' de ole woman sew By de stove of T'ree Reever--ma wife's fader geev her On day we get marry, dat's long tam ago--

De boy an' de girl, dey was readin' it's lesson, De cat on de corner she's bite heem de pup, Ole "Carleau" he's snorin' an' beeg stove is roarin' So loud dat I'm scare purty soon she bus' up.

Philomene--dat's de oldes'--is sit on de winder An' kip jus' so quiet lak wan leetle mouse, She say de more finer moon never was shiner-- Very fonny, for moon isn't dat side de house.

But purty soon den, we hear foot on de outside, An' some wan is place it hees han' on de latch, Dat's Isidore Goulay, las' fall on de Brule He's tak' it firs' prize on de grand ploughin' match.

Ha! ha! Philomene!--dat was smart trick you play us Come help de young feller tak' snow from hees neck, Dere's not'ing for hinder you come off de winder W'en moon you was look for is come, I expec'--

Isidore, he is tole us de news on de parish 'Bout hees Lajeunesse Colt--travel two forty, sure, 'Bout Jeremie Choquette, come back from Woonsocket An' t'ree new leetle twin on Madame Vaillancour'.

But nine o'clock strike, an' de chil'ren is sleepy, Mese'f an' ole woman can't stay up no more So alone by de fire--'cos dey say dey ain't tire-- We lef' Philomene an' de young Isidore.

I s'pose dey be talkin' beeg lot on de kitchen 'Bout all de nice moon dey was see on de sky, For Philomene's takin' long tam get awaken Nex' day, she's so sleepy on bote of de eye.

Dat's wan of dem ting's, ev'ry tam on de fashion, An' 'bout nices' t'ing dat was never be seen. Got not'ing for say me--I spark it sam' way me W'en I go see de moder ma girl Philomene.

We leev very quiet 'way back on de contree Don't put on sam style lak de big village, W'en we don't get de monee you t'ink dat is fonny An' mak' plaintee sport on de Bottes Sauvages.

But I tole you--dat's true--I don't go on de city If you geev de fine house an' beaucoup d'argent-- I rader be stay me, an' spen' de las' day me On farm by de rapide dat's call Cheval Blanc.

THE WRECK OF THE "JULIE PLANTE."

A LEGEND OF LAC-ST. PIERRE.

On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre, De win' she blow, blow, blow, An' de crew of de wood scow "Julie Plante" Got scar't an' run below-- For de win' she blow lak hurricane Bimeby she blow some more, An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre Wan arpent from de shore.

De captinne walk on de fronte deck, An' walk de hin' deck too-- He call de crew from up de hole He call de cook also. De cook she's name was Rosie, She come from Montreal, Was chambre maid on lumber barge, On de Grande Lachine Canal.

De win' she blow from nor'-eas'-wes,'-- De sout' win' she blow too, W'en Rosie cry "Mon cher captinne, Mon cher, w'at I shall do?" Den de Captinne t'row de big ankerre, But still the scow she dreef, De crew he can't pass on de shore, Becos' he los' hees skeef.

De night was dark lak' wan black cat, De wave run high an' fas', W'en de captinne tak' de Rosie girl An' tie her to de mas'. Den he also tak' de life preserve, An' jomp off on de lak', An' say, "Good-bye, ma Rosie dear, I go drown for your sak'."

Nex' morning very early 'Bout ha'f-pas' two--t'ree--four-- De captinne--scow--an' de poor Rosie Was corpses on de shore, For de win' she blow lak' hurricane Bimeby she blow some more, An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre, Wan arpent from de shore.

MORAL.

Now all good wood scow sailor man Tak' warning by dat storm An' go an' marry some nice French girl An' leev on wan beeg farm. De win' can blow lak' hurricane An' s'pose she blow some more, You can't get drown on Lac St. Pierre So long you stay on shore.

LE VIEUX TEMPS.

Venez ici, mon cher ami, an' sit down by me--so An' I will tole you story of old tam long ago-- W'en ev'ryt'ing is happy--w'en all de bird is sing An' me!--I'm young an' strong lak moose an' not afraid no t'ing.

I close my eye jus' so, an' see de place w'ere I am born-- I close my ear an' lissen to musique of de horn, Dat's horn ma dear ole moder blow--an only t'ing she play Is "viens donc vite Napoleon--'peche toi pour votre souper."--

An' w'en he's hear dat nice musique--ma leetle dog "Carleau" Is place hees tail upon hees back--an' den he's let heem go-- He's jomp on fence--he's swimmin' crik--he's ronne two forty gait, He say "dat's somet'ing good for eat--Carleau mus' not be late."

O dem was pleasure day for sure, dem day of long ago W'en I was play wit' all de boy, an' all de girl also; An' many tam w'en I'm alone an' t'ink of day gone by An' pull latire an' spark de girl, I cry upon my eye.

Ma fader an' ma moder too, got nice, nice familee, Dat's ten garcon an' t'orteen girl, was mak' it twenty t'ree But fonny t'ing de Gouvernement don't geev de firs' prize den Lak w'at dey say dey geev it now, for only wan douzaine.

De English peep dat only got wan familee small size Mus' be feel glad dat tam dere is no honder acre prize For fader of twelve chil'ren--dey know dat mus' be so, De Canayens would boss Kebeck--mebbe Ontario.

But dat is not de story dat I was gone tole you About de fun we use to have w'en we leev a chez nous We're never lonesome on dat house, for many cavalier Come at our place mos' every night--especially Sun-day.

But tam I'member bes' is w'en I'm twenty wan year--me-- An' so for mak' some pleasurement--we geev wan large soiree De whole paroisse she be invite--de Cure he's come too-- Wit plaintee peep from 'noder place--dat's more I can tole you.

De night she's cole an' freeze also, chemin she's fill wit snow An' on de chimley lak phantome, de win' is mak' it blow-- But boy an' girl come all de sam an' pass on grande parloir For warm itself on beeg box stove, was mak' on Trois Rivieres--

An' w'en Bonhomme Latour commence for tune up hees fidelle It mak' us all feel very glad--l'enfant! he play so well, Musique suppose to be firs' class, I offen hear, for sure But mos' bes' man, beat all de res', is ole Bateese Latour--

An' w'en Bateese play Irish jeeg, he's learn on Mattawa Dat tam he's head boss cook Shaintee--den leetle Joe Leblanc Tak' hole de beeg Marie Juneau an' dance upon de floor Till Marie say "Excuse to me, I cannot dance no more."--

An' den de Cure's mak' de speech--ole Cure Ladouceur! He say de girl was spark de boy too much on some cornerre-- An' so he's tole Bateese play up ole fashion reel a quatre An' every body she mus' dance, dey can't get off on dat.

Away she go--hooraw! hooraw! plus fort Bateese, mon vieux Camille Bisson, please watch your girl--dat's bes' t'ing you can do. Pass on de right an' tak' your place Mamzelle Des Trois Maisons You're s'pose for dance on Paul Laberge, not Telesphore Gagnon.

Mon oncle Al-fred, he spik lak' dat--'cos he is boss de floor, An' so we do our possibill an' den commence encore. Dem crowd of boy an' girl I'm sure keep up until nex' day If ole Bateese don't stop heseff, he come so fatigue.

An' affer dat, we eat some t'ing, tak' leetle drink also An' de Cure, he's tole story of many year ago-- W'en Iroquois sauvage she's keel de Canayens an' steal deir hair, An' say dat's only for Bon Dieu, we don't be here--he don't be dere.

But dat was mak' de girl feel scare--so all de cavalier Was ax hees girl go home right off, an' place her on de sleigh, An' w'en dey start, de Cure say, "Bonsoir et bon voyage Menagez-vous--tak' care for you--prenez-garde pour les sauvages."

An' den I go meseff also, an' tak' ma belle Elmire-- She's nicer girl on whole Comte, an' jus' got eighteen year-- Black hair--black eye, an' chick rosee dat's lak wan fameuse on de fall But don't spik much--not of dat kin', I can't say she love me at all.

Ma girl--she's fader beeg farmeur--leev 'noder side St. Flore Got five-six honder acre--mebbe a leetle more-- Nice sugar bush--une belle maison--de bes' I never see-- So w'en I go for spark Elmire, I don't be mak' de foolish me--

Elmire!--she's pass t'ree year on school--Ste. Anne de la Perade An' w'en she's tak' de firs' class prize, dat's mak' de ole man glad; He say "Ba gosh--ma girl can wash--can keep de kitchen clean Den change her dress--mak' politesse before God save de Queen."

Dey's many way for spark de girl, an' you know dat of course, Some way dey might be better way, an' some dey might be worse But I lak' sit some cole night wit' my girl on ole burleau Wit' lot of hay keep our foot warm--an' plaintee buffalo--

Dat's geev good chances get acquaint--an' if burleau upset An' t'row you out upon de snow--dat's better chances yet-- An' if you help de girl go home, if horse he ronne away De girl she's not much use at all--don't geev you nice baiser!

Dat's very well for fun ma frien', but w'en you spark for keep She's not sam t'ing an' mak' you feel so scare lak' leetle sheep Some tam you get de fever--some tam you're lak snowball An' all de tam you ack lak' fou--can't spik no t'ing at all.

Wall! dat's de way I feel meseff, wit Elmire on burleau, Jus' lak' small dog try ketch hees tail--roun' roun' ma head she go But bimeby I come more brave--an' tak' Elmire she's han' "Laisse-moi tranquille" Elmire she say "You mus' be crazy man."

"Yass--yass," I say, "mebbe you t'ink I'm wan beeg loup garou, Dat's forty t'ousand 'noder girl, I lef' dem all for you, I s'pose you know Polique Gauthier your frien'on St. Cesaire I ax her marry me nex' wick--she tak' me--I don't care."

Ba gosh; Elmire she don't lak dat--it mak' her feel so mad-- She commence cry, say "'Poleon you treat me very bad-- I don't lak see you t'row you'seff upon Polique Gauthier, So if you say you love me sure--we mak' de mariee."--

Oh it was fine tam affer dat--Castor I t'ink he know, We're not too busy for get home--he go so nice an' slow, He's only upset t'ree--four tam--an' jus' about daylight We pass upon de ole man's place--an' every t'ing's all right.

Wall! we leev happy on de farm for nearly fifty year, Till wan day on de summer tam--she die--ma belle Elmire I feel so lonesome lef' behin'--I tink 'twas bes' mebbe-- Dat w'en le Bon Dieu tak' ma famme--he should not forget me.

But dat is hees biz-nesse ma frien'--I know dat's all right dere I'll wait till he call "'Poleon" den I will be prepare-- An' w'en he fin' me ready, for mak' de longue voyage He guide me t'roo de wood hesef upon ma las' portage.

"DE PAPINEAU GUN."

AN INCIDENT OF THE CANADIAN REBELLION OF 1837.

Bon jour, M'sieu'--you want to know 'Bout dat ole gun--w'at good she's for? W'y! Jean Bateese Bruneau--mon pere, Fight wit' dat gun on Pap'neau War!

Long tam since den you say--C'est vrai, An' me too young for 'member well, But how de patriot fight an' die, I offen hear de ole folk tell.

De English don't ack square dat tam, Don't geev de habitants no show, So 'long come Wolfred Nelson Wit' Louis Joseph Papineau.

An' swear de peep mus' have deir right. Wolfred he's write Victoriaw, But she's no good, so den de war Commence among de habitants.

Mon pere he leev to Grande Brule So smarter man you never see, Was alway on de grande hooraw! Plaintee w'at you call "Esprit!"

An' w'en dey form wan compagnie All dress wit' tuque an' ceinture sash Ma fader tak' hees gun wit' heem An' marche away to Saint Eustache,

W'ere many patriots was camp Wit' brave Chenier, deir Capitaine, W'en 'long come English Generale, An' more two t'ousan' sojer man.

De patriot dey go on church An' feex her up deir possibill; Dey fight deir bes', but soon fin' out "Canon de bois" no good for kill.

An' den de church she come on fire, An' burn almos' down to de groun', So w'at you t'ink our man can do Wit' all dem English armee roun'?

'Poleon, hees sojer never fight More brave as dem poor habitants, Chenier, he try for broke de rank Chenier come dead immediatement.

He fall near w'ere de cross is stan' Upon de ole church cimitiere, Wit' Jean Poulin an' Laframboise An' plaintee more young feller dere.

De gun dey rattle lak' tonnere Jus' bang, bang, bang! dat's way she go, An' wan by wan de brave man's fall An' red blood's cover all de snow.

Ma fader shoot so long he can An' den he's load hees gun some more, Jomp on de ice behin' de church An' pass heem on de 'noder shore.

Wall! he reach home fore very long An' keep perdu for many day, Till ev'ry t'ing she come tranquille, An' sojer man all gone away.

An' affer dat we get our right, De Canayens don't fight no more, Ma fader's never shoot dat gun, But place her up above de door.

An' Papineau, an' Nelson too Dey're gone long tam, but we are free, Le Bon Dieu have 'em 'way up dere. Salut, Wolfred! Salut, Louis!

HOW BATEESE CAME HOME.

W'en I was young boy on de farm, dat's twenty year ago I have wan frien' he's leev near me, call Jean Bateese Trudeau An offen w'en we are alone, we lak for spik about De tam w'en we was come beeg man, wit' moustache on our mout'.

Bateese is get it on hees head, he's too moche educate For mak' de habitant farmerre--he better go on State-- An' so wan summer evening we're drivin' home de cow He's tole me all de whole beez-nesse--jus' lak you hear me now.

"W'at's use mak' foolish on de farm? dere's no good chances lef' An' all de tam you be poor man--you know dat's true you'se'f; We never get no fun at all--don't never go on spree Onless we pass on 'noder place, an' mak' it some monee.

"I go on Les Etats Unis, I go dere right away An' den mebbe on ten-twelve year, I be riche man some day, An' w'en I mak' de large fortune, I come back I s'pose Wit' Yankee famme from off de State, an' monee on my clothes.