The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1884-08-16
ST. JEAN DE BA'Tr.

Written
Michel Trudeau wakes early on the morning
of June 25, comes down from his loft through
the two rooms when other members of his mum
erous family still slumber and proceeds first to
feed the cattle. To do this it is not necessary
for him to open the outer door, catching
as he does so the dawn upon the noun
tains and the damp freshness of Can
adam morning in its first glory. The house
roof extends over stable and all append
ages, So when in mid-winJer the snow
reaches his armpits, Michel does not have to
struggle through it to his domestic creatures,
but has them sheltered to his hand. He does not
object to manure heap against the outside
wall of his residence; nor does his mother,
though her floor is kept white as snow and the
braided rag rugs laid about on it testify to her
industry
The young French Canadian is low-built,
swarthy fellow. He has very black eyes, black
hair and a ruddy flush through his cheeks. His
sisters have waxy skin and heavy features.
They are not beautiful, for their little figures
are dumping shaped, and they 90 not wear the
high Norman caps of their foremothers. Their
best clothes are made in the American fashion,
of silks and satins-for however poor French
and his person to the most gorgeous limits that
he can reach.
This is the festival week of St Jean de Bap-
tiste, the Canadian national holiday, entirely
un- English in its origin and celebration, however
jealous the descendants of Britons may be IN
taking part Usually every town and village
festoons itself with maple leaves, the Canadian
emblem and has its own professions. But this
fiftieth anniversary there will be a grand fest-
val at Montreal, and thither every Frenchman
who loves his race will go.
Michel knows that yesterday, the Oath inst,
was the true ST Jeans Day; that solemn high
mass was celebrated at Montreal in the open air,
and every following hour was filled
with amusements But it is to-day that the
streets, with music and pomp, the chevaliers
with crosses on their breasts and the mimic
king-the personator of ST. Louis-with pages
and gorgeous attendants. 1t is the glory OF OLD
France the living dream when tfanSplangeo
Gaul dotes upon.
Michel has heard his father and the priest
talk about this society of St Jean de Bait,
founded fifty years ago by Ledger Duyernay
patriotic French Canadian and Liberal Michel
has also a dim idea that the organization in all
its branches is politics, and he knows it nurses
his inherited feelings and prejudices, But one
cares for other things at twenty Michel loves
st. Jean de Baptiste week Wednesday is his
favorite day.
His numerous family up and breakfast
There are large children, middle-sized children
and various stages of babies fifteen in ALL of
whom Michel is eldest They will go in body
to behold the procession of St Jean de Bait.
Some will remain during the entire week at
friends houses in Montreal; houses built OF
block stone, with outside staircases or verandas
hung around under the caves; and some will
come back to the ribbonstrip of farm at night
to feed the animals and trudge leisurely through
daily work
as many of this family as can crowd upon the
fat car, he looks eagerly across the field the
pea-bunches are coming up timely and Will be
good eating for stock; but his thought is not of
them. The train leaves st. Hyacinthe station
at little after 5 o'clock, and this army OF
Trudeaus whose progress will be the snail s.
must soon set out to meet it He has been told
the Polettes would come by in season to join
companies
St Joseph! There is no finding your own twin
brother in Montreal after you have once set foot
among the throng Michel is shy of Zelie Polette,
yet he hopes to find car-seat which nobody but
Zelie and himself should occupy. His mother
and her mother-their youngest babies hermeti-
cally sealed in quilted cotton bolsters-could
tinkle together on the cars of family life and
their fathers make the train resound with nasal
Canadian French He cares not what disagree
ments the mddle-siZed children may fall into.
With the older people it is peace and amity, and
with Zelie and himself he hopes it is amity and
peace indeed.
The PoIettes come creaking along all upon one
dray-like open wagon drawn by one horse.
box is placed at the front upon which are throned
the Polettes pere and mere. And all the rest of
the surface is a muddle of fnery and boys straw
hats festooned with white tarletan.
There is scant time for ceremony, yet Michel
and father must bring from chest under his
own bed a bottle of stale beer, bottle of poor
Marsala and strong whisky. While the load on
ffox ic facti nd ais lafi wifi 10 Dad
about to weight another van, Michel cannot for
bear to bring out his fiddle and strike into old
Norman dancing tunes. II is almost impossible
for those many feet to keep still. They would
be dancing heartily, as if they had just been to
Sunday confession and got their sins forgiven
but the fiddle must be put away-the four
wheeled carts must move. They move over a
road-bed of solid rock, on which the flint dust is
still too damp with dew to spirit up in little
gusts. Banks rise each SIDE thick set with
fern and Fragrant of sweet earth. Hills rise in
green undulations far up the horizon and the
woods are rank and dense on every hand. The
English ox-eyed daisy and polished buttercups
clothe whole fields in white and yellow mosaic.
They pass green-hidden mansion; fountain
spashes in little lake, and from terraces comes
puff of the musk plant.
Michel walks beside the Polette cart less in
mercy to the family horse than in kindenss to
himself He does not mind the trudge to St
Hyacinthe where the horses are housed with
hospitable acquaintance, and where the long
excursion train stuffed with Frenchmen is yet
capable of devouring more crowds.
Sweet to Michel is the sight of whirling land
scapes, of suddenly appearing and disappearing
rivers He cannot sit by Zelie but standing up
he can look at her, and she is grand in her fine
Clothes, Zelie is not so short nor so pudding
shaped as his sisters and when she is warm her
hair curls in tendrils around her face. He would
not dare to compare her to the sacred image of
our Holy Lady of the Grotto; still, he feels a
solemn satisfaction in gazing at her with dis
tended black eyes. No more than an American
country lad in a similar state of mind does
Michel reflect about what Zelie and he will live
upon when they are married They will surely
have holiday Dress and go to see DR. Jean de
Bait, whatever betides.
And now the train has entered the Victoria
bridge which spans St Lawrence, twomile