First of all, Quebec was a bore. In the second place, the only people to whom he had brought letters of introduction had most inconsiderately migrated to Vancouver, and, fresh from his English university, he was facing the prospect2 of a solitary3 winter before he could go out into ranch4 life in the spring. A Britisher of sorts, it had not appeared to him to be necessary to inform himself in advance regarding the conditions, climatic and social, of the new country to which he was going. Now, too late, he recognized his mistake. A third grievance5 lay in the non-arrival of the English mail, that morning; and the fourth and most fatal of all lurked6 in the kindly7 efforts of his table companion to draw him into the conversation. To his mind, there was no reason that the swarthy, black-browed little Frenchman at his elbow should offer him any comments upon the state of the weather. The Frenchman had promptly8 retired9 from the talk; but his dark eyes had lighted mirthfully, as they had met the asphalt-like stare of his neighbor’s eyeglasses. Adolphe St. Jacques possessed10 his own fair share of a sense of humor; and Cecil Barth was a new element in his experience.
“Monsieur has swallowed something stiff that does not agree with him,” he observed blandly11 to his fellow student across the table; and Barth, whose French was of Paris, not of Canada, was totally at a loss to account for their merriment.
For the past week, the group of students and the chatter12 of their Canadian patois13 had been anathema14 to him. He understood not a word of their talk, and consequently, with the extreme sensitiveness which too often accompanies extreme egotism, he imagined that it related solely15 to himself. In vain he tried to avoid their hours for meals. Rising betimes, he met them at the hurried early breakfast which betokened16 an eight o’clock lecture. The next morning, dreary17 loitering in his room only brought him into the midst of the deliberate meal which was the joyous18 prerogative19 of their more leisurely20 days. Barth liked The Maple21 Leaf absolutely; but he hated the students of his own table with a cordial and perfect hatred22.
Dropped from the Allan Line steamer, one bright September morning, as a matter of course he had been driven up through the gray old town to the Chateau23 Frontenac. A week at the Chateau had been quite enough for him. To his mind, its luxurious24 rooms had been altogether too American. Too American, also, were its inhabitants. He shrank from the obvious brides in their new tailor gowns and their evident absorption in their companions. He resented those others who, more elderly or more detached, roused themselves from their absorption to bestow25 a friendly word on the solitary young Englishman. Their clothes, their accent, and, worst of all, their manners betrayed their alien birth. No self-respecting woman, bride or no bride, ever wore such dainty shoes. No man of education ever stigmatized26 an innocent babe as cunning. And there was no, absolutely no, excuse for the familiar greetings bestowed27 upon himself by complete strangers.
“Americans!” quoth Mr. Cecil Barth. “Oh, rather!”
And, next morning, he went in search of another hostelry.
He found it at The Maple Leaf, just across the Place d’Armes. Fate denied to him the privilege of sleeping in the quaint28 little pension whose roof was sanctified by having once sheltered his compatriot, Dickens; he could only take his meals there, and hunt for a room outside. At noon, he came to dinner, too exhausted29 by his fruitless search to care whether or not the students were at the table, or on it, or even under it. Go back to the Chateau he would not; but he began to fear lest the only alternative lay in a tent pitched on the terrace in the lee of the Citadel30 and, in that wilderness31, he questioned whether anything so modern as a tent could be bought.
After dinner, the Lady of The Maple Leaf took his affairs in hand. She possessed the two essentials, a kindly heart and a sense of humor. She had seen stray Britishers before; she had a keen perception of the artistic32 fitness of things and, by twilight33, Mr. Cecil Barth was sitting impotently upon his boxes in the third-floor front room of the town house of the Duke of Kent. He had very little notion of the way to proceed about unpacking34 himself. Nevertheless, as he put on his glasses and stared at the panelled shutters35 of his ducal casement36, he felt more at peace with the world than he had done for two long weeks.
In after years, he never saw fit to divulge37 the details of his unpacking. It accomplished38 itself chiefly by the simple method of his tossing out on the floor whatever things lay above any desired object, of leaving those things on the floor until he became weary of tangling39 his feet in them, then of stowing them away in any convenient corner that offered itself. By this simple method, however, he had contrived40 to gain space enough to permit of his tramping up and down the floor, and it was there that he had been taking petulant41 exercise, that bright October morning.
At last he halted at the window and stood looking down into the street beneath. The Duke of Kent’s house has the distinction, rare in Saint Louis Street, of standing42 well back within its own grounds, and, from his window, Barth could watch the leisurely procession passing to and fro on the wooden sidewalks which separated the gray stone buildings from the paler gray stripe of asphalt between. Even at that early hour, it was a variegated43 procession. Tailor-made girls mingled44 with black-gowned nuns45, soldiers from the Citadel, swaggering jauntily46 along, jostled a brown-cowled Franciscan friar or a portly citizen with his omnipresent umbrella, while now and then Barth caught sight of a scarlet-barred khaki uniform, or of the white serge robe and dove-colored cloak of a sister from the new convent out on the Grand Allée.
Barth had travelled before; he had seen many cities; nevertheless, he acknowledged the charm of this varied47 humanity, so long as it remained safely at his feet. Then he glanced diagonally across the road to the Montcalm headquarters, and discovered the patch of sunshine that lay over its pointed48 gables.
“Jolly sort of day!” he observed to himself. “I believe I’ll try to see something or other.”
With a swift forgiveness for the past days of scurrying49 clouds, of the woes50 of moving, even of students and Americans, he turned away from the window, caught up his hat, stick and gloves, and ran lightly down the staircase. Once out in the street, he strayed past the English cathedral, past the gray old front of the Basilica, turned to his left, then turned again and wandered aimlessly down Palace Hill. Ten minutes later, he stopped beside an electric train and watched the crowd scrambling51 into its cars.
“Sainte Anne-de-Beaupré,” he read from the label in a rear window. “What can be the attraction there? Oh, I know; it’s that American Lourdes place. How awfully52 American to go to its miracles by electricity! I believe I’ll go, too. It might be rather interesting to see what an American miracle is like.”
Ticket in hand, he boarded the train, already moving out of the station. He had some difficulty in finding a seat to his liking53, since a man of finical habits objects to having two bundle-laden habitants in the same seat with himself. However, by the time he was sliding along under the bluff54 at Beauport, with the Saint Lawrence glistening55 on his right, he decided56 that the morning was ideal for a country ride. By the time the train halted opposite the Falls of Montmorency, he had forgotten the ubiquitous students at his table, and, as he entered into the fertile valley of L’Ange Gardien, he came to the conclusion that chance had led him wisely. Just how wisely, as yet he was in ignorance.
It was still long before midday when the train drew up at Sainte Anne station, and Barth stepped out upon the platform. Then in amazement57 he halted to look about him. Close at hand, an arched gateway58 led into a broad square garden, bounded by gravel59 walks and bordered on two sides by a row of little shrines60, aged62 and weatherbeaten. On the third side stood the church of the Good Sainte Anne, its twin gray towers rising sharply against the blue October sky and flanking the gilded63 statue of the saint poised64 on the point of the middle roof. Around the four sides of the courtyard there slowly filed a motley procession of humanity, here a cripple, there one racked by some mental agony, the sick in mind and body, simple-hearted and trusting, each bringing his secret grief to lay at the feet of the Good Sainte Anne. Mass was already over, and the procession had formed again to march to the shrine61 and to the holy altar.
Barth’s eyes roved over the shabby procession, over the faces, dull and heavy, or alert with trust; then he turned to the rose-arched figure borne on the shoulders of the chanting priests, and his blood throbbed65 in his veins66, as he listened to their rich, sonorous67 voices.
“A pilgrimage!” he ejaculated to himself. “And now for a miracle! May the saint be propitious68, for once in a way!”
Following hard on the heels of the crowd, he pushed his way through one of the wide doors, gave a disdainful glance at the huge racks of crutches69 and braces70 left by long generations of pious71 pilgrims, looked up at the vaulted72 roof, forward to the huge statue of Sainte Anne half-way up the middle aisle73, and drew a deep breath of content. The next minute, he choked, as the stifling74 atmosphere of the place swept into his throat and nostrils75.
“Oh, by George!” said Mr. Cecil Barth.
However, once there, he resolved to see the spectacle to the end. Furthermore, Barth was artist to the core of his being, and those sonorous voices, now ringing down from the organ loft76 above, could atone77 for much stale air. A step at a time, he edged forward cautiously and took his place not far from the altar rail.
The students of his table would have found it hard to recognize the haughty78 young Englishman in the man who knelt there, looking with pitiful eyes at the forlorn stream of humanity that flowed past him. Was it all worth while: the weary fastings and masses, the scrimping of tiny incomes for the sake of the journey and of the offering at the shrine, the faith and hope, and the infinite, childlike trust, all to culminate79 in the moment of kneeling at the carved altar rail, of feeling the sacred relic80 touched to one’s lips and to the plague-spot of body or of soul? And then they were brushed aside with the monotonous81 brushing of the relic across the folded napkin in the left hand of the priest. For better or worse, the pilgrimage was over. It was the turn of the next man. Brushed aside, he rose from his knees to give place to the next, and yet the next.
Just once the monotony was broken. A worn pair of crutches dropped at the feet of the statue; a worn old man, white to his lips, staggered forward, knelt and received the healing touch on lip and thigh82 and knee. Then, with every nerve tense, he struggled to his feet and made his toilsome way to the outer world, while the priests recorded one more miracle wrought83 by the Good Sainte Anne. Then the monotony fell again, and became seemingly interminable.
At length Barth could endure it no longer. Rising impatiently, he forced his way down the crowded aisle and came out into the air once more. After the dim, dark church and the choking cloud of the incense84, the rush of sunshiny ozone85 struck him in the face like a lash86, and involuntarily he raised his head and squared his shoulders to meet it. He loitered along the gravel pathway, watching the habitants who, their pious pilgrimage over, were opening their crumpled87 valises and spreading out their luncheons88 in the cloisters89 to the south of the church. Then, tossing a coin into the tin cup of the blind beggar in the gateway, he came out of the court and crossed the road to the little hillside chapel90 built of the seventeenth-century materials of the old church of Sainte Anne. But the spell of the place was still upon him; in his mind’s eye, he yet saw the endless line of pilgrims, bowing and rising in unbroken succession. With unseeing gaze, he stared at the rows of carts heaped with their ecclesiastical trinkets, at the stray figures lifting themselves heavenward by means of the Scala Sancta Chapel, and at the line of white farmhouses91 poised high on the bluff beyond. Then, yielding to the spell of the kneeling figures, of the incense-filled air and of the chanting voices, he turned and hurried back again to the church.
By the time he reached the steps once more, the procession was flowing swiftly outward, and the little platform at the doorway92 was crowded with excited figures. Barth tried this door and then that, in a futile93 endeavor to regain94 his old place near the altar rail; but again and again he was forced backward to the very verge95 of the steps. Then an unduly96 tall habitant elbowed Barth’s glasses from his nose. He bent97 down to pick them up, was jostled rudely from behind, lost his balance and rolled down the steps where he landed in a dusty, ignominious98 heap in the midst of a knot of women.
During one swift second, it seemed to Barth that the vast statue of Sainte Anne had tumbled from the roof, to dazzle his eyes with her gilding99 and to crush his body with her weight. Then the dancing lights and the shooting pains ended in darkness and peace.
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1
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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2
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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3
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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6
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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7
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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8
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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10
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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13
patois
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| n.方言；混合语 | |
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anathema
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| n.诅咒；被诅咒的人(物)，十分讨厌的人(物) | |
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15
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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16
betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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18
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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19
prerogative
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| n.特权 | |
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20
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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21
maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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23
chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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24
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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25
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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26
stigmatized
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| v.使受耻辱，指责，污辱( stigmatize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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30
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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31
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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32
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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33
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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34
unpacking
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| n.取出货物，拆包[箱]v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的现在分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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35
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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36
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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37
divulge
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| v.泄漏(秘密等)；宣布，公布 | |
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38
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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39
tangling
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| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的现在分词 ) | |
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40
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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41
petulant
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| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
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42
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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43
variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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44
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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45
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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46
jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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47
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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48
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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49
scurrying
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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50
woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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51
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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52
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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53
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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54
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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55
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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56
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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57
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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58
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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59
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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60
shrines
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| 圣地，圣坛，神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
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61
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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62
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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64
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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66
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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67
sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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68
propitious
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| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
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69
crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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70
braces
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| n.吊带，背带；托架( brace的名词复数 )；箍子；括弧；（儿童）牙箍v.支住( brace的第三人称单数 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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71
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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72
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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73
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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74
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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75
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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76
loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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77
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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78
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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79
culminate
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| v.到绝顶，达于极点，达到高潮 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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ozone
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| n.臭氧，新鲜空气 | |
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lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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luncheons
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| n.午餐，午宴( luncheon的名词复数 ) | |
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cloisters
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| n.（学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的）走廊( cloister的名词复数 )；回廊；修道院的生活；隐居v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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farmhouses
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| n.农舍，农场的主要住房( farmhouse的名词复数 ) | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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ignominious
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| adj.可鄙的，不光彩的，耻辱的 | |
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gilding
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| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
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