The quartier-marin has set Madeleine up in the sick hold, away from the others, behind one of the curtains where the priests and other notables have been sleeping throughout the journey. The cot and blanket inside are cleaner and there is a shelf for placing a prayer book or writing paper. Now that they have moved behind the curtain, Laure does not have the conversations of the other women to distract her, and she grows more worried about Madeleine. Each night when Laure emerges from behind the curtain for dinner, the young Jesuit priest comes to enquire about Madeleine’s health. There isn’t much for Laure to report. She tells him that her friend has energy for prayers and is eating a little, although she is still not strong enough to join the others.
One day, while Laure is sitting reading aloud from a prayer book, Madeleine interrupts her. “Laure, do you remember when we first met?”
Of course Laure remembers, even though several years have passed since that time. It was on one of her first days in the Sainte-Claire dormitory, after Madame d’Aulnay had died, and Laure had been standing at a window watching the Seine River flow past the Salpêtrière. She had thought at the time that girls must look out from this same hospital window to the river below and imagine leaping out. Some because they wanted to return to a lover they had left behind who lived free somewhere. There must have been a few girls, Laure had thought at the time, who wanted to jump into the Seine simply to drown. Laure had been such a girl when she re-entered the Salpêtrière two days after the funeral of her beloved mistress.
She had been puzzled by the small, pale child with the soft, sweet voice who insisted on standing beside her at the window while she entertained her morbid thoughts. Madeleine hadn’t said very much but had listened to Laure tell her about the wonderful life she had just lost. She had responded that our lives were like rivers flowing to all sorts of destinations. Although Laure found herself back in the dreadful women’s hospital, Madeleine had given her hope for the future, even if she could not imagine what that would be. Even then it was impossible to remain angry for long around Madeleine.
Laure wonders why Madeleine wants to reminisce on the ship about their childhood in the hospital. It isn’t like Madeleine to discuss the past or the future. She prefers always to focus on her present moment, which usually involves saying a prayer or spending her time talking to those around her. When she was feeling better, Madeleine was the one who offered small favours to the others in the dormitory, bits of her food, sewing advice to new girls. But Madeleine is determined today to control their conversation. She says that for a long time she has kept an important story from Laure, from everyone in fact, and that she now feels the need to tell it. Laure is surprised at Madeleine’s emphatic voice. It seems impossible to imagine that her docile friend has been harbouring some secret.
Madeleine gains a little energy as she begins to speak, and tries to lift herself onto her elbow. She tells Laure that it is the story of her origins, that she actually remembers her life before she entered the monastery.
“It doesn’t take long for the regular customers of En passant, the La Rochelle tavern, to hear that a young girl is growing up right above them. At the time I am ten years old, and they have noticed me rushing in the early afternoon down to the pier, although none of these sailors have ever seen me upstairs in the room when they pay their nighttime visits to my mother.”
Laure’s eyes widen when she hears that Madeleine’s mother had been a port prostitute, but with her usual peaceful smile, Madeleine pats Laure’s hand, insisting that she remain silent for the telling.
“One night, a man named Ti-Jean decides to find out about me, a young girl living with the old prostitute. Ti-Jean was a sailor aboard the ships that collect slaves from Africa for work in the French Islands. He is strong enough to outfit the nègres in metal masks and is the least favourite customer of my mother’s and of the other women who sell their services to the seamen.
“Beneath the table where Maman hides me, I tremble on the nights Ti-Jean’s heavy legs mount the stairs to our room. He speaks harshly to Maman, calling her an ugly old whore, no good for anything but giving sailors a bad night.
“‘So, I hear you’ve got a little girl that will be running her old mother out of business before too long,’ he says on the night he comes to find me.
“‘I don’t have anything of the sort,’ Maman replies.
“‘I never would have thought it, homely as you are. But I’ve heard the rumour and now I’d like to see for myself.’
“‘What’s all this you’re talking about? I sure know you don’t come up here to chat.’ Maman’s voice is moving toward the bed at the other end of the room, trying to draw him away from where I am hiding.
“‘No, I come up here when every last wench on the port has her legs raised and there’s nowhere else to turn.’
“I then hear the rustle of my mother’s skirts as she tries again to entice Ti-Jean away from my hiding place.
“‘First show me this daughter of yours so I can decide if either of you are worth my while.’ Then I hear his heavy boots pace across the length of the little room. He is looking for me. When his feet are just inches from where I am hiding, crouched under the tiny table, he lets out a laugh. ‘Well, she must already be well trained, hiding under here getting pleasure from all that goes on in her mother’s dirty bed.’
“I gasp as Ti-Jean raises the cloth that covers the table. This piece of cloth has been my silent protector, the thin barrier that has kept my mother’s employment from fully reaching me. If I plug my ears with my fingers and imagine a daylight scene, the sun on the ocean, the market filled with precious goods, then I can almost forget what my mother is doing with the men in her bed. But when Ti-Jean rips the cloth away, for the first time I am no longer safe.
“Maman is at his side, pulling at his broad shoulders and screaming to get him to turn away from me. But it is of no use, as he is so big and strong and Maman is a woman not much bigger than me.
“‘So this is the little woman that’s been getting so much attention from the sailors.’ His laugh is mocking and he crouches down so that the enormous stout knees are in line with my eyes.
“‘Leave her alone! She’s only a child!’ Maman screams at him.
“Then I feel my legs slide across the hard floor as he pulls me upright onto my feet.
“‘You are much better looking than your mother,’ Ti-Jean says. I can smell the sour thickness of his breath. ‘Nice little face.’ His rough hand caresses my cheek and passes over my lips. I want so badly to bite him but I fear that doing so will make things worse. He entwines his fingers in my hair and pulls my head back. His other hand reaches for my neck and I do nothing to stop him. ‘Just like a kitten being separated from her mother,’ he says to me.
“His lips and unshaven face are sliding across my neck while his hand remains tangled in my hair. He is pulling my body up to his chest and I feel my feet leave the ground.
“‘You taste sweet. I think I’m going to get a bit more of this.’ His breath has grown a little ragged as he reaches under the nightdress I’m wearing and up along my back. ‘Stay away from me, you old whore,’ he says to Maman, who is still at his back, and he kicks her hard. I remember thinking that the worst part of it all was that Maman was there through it all, wailing as if I were being killed.
“It took two days for Maman and me to walk to the Sulpiciens monastery in Aunis. We pass beggars, mostly maimed soldiers, along the way and are offered rides several times by men in various types of carts and carriages. Each time, Maman refuses their offers.
“As we walk, she tells me the story of Mary of Egypt, the patron saint of prostitutes. ‘Each morning I have prayed to this saint, and it is her voice that told me to take you to the Sulpiciens,’ Maman says. Maman tells me that when Mary of Egypt was twelve years old, she ran away from her home, although her family was rich. For seventeen years she lived in the city of Alexandria as a prostitute and a dancer. She then travelled to Jerusalem to search for ma
terial gain among the pilgrims gathered there. When she tried to enter the Church of the Holy Sepulchre for the celebration, she was repelled by the Holy Spirit and could not enter the door. She then prayed to an icon of the Virgin Mary and repented for her sinful life. It was only after she had done this that she was able to enter the church.
“‘My dear daughter,’ Maman says to me, ‘please pray to Mary of Egypt every day so that you will not ever have to be a prostitute as she was and as I am. For how much better to be pure in body and spirit, untainted by the filth of this world, when you leave it.’
“But I could still feel the bruises on my body from Ti-Jean and thought it was too late. I was already as tainted as Maman and as Mary of Egypt.”
Laure cannot imagine a girl more innocent and devoid of sin than Madeleine.
“By the time we reach the doorstep of the monastery, we are parched and dusty from our journey. Maman speaks immediately to the priest who answers the door and attempts to shut it upon seeing us there. ‘I ask nothing of you. I know that I am a condemned sinner in the eyes of this holy place. If you can provide me with a little water and whatever food you normally reserve for the animals, I will be on my way.’
“My mother’s blotchy face meets his severe eyes, and he nods.
“‘This child I am offering you is the finest of all my worldly possessions.’
“Since the wars, the priest tells them, he has had a number of beggars each day come to his door with stories of their sad plights. The monastery is generally a place where the sons and daughters of wealthy families come to study, with generous dowries, for religious vocations, he tells us. He looks at me, studying my face for some sign of my worthiness, my value. I hope that he turns me away so I can stay with Maman. I have told her that we don’t have to return to La Rochelle and to that room, but she tells me that she has no skills and knows no other way to survive.
“‘Father, if you turn us away, this innocent young child will have no choice but to join me in my wretched profession. You cannot possibly allow that to happen.’
“‘Does she have any skills?’ he asks.
“‘She is fine at needlepoint,’ Maman says, pulling me tightly against her. ‘And can read from prayer books.’
“The priest raises an eyebrow.
“‘Somewhat,’ she adds.
“‘Well, she does look healthy enough, and young enough to learn. Can you speak, at least?’ He addresses himself to me and I nod in response.
“Maman doesn’t give the priest another chance to turn me away. She takes a few steps back and pushes me toward him. ‘This will be a better life for you, child. You won’t have to worry about men like Ti-Jean, or any man at all,’ she whispers to me.
“‘But I can’t read the Bible, Maman, nor can I do needlepoint, or anything at all such as you have told the priest,’ I whisper as he turns to enter the monastery, leaving us for a moment on the step. I have done nothing with my young life so far other than hide under the table at night and shop for discounts in the market for our evening meal during the day.
“‘You will learn. Those are all much better things than I can teach you.’
“The priest comes back with some water and hard bread and cheese. He breaks some off for me and gives the rest to Maman for her return journey.
“‘Thank you, Father. I am so grateful. My life is one of sin, of the worst possible kind, but knowing that I have spared my child from the same fate is reward enough to keep me happy for the rest of my days.’ Maman packs the supplies into the sack at her side, then turns to me and says, ‘I have tried my best to protect you from the ugliness of this world. I hope you will remember that and nothing else about your mother.’
“Those were her final words to me before she undertook the long journey back to La Rochelle. I have not seen her since that day.”
Laure emerges from behind the curtain of the ship’s sickroom that night and tells the priest, who is always eager to hear news of her health, that Madeleine is doing a little better. He asks if he can see her for a brief moment, but Laure tells him that this is not a good night for visiting with her friend. Afterwards, Laure lies awake on the ship floor, rocking with the gentle waves, thinking about Madeleine’s story. How little she had known about her best friend. So many times Laure had thought that Madeleine would not be so kind and soft-spoken to everyone if she had encountered misfortune. But could it be that her devotion and simple, gentle heart were formed out of the suffering of her childhood?
Part Two
En aucun endroit, apparaissaient de hauts et prodigieux glaçons nageant et flottant, élevés de trente et quarante brasses, gros et larges comme si vous joigniez plusieurs châteaux ensemble, et comme […] si l’église Notre-Dame-de-Paris avec une partie de son île, maisons et palais, allaient flottant dessus l’eau.
[All around appeared tall and prodigious icebergs swimming and floating, as high as thirty or forty fathoms, as large and wide as if you had joined together several castles, and … as if the Notre-Dame-de-Paris church with a part of its island, homes and palaces, were floating on the water.]
—PIERRE BIARD,
RELATIONS DES JÉSUITES, 1611
11
The men bring fresh water from the iceberg back to the ship. The passengers of the Saint-Jean-Baptiste have been surviving for weeks on cider after the fresh barrels of water from France became too viscous and filled with larvae to drink. Some of those who had crossed to Canada before knew to lower rowboats into the frigid sea to obtain clean water from the frozen island. The other passengers on deck held their breath as the men descended into the churning sea below and began to row toward the icy hills around them. The icebergs are the nearest thing to land that the passengers have seen in over two months, so Laure can understand the men’s desire to go to them, to be in the presence of something solid. She is grateful for their feat when the men return triumphant with their barrels and she gets to feel, along with the other passengers, the pure icy shards descend into her throat and her stomach. The men say that this water is better for the spirit than the finest brandy, that it is worth the dangers at sea just to taste it. The place they have finally reached is called Terre-Neuve.
But this Terre-Neuve is not what Laure expected. There are no fishermen, no Savages, and no city to behold. The New World the sailors and some of the indentured servants are cheering for appears to be nothing more than a mountain of ice in the sea. But for the moment, tasting fresh water is reason enough to rejoice, even if the country itself is the loneliest place Laure has ever seen.
After two months at sea, the sailors that lead the vessel have hollow cheeks and dark-bearded faces. Some of the duties of crew members who perished during the journey have been taken over by male passengers. At first Laure attempted to keep track of those who died, trying to determine which man or woman had been thrown into the sea and was no longer among them. But after a dozen or so passengers and crew had perished, and they all grew weakened on their dwindling rations, Laure began to stay below deck, ignoring the sound of the funerary trumpet. It has been a hard crossing, and they are looking for any reason to celebrate.
A sailor opens the hatch to the Sainte-Barbe and Laure descends, balancing the bowl of fresh water in her hand. The sick passengers moan as the light from above reaches them. They are the ones who have not yet succumbed to the stomach illness that killed twelve passengers in three days, including three of the crew. The sailors blamed the disease on the vermin of the faux-sauniers prisoners. The insects they brought onboard had so multiplied in the hold that each passenger who came on deck first danced about in the light trying to rid their body of bugs.
Laure calls up to the sailor to close the hatch once she is beside Madeleine. She waits a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the hold. Her skin begins to itch in response. “We have arrived in Canada,” Laure says. She reaches to touch Madeleine’s arm.
The ship’s surgeon hasn’t been able to diagnose Madeleine. At the start of the journey
he had attributed her illness to seasickness, but unlike the other passengers afflicted by the same malady, Madeleine didn’t gain her footing as the weeks wore on. Other than bites from the fleas and ticks that have afflicted all the passengers of the Saint-Jean-Baptiste, Madeleine has no sores or pustules on her skin. There is no visible sign of her illness besides the thinness of her body. All the surgeon can say is that Madeleine has been weakened by the journey. He predicts that she will be fine if she can make it to Québec. He says that the sea doesn’t agree with everybody and that sometimes the only cure for it is dry land. But now that Laure has seen the frozen, desolate place they have been sailing toward, she is less convinced of its curative powers.
Laure can hardly blame Madeleine for giving up on the ship’s food. The Salpêtrière rations had been a sumptuous feast compared to what they have been eating for the past two months. Since leaving Le Havre, the passengers of the Saint-Jean-Baptiste have been living on sea biscuits from barrels. These are the usual staple of the sailors’ diet and are so hard that the men crush them with the butts of their muskets so the women can eat them. The biscuits are mixed with a little salted lard and peas to make the cold stew they are served each evening. According to the sailors, this batch of crackers is a good one. They have been well baked and dried, so they don’t have any weevils in them, which is fortunate since their journey has been plagued by insects of every other sort. But the seamen are so accustomed to the insidious worms that they nonetheless tap the crackers on their bowls before biting into one. Their sea fare is washed down with cider. The jam, like the meat, is reserved for the captain’s table.
Bride of New France Page 10