This column first appeared in the Victoria Daily Times on Aug. 6, 1938.
No part of Nova Scotia holds more interest for the tourist than the little village of Grand Pr茅 with its tragic memories of the expulsion of 1755. I first made the acquaintance of Longfellow鈥檚 Evangeline at Northfield school in Manitoba, when this narrative poem was part of the course of studies in the western provinces.
Evidently there was no fear in the hearts of 鈥渙ur betters鈥� that this story would undermine our love for the British Empire, even though our hearts burned within us with indignation as we read of the peaceful Acadians and the sorrows that came to them. There was a feeling of indignation and shame that this could have happened by order and consent of British authority.
But 1755 was a long time ago, and the times were more barbarous then. Besides, we had a feeling that there must have been more in it than we knew. Certainly, we knew that it could never have happened in Queen Victoria鈥檚 reign, and that was some comfort.
Longfellow, who never saw Grand Pr茅 or the Gaspereau River, told his story well. He took seven years to think about it, and must have seen it clearly when he wrote his description of this lovely country. The long metre is exactly right for this abundant scene, with its rolling hills and undulating valleys.
One of the questions on a teacher鈥檚 examination, when I was a student, was: 鈥淲hat is the secret of the charm of Evangeline?鈥� and a lad from the prairie wrote in reply:
鈥淭he charm of this poem lies in the long, lingering melancholy sweetness between the subject and a predicate.鈥� I hope the examiner recognized the glimmer of genius.
The first day we visited Grand Pr茅 was a Sunday, when we attended the United Church service in the Old Covenanter鈥檚 Church, built in 1804 of hand-sawn boards and hand-made nails. It has the high pulpit and sounding board, and the box pews, each with its own door.
We sat in the Stuart family pew, where the old footstool, which ran the whole distance, has served the family for 100 years. Sunday school began at 9:30, and the preaching service followed. Two o鈥檆lock was the time for dismissal. So the people of that day took their devotions in heavy portions.
But on this Sunday the service lasted one hour. The church was gay with flowers, the choir was made up of young people, and after the service laughter was heard around the tombstones.
No one in Grand Pr茅 was hurrying. A Sabbath peace rested on the woods and down the shady roads and paths where the people wandered leisurely homeward to their Sunday dinner of baked shad from the River Avon, green peas and cherry pie. At least, that is what we had, served on lovely old china taken from a corner cupboard.
Evangeline鈥檚 monument stands in a park just north of the DAR station. Beautiful French marigold circles around it, and the clover sod was, that day, damp with the recent rains. Evangeline clasps her distaff, and turns her head toward the river. I asked about this but no one seemed to know. She should, we thought, be looking up the hill toward the home she was leaving forever.
The church, built on the site of the one where the Acadians worshipped, and where the proclamation was read to them on that fateful Sunday morning, is now a museum where we saw a series of pictures, which tell the story of the expulsion. One scene at the seashore is full of misery, where the people sit with their pathetic little treasures in their hands, waiting for the boats to take them away.
Whether there was any foundation for such a picture of needless cruelty, no one knows now and no one ever will know. Longfellow鈥檚 story has been accepted. It reads so well, we reason it must be true.
Here, in the museum, are pots and pans of iron, used by the Acadians, old tools of wood, a wooden plow, old brooms, rusty plowshares, spinning wheels, and 鈥渃arders鈥� and 鈥渉ecklers,鈥� home-made chairs, and stools and a pair of shoes, which may have been made by an Acadian cobbler.
At the gate we saw Evangeline鈥檚 willows grey with age, and listing to leeward, gnarled and twisted old warriors that have bent before many a bitter blast from the Atlantic, but have somehow survived the buffetings of time. Still, they stand and put forth their leaves each spring. Somehow they moved me more deeply than any of the treasures of the Arcadians, or the pictures men have drawn of their sorrow, for in their battered trunks and twisted branches they seem to hold the unconquerable spirit of the men and women of that heroic and tragic time.
We looked at the old well, with its heavy bucket; admired the beds of delphiniums and snapdragons, and the golden alders that brighten the shrubberies; bought some cards at an attractive curio shop; and passing by the railway station had a few words with Miss Brooks, the agent.
Then we went into the village, and had tea at the Perry Borden House, where the Women鈥檚 Institute were conducting a sale of work to raise money for a hospital. Inside the old house, erected in 1761, there were tables for bridge; outside under the trees people guessed the number of beans in jars, and the weight of candy boxes, and there was animated conversation ranging from the Russian-Japanese trouble to the question of women preachers.
I visited the library at Acadia in Wolfville and had the privilege of reading some old historic documents, dealing with the expulsion. That it was a tragic and brutal blunder no one can deny. But there evidently were some mitigating circumstance. At least, some explanation.
The Acadians had occupied their lands for 40 years under British rule. They had prospered and were given every freedom. They had been entreated to take the oath of allegiance, but acting under bad advice, they had declined.
Governor Phillips in 1719 wrote that the Acadians had 鈥済rown so insolent as to say they will neither swear allegiance nor leave the country.鈥� The British authority feared that they might cut the dikes and so ruin the country, if they decided to go. They had said they would leave the country rather than be subject to British rule; and they would have been welcomed in Isle Royal, or New Brunswick, under French rule.
The simple Acadians were the victims of other people鈥檚 ambitions and designs. They were content to remain neutral and were called for years the 鈥渘eutral French.鈥�
The final action seems to have been taken immediately following the defeat of the British forces at Fort Duquesne. Fear of the effect this would have on the French in sa国际传媒 prompted the cruel deed which was considered by the governor a justifiable war measure.
