Bride of New France

by Suzanne Desrochers

  “This might well be blasphemous,” Madame Rouillard said, “but one thing I have learned after years of trudging through brush and swamp and ice to get from one place to another to bring a new baby into this country is that some other spirit watches over this place. The God we bring from France is just as lost as we are on the winter trails of this country.”

  Still, Laure thinks that the young Jesuit’s pale face is magnificent, much better to look at than those of the fur traders.

  By the third day, Laure can whisper the names of many of the trees they pass: cedar, poplar, maple, oak. She learns to study the swirls of the river water for signs of upcoming rapids. The French men also tell the women of their fur-trading exploits across the land, how far they have gone to the west and to the north. Even the Jesuit priests take the opportunity to boast a little about their experiences converting the Savages to the Catholic faith. Since they set off, the Savage men on the canoes, with dark, greased arms and long hair, have been urging them to be silent for their safety, reminding the French men of the threat of the Iroquois. Laure thinks that the sound of French words is beginning to irritate them. The Savages don’t speak to the women, only to the fur traders, and in their own language. They don’t speak much at all, and when they do it is always in hushed voices and must be translated for the others by the French interpreter.

  As they journey on, when all there is to say about the sameness of the new country has been said, the passengers fall into a sort of trance. Laure watches the forms of the trees dip out into the water and the bright sun in the clearings. The only sound is of the heavy paddles skimming through the water. Laure is covered in insect bites and thirsty from the heat. Her muscles ache from sitting in the canoe and on the ground and from walking over the rough terrain. Her stomach burns from eating meat grilled almost to ash over the open fire. The Savages that guide them look pleased that the group is finally quiet.

  After a few days it becomes obvious that moving ever farther into this new world is weakening Madeleine. Her eyes have grown dull and she is no longer aware of those around her. She doesn’t seem to recognize Laure at first when she speaks to her, and a vacant look inhabits her eyes most of the time. Laure hopes that Madeleine’s face is only swollen because of the burning sun, the insect bites, the thirst and hunger that afflicts all of them, and that somehow, despite these rough conditions, she is getting better. Just before they left Québec, a physician had looked at Madeleine and said that the fresh air might improve her condition. The Soeur hospitalière caring for Madeleine had denied his claim and told Laure that the risk to her friend’s health in attempting such a journey was a great one.

  The fresh air doesn’t make any of the travellers feel better because its curative effects are coupled with cold water that splashes onto them over the sides of the canoe so that they feel wet all the time. The air is also filled with thick swarms of blackflies that the Savages urge the rowers to avoid. These insects are worse than the mosquitoes, as they tear off a piece of flesh when they bite. Laure’s neck and scalp are a mess of bites, but she refuses to cover herself in the bear grease that the Jesuit priests and the Savages have put on their skin. The prayers the priests utter to the group are spoken from glistening faces. They look more like sorcerers than priests. Seeing Madeleine so weak, Laure wishes she could order the canoes to turn around, to begin to undo the journey up the river.

  After a week of travel, they finally approach Ville-Marie. It is a smaller settlement than Québec, but larger than the other encampments they have passed along the way up the river. It is clearly the fur-trading centre of the colony, the gateway into the fur-rich lands and waterways beyond. They have heard enough stories and encountered enough canoes laden with pelts to support the claim. Its newness and dangerous challenges, along with the opportunity for greater fur wealth, attracts the boldest of the adventurers of New France. The courage of these crazed men surrounds Ville-Marie with a joyful energy. Laure finds herself forgetting the future for a brief moment.

  Laure sees a gathering of people awaiting them on the shore. Even from a distance, she can discern that they are mostly men. She can’t tell what rank or sort of men they are. They wear their military jackets from France over baggy breeches. Some of them have long hair with bits of animal pelts and bright Savage weaves around their waists. Several more distinguished soldiers with muskets stand with a priest to greet them. Laure jumps when one of these soldiers fires a pistol in the air. They mustn’t have any cannons to welcome them with. Like at Québec, there are a few religious women and some Savage girls waiting for them as well. It is the most interesting settlement Laure has seen since Québec, and for this she is relieved.

  The men on the shore rush toward them, waving their arms and cheering. Laure doesn’t know what they are so excited about. Forest life must be even more terrible than she expected if their dirty cortège receives such an eager welcome. If their pathetic group was seen travelling down the Seine to Paris, they would be apprehended and thrown straight into prison. But it is difficult here to dress in fine clothing and to remain clean and untouched by the woods.

  Laure only hopes that there is a physician somewhere in this settlement. Someone who can revive Madeleine. Even the loud calls from the shore have not awakened her. “We have arrived,” Laure says, leaning in close to her friend’s ear. Despite Laure’s vigilant guard, there are still welts on Madeleine’s neck from the insects. “We don’t have to travel any further. For the rest of our lives, we are free to stay here.” As she utters this statement, Laure is thankful that Madeleine’s eyes remain closed.

  13

  Laure cannot imagine what the rest of their lives will be. Truly, it is better that Madeleine isn’t awake to see this. Behind the crowd gathered at the shore, Laure can make out a few cabins on the hill beyond. There are a dozen or so, constructed of rough wood. The dwellings that belong to the Savages are off to the side of the settlement and made of bark. Smoke rises from the cooking fires.

  “Welcome to Ville-Marie, ladies. As you can see, your arrival was greatly anticipated.” The captain of their journey smiles, relaxed in the new environment. He has reached the place he calls home.

  A few canoes piled high with animal pelts sit moored on the shore. At the sight of these, the old Jesuit priest sitting in front of Laure grows agitated. “What’s the point of working to convert Savage souls when there are so many greedy fur traders waiting to corrupt them?”

  “Welcome, Father, to the new world of commerce. King’s orders,” says the young man who had commented on Madeleine’s frailty at the start of their journey. He slaps the priest’s dark-robed back and clambers out of the canoe. His breeches are rolled up to his knees as he hurries through the water to the shore.

  The priest yells after him, but the young man quickly blends in with the other fur traders on shore. “And now women for them too. What an unholy mess is being constructed here. These men do nothing but drink and fight. What kind of example does this set for our converts?”

  If Madeleine were stronger, Laure would gladly board a ship back to France. But there are no ships in Ville-Marie. Laure swallows hard and thinks that at least it isn’t cold in Canada like the officers at the Salpêtrière said it would be, or like the icebergs they saw at Terre-Neuve seemed to indicate. In fact, the air in Ville-Marie is thick and the sun so hot that Laure feels as if she is standing in front of a bread oven. She wonders if perhaps the boat has veered off course and landed in the French Islands instead.

  The captain of their group just laughs at her suggestion. “Women have such a misguided sense of direction. This heat you’re feeling is just the summer season in Canada. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of winter weather soon.”

  Laure wonders what else she has heard about Canada that is untrue.

  The only women to greet the new arrivals are a group of religious sisters. Two young Savage girls hover near one of the old women. The girls have on matching dresses, not unlike the one Laure wore for years at
the Salpêtrière. The Savage girls have their hair in neat braids like Marie des Neiges at Québec. These must be some of the converts the priest was talking about. Laure stands a little to get a better look at the girls, which sets the canoe rocking. The men on the shore call out to Laure as she falls back onto her seat. She doesn’t want to appear eager for their attention.

  She is thirsty and can feel the film of sweat on her face. Her nose and cheeks have been burned by the sun despite the bonnet. She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. Her dress is heavy and wet at the hem of her skirt from the water in the bottom of the canoe. A man with rolled-up sleeves and the arms of a blacksmith is wading through the water toward her. Other men follow behind him to help the women get out of the canoes and onto the shore. Laure tells the big man to take Madeleine first. She has to repeat herself for him to understand. There are so many different dialects of French in the colony, those from Normandie, from Picardie and other parts of the kingdom. She cannot tell which this man speaks, only that he is hard to understand. Finally, he lifts Madeleine, still wrapped in the blanket, and carries her to shore. Another man comes for Laure, and before she can protest, she is clinging to his thick neck as he lifts her out of the canoe. Her skirt drags through the water.

  “Didn’t they feed you in France? You’re as light as a fox. Won’t make much of a worker over here. And believe me, there’s nothing to do here except work. Cut trees, hunt animals, bake bread. What twenty men used to do in France, one man has to do for himself here.” He sets Laure upright on the shore and walks away.

  Laure stands teetering for a moment before dropping to her knees. She looks down at the new earth, her head hanging between her arms, and waits for the ground to stop moving.

  She hears another man say: “What did they send us? These are the weakest ones yet. It’ll take more to revive them than the work they’ll do in a lifetime.”

  The few military officers and officials of the colony stand to one side, observing the commotion of the canoes’ arrival. Once everyone is on the shore, they begin to unload the supplies. The men seem more interested in these goods than they are in the group of huddled women sent by royal authority to be their wives. They unload the heavy things the men had unpacked each evening and repacked in the morning: iron axe heads for trading with the Savages, guns and munitions for defence against the Iroquois, salt, wheat flour, and burlap bundles of cloth. And of course the girls’ coffers. Soldiers with muskets slung across their chests guard the unloading of the supplies.

  After some time, Laure concentrates on standing again. The people and the trees around her seem to be moving toward her. Before she can collapse a second time, two religious women are at her side. They speak in a dialect from the northwest of France as well, but Laure understands most of what they are saying. She asks the women where Madeleine has been taken and tells them that she wants to go to her friend.

  “You can see her after the welcome ceremony. The people of Ville-Marie have been waiting all year for your arrival.” The woman’s voice is kind enough.

  Laure doesn’t care about the people of Ville-Marie. She just wants to know where they have taken Madeleine. But the nuns lead Laure by the elbows toward the group. Now that she is on the shore, Laure can see that most of the men are older than she is, scorched by the sun and thick with the dirt of years spent in the forest. They are the worst-looking peasants she has ever seen, only they have been bolstered by the fresh air and plentiful food of the New World. The language they speak sounds like the snarl of fighting dogs. She doesn’t want to think which of them is meant to be her husband.

  Once the final stores have been removed from the canoes, a man in a black hat trimmed with white feathers addresses the crowd. He is Jean Talon, the Intendant of the colony. He is surrounded by well-outfitted soldiers. Laure strains to make out his voice above the mutterings of the crowd. First he praises the men who defended Ville-Marie over the winter and the spring. They are the Carignan-Salières regiment of soldiers. Since the men’s arrival, he says, the Iroquois have been retreating from the settlement. These soldiers have been given plots of forest land by the King to keep them in the colony at the end of their contracts. Laure and the other women have been brought from France especially to marry these soldiers turned farmers.

  The Intendant then says that men of New France who refuse to marry the newly arrived women will have their hunting and fishing privileges revoked. He says that the settlers must show the authorities that they are worthy to enjoy the privileges of titled men.

  A groan rises from the crowd: “How can we marry these women? They can hardly stand up. Look at them, not a single bosom or hip between all of them, and they’re expected to produce children. You haven’t brought us helpmates. You’ve given us another burden.”

  “You can’t expect to behave like animals, fornicating in the trees with any Savage woman you come across, and still continue to receive the hunting and fishing privileges of royal men.” The official’s voice booms across the assembly, sending an echo of his words into the woods. Laure studies the blackness of the trees, wondering if his speech is directed at some rebellious men who are hiding in the woods. The Intendant turns his back on the crowd and begins to walk inland. The terrain is steep and their goal is a hilltop in the distance.

  Laure and the other girls find it hard to keep up, so the Intendant slows his pace. “They’re just a little tired from their long journey,” he says when some of the men start complaining again about the girls. “You weren’t much different when you first arrived off the ship for your soldiering duties. They’ll gain strength quickly enough.”

  Although the girls had tried to clean off the worst of the sea voyage back in Québec, they still look like a brigade of beggars, their eyes too wide for their faces, spines bent like old women. The assembly begins to move again. There is a long, steep path that leads up to the hill, and their goal is a cross that has been planted at the top. Laure catches her breath as she tries to climb.

  Along the way, a military officer indicates to the girls the various stages of construction of the five or six settlers’ homes they pass. The men behind Laure chuckle at his grandiose description of the shacks. When Laure turns back, one of the men points at a tree and says, “There’s my house right there, just waiting for me to build it.”

  Laure realizes that the official’s elaborate speech on the shore was just an exaggeration meant to make the women feel better. She wonders why he bothered trying to impress them, since they have no way of fleeing back to France.

  Once they reach the spot atop the hill where the cross is planted, the Jesuit priest and one of the women from the Congrégation Notre-Dame, the religious group that will house the filles à marier, begin to sing the familiar Te Deum. Laure can’t imagine anyone other than a madwoman singing a Te Deum outdoors in Paris. It is a hymn that belongs inside the heavy stone of churches, a ritual song sung by girls confined in hospitals. Cramped as they were for weeks onboard the ship, when the passengers joined together to pray for a safe journey, it seemed natural to use this song. But now it seems so strange to sing the Te Deum while looking out from this hill in Ville-Marie, where there is nothing but sunshine and a vast and empty country of the darkest green below them. How can God even find them in this place to hear their song?

  Te Martyrum candidatus laudat exercitus. Te per orbem terrarum sancta confitetur Ecclesia. The voices of the settlers of Ville-Marie are strong and sound nothing like the feeble efforts of the Salpêtrière bons pauvres. Despite the victorious way they sing this miserable song, their voices are almost drowned out by the twittering of the forest birds all around them.

  The moment the ceremony is complete, Laure approaches one of the men to ask where she can find the hospital. Later, when she thinks back on this moment, Laure wishes she had chosen someone else to ask. The man she approaches is pudgy, with small eyes. He is dressed as badly as all the others. His stout homeliness makes Laure think he is harmless. He is standing talking wit
h some men and looks surprised to see Laure walking toward him. A look of importance comes across his features as he excuses himself from the men. For a moment, he stands beside Laure, his hands on his hips, surveying the settlement below as if the whole scene belongs to him.

  He introduces himself as Mathurin, a Carignan-Salières soldier recently granted a tract of land beyond the settlement. He says that he has built a fine house on his land. Laure ignores this information and asks him where she can find the Hôtel-Dieu. He tells her that he can bring her to it, but insists on holding her arm. The sister of the congregation nods her head at him, indicating to Laure that he is trustworthy at least.

  “Even for short distances a woman walking alone needs to be careful,” he says as they head down the steep incline back to the water. “The Savages are faster than wolves and can capture you in the space of a breath.”

  “Faster than wolves?” Laure is growing tired of the way the men exaggerate to impress the women.

  “Yes. They brought our regiment in all the way from France to fight them. One thousand men to protect the colony.” He sticks out his chest as if he alone were responsible for all the guns and cannons of Old France.

  “Well, I haven’t yet seen a single one of these Iroquois enemies since I arrived, so you must be doing a fine job.”

  “Was doing a fine job. I’m a farming man now. That’s the end of the soldiering for me. All I need now is a wife to work by my side.” He turns his pink face to Laure and smiles. His teeth are as rotten as his words.

  She wants to push his hand off her arm. Barely in Ville-Marie an hour and already she has her first suitor. She would rather have married sixteen-year-old Luc Aubin at the Salpêtrière than this man. Even the red-headed quartier-marin would have been a better choice.