Evangeline by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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[Illustration: EVANGELINE.]

EVANGELINE

A TALE OF ACADIE

BY

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

Edited with Introduction, Notes and a Plan of Study

BY

W.F. CONOVER.

A. FLANAGAN CO., PUBLISHERS,
CHICAGO

Copyright 1899 by W.F. CONOVER

NOTE.

The distinctive feature of this edition of Evangeline is the PLAN OF STUDY
which forms the latter part of the volume.

This Plan for the study of "Evangeline" is the outgrowth of several years'
teaching of this delightful poem. It has proved successful in securing very
satisfactory work from classes varying greatly in ability. It has resulted,
in a considerable majority of cases, in (1) in awakening an interest in and
a love for good literature; (2) opening up the field of literature in a
new way, and showing that much wealth may be gotten by digging below
the surface; (3) developing a considerable power of discrimination; (4)
enlarging the pupil's working vocabulary. See "Argument" on page 113.

THE AUTHOR.

CONTENTS.

NOTE Page 5

INTRODUCTION.
THE AUTHOR 7
THE POEM 9
ACADIA AND THE ACADIANS 12

EVANGELINE: A TALE OF ACADIE.
PART THE FIRST 20
PART THE SECOND 60

NOTES ON EVANGELINE.
PART ONE 107
PART TWO 110

A PLAN OF STUDY.
PART I 119
PART II 124
PART III 142

INTRODUCTION.

THE AUTHOR.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine, February 27, 1807.
His father and mother were of English stock, his mother being a descendant
of "John Alden and Priscilla." Stephen Longfellow, his father, was a lawyer
and statesman. Henry's school life began at the age of three. When he was
six years old he could read, spell and multiply, and at the age of seven was
half way through his Latin grammar. He early showed a taste for reading, and
read not only his father's small stock of books, but frequented the Portland
Library and book stores. "The Battle of Lovell's Pond" was his first poem,
written when he was thirteen. He entered Bowdoin College at the age of
fourteen, graduating in 1825. During the latter part of his student
life there he began to show a considerable literary bent. Shortly after
graduating from Bowdoin, Longfellow was elected Professor of Modern
Languages in that institution. Before entering upon his work, he spent three
years in study and travel in Europe, returning to America in 1829. For five
and one-half years he taught in Bowdoin, during which time he began serious
work as an author. In 1834, Harvard called him to the chair of Modern
Languages. He again made a trip to Europe for further study. Longfellow was
connected with Harvard for nineteen years, resigning his position in 1854 to
devote his whole time to literature.

His two principal prose works are "Outre Mer" and "Hyperion." The latter was
followed by a volume of poems entitled "Voices of the Night." "Ballads and
Other Poems" appeared in 1841, and showed much more talent. "Evangeline" was
written in 1847; "Hiawatha" in 1855, and the "Courtship of Miles Standish"
in 1857. "Evangeline" and "Hiawatha" are considered the best of his longer
poems. "The Building of the Ship" and "Excelsior" are perhaps the best known
of his shorter poems.

Longfellow died at Cambridge in 1882.

THE POEM.

"Evangeline" is considered Longfellow's masterpiece among his longer
poems. It is said to have been the author's favorite. It has a universal
popularity, having been translated into many languages.

E.C. Stedman styles it the "Flower of American Idyls."

"Evangeline" is a Narrative poem, since it tells a story. Some of the
world's greatest poems have been of this kind, notably the "Iliad" and the
"Odyssey" of Homer, and the "Aeneid," of Virgil. It may be also classified
as an Idyl, which is a simple, pastoral poem of no great length.

Poetry has been defined as "impassioned expression in verse or metrical
form." All modern English poetry has metre, and much of it rhyme. By
metre is meant a regular recurrence of accented syllables among unaccented
syllables. "Evangeline" is written in what is called hexameter, having
six accents to the line. An accented syllable is followed by one or two
unaccented. A line must begin with an accented syllable, the last accent
but one be followed by two unaccented syllables, and the last by one.
Representing an accented syllable by O and an unaccented syllable by a -,
the first line of the poem would be as follows:

O - - O - - O - - O - - O - - O -
This is the forest primeval, the murmuring pines and the hemlocks,

"The measure lends itself easily to the lingering melancholy which
marks a greater part of the poem."

"In reading there should be a gentle labor of the former half of the
line and gentle acceleration of the latter half."--_Scudder_.

[Illustration: NOVA SCOTIA AND VICINITY.]

ACADIA AND THE ACADIANS.

Acadia, now known as Nova Scotia, was settled by the French in 1607. Many of
the colonists settled in the fertile region about the Bay of Minas, an arm
of the Bay of Fundy. One of these settlements was called Grand Pre, meaning
Great Meadow. The people were industrious and thrifty and they soon attained
a considerable prosperity.

During the early period of American History, France and England were almost
continually at war with one another, and in these wars the colonists were
concerned. At the close of what is known as Queen Anne's war, in 1713,
France ceded Acadia to the English, and it has since remained in their
possession. Some thirty-five years passed before an English settlement
was made at Halifax, the Acadians in the meantime remaining in undisturbed
possession of the country. Soon after the settlement of Halifax trouble
began between the rival colonists.

The Acadians were, as a whole, a quiet and peaceable people, content to till
their farms and let the mother countries settle any disputes. Some of them
were not thus minded and they succeeded in causing considerable trouble.
Frequent attacks were made upon Halifax by the Indians who were supposed to
have been aided and encouraged by the Acadians. The Acadians had refused
to take the oath of allegiance to the English and this caused them to be
regarded with suspicion and fear. They had sworn fidelity on the condition
that they should not be required to bear arms against the French, with
whom they naturally sympathized, being of the same blood and religion. They
persistently refused to go further and swear allegiance.

The English were not without blame since it must be admitted they had
covetous eyes upon the rich farms of the Acadians and an opportunity to take
possession of them would not be unwelcome.

[Illustration: Map of Annapolis and Kings Counties.]

The strife that had so long been going on between France and England to
determine which should rule in the New World was now at a critical point.
England's power seemed to be trembling in the balance. Her defeat meant
great disaster to the Colonies. Alarmed by Braddock's failure, the Colonists
determined something must be done to prevent the Acadians giving assistance
to the French. To send them to Canada would be to strengthen the enemy,
while to transport them to any one of the Colonies would be equally unwise
since they would there be a source of danger. It was finally decided to
scatter them among the different settlements. An order was issued requiring
all the males of Grand Pre and vicinity ten years old and upwards to
assemble in the church to hear a Proclamation of the King. Failure to attend
would result in a forfeiture of all property of the individual. On the
appointed day the men gathered in the church and heard the Mandate directing
that all their property, excepting household goods and money, should be
forfeited to the Crown and they with their families should be transported to
other lands. They were held prisoners until the time of sailing, the women
and the children gathering their belongings on the beach. The expected
transports failed to arrive on time and fear of trouble led the English
to hurry their prisoners aboard the few ships in the harbor. These were
so crowded nearly all the goods had to be left behind, and in the haste
of embarking many families, lovers and friends were parted, being carried
aboard different ships bound for different ports.

On October 29th, 1755, the Acadians sailed away into exile, an "exile
without an end, and without an example in story."

There is a considerable difference of opinion as to whether such extreme
measures were justified. The English Colonists evidently felt that it was
a necessary act, an act of self-preservation. It is, perhaps, no worse than
many of the horrors of war. On the other hand the Acadians had, as a whole,
committed no overt act of disloyalty, though a few of them had done so.
Should a whole community thus suffer for the wrong doing of a few? This is
certainly a difficult question.

Those interested in the subject should read an article by Parkman in
"Harper's Magazine" for November, 1884, where he justifies the action. For
the opposite view, see "Acadia" by Edouard Richards, vol. I, chap. IV.

The following quotations will be found of interest. The first is from
Edouard Richards; the second and third from two of contemporaries of the
exiled Acadians, Moses de les Derniers and Brook Watson.

"All that vast bay, around which but lately an industrious people worked
like a swarm of bees, was now deserted. In the silent village, where the
doors swung idly in the wind, nothing was heard but the tramp of soldiery
and the lowing of cattle, wandering anxiously around the stables as if
looking for their masters....The total amount of live-stock owned by the
Acadians at the time of the deportation has been variously estimated by
different historians, or to speak more correctly, very few have paid any
attention to this subject....Rameau, who has made a much deeper study than
any other historian of the Acadians, sets the total at 130,000, comprising
horned cattle, horses, sheep, and pigs."

Edouard Richard quotes the following from two contemporaries of the exiled
Acadians. "The Acadians were the most innocent and virtuous people I have
ever known or read of in any history. They lived in a state of perfect
equality, without distinction of rank in society. The title of 'Mister' was
unknown among them. Knowing nothing of luxury, or even the conveniences of
life, they were content with a simple manner of living, which they easily
compassed by the tillage of their lands. Very little ambition or avarice
was to be seen among them; they anticipated each other's wants by kindly
liberality; they demanded no interest for loans of money or other property.
They were humane and hospitable to strangers, and very liberal toward those
who embraced their religion. They were very remarkable for their inviolable
purity of morals. If any disputes arose in their transactions, they always
submitted to the decision of an arbitrator, and their final appeal was to
their priest."--_Moses de les Derniers_.

"Young men were not encouraged to marry unless the young girl could weave
a piece of cloth, and the young man make a pair of wheels. These
accomplishments were deemed essential for their marriage settlement, and
they hardly needed anything else; for every time there was a wedding the
whole village contributed to set up the newly married couple. They built a
house for them, and cleared enough land for their immediate needs; they gave
them live stock and poultry; and nature, seconded by their own labor, soon
put them in a position to help others."--_Brook Watson_.

[Illustration: Village of Grand Pre. Rivers Gaspereau and Avon in the
distance.]

EVANGELINE.

PRELUDE.

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean 5
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman?
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers--
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands, 10
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?

Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean.
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre. 15
Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion.
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.

PART THE FIRST.

SECTION I.

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas, 20
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its name and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates 25
Opened and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic 30
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended.
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting 35
Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden 40
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors
Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the maidens.
Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them.
Reverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons and maidens, 45
Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome.
Then came the laborers home from the field, and serenely the sun sank
Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfry
Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village
Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending, 50
Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment.
Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers,--
Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from
Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics.
Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows; 55
But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners;
There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance.

Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of Minas,
Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand-Pre,
Dwelt on his goodly acres; and with him, directing his household, 60
Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the village.
Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy winters;
Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with snow-flakes;
White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as brown as the oak-leaves.
Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summers; 65
Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the wayside,
Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of her tresses!
Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed in the meadows.
When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide
Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah! fair in sooth was the maiden. 70
Fairer was she, when on Sunday morn, while the bell from its turret
Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop
Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon them
Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of beads and her missal,
Wearing her Norman cap and her kirtle of blue, and the ear-rings 75
Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an heirloom,
Handed down from mother to child, through long generations.
But a celestial brightness--a more ethereal beauty--
Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after confession,
Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction upon her. 80
When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.

Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer
Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea; and a shady
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it.
Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath; and a footpath 85
Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow.
Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a penthouse,
Such as the traveler sees in regions remote by the roadside,
Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of Mary.
Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well with its moss-grown 90
Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses.
Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were the barns and the farmyard;
There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique plows and harrows;
There were the folds for the sheep, and there in his feathered seraglio,
Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the selfsame 95
Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter.
Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. In each one
Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch; and a staircase,
Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous cornloft.
There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and innocent inmates 100
Murmuring ever of love; while above in the variant breezes
Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation.

Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-Pre
Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household.
Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened his missal, 105
Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his deepest devotion;
Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her garment!
Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended,
And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her footsteps,
Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker of iron; 110
Or, at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village,
Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered
Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music.
But among all who came young Gabriel only was welcome;
Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith, 115
Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of all men;
For since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations,
Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people.
Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from earliest childhood
Grew up together as brother and sister; and Father Felician, 120
Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught them their letters
Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church and the plain-song.
But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed,
Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the blacksmith.
There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to behold him 125
Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a plaything,
Nailing the shoe in its place; while near him the tire of the cart-wheel
Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cinders.
Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering darkness
Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every cranny and crevice, 130
Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring bellows,
And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the ashes,
Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel.
Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle,
Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er the meadow. 135
Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters,
Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow
Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings;
Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swallow!
Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were children. 140
He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of the morning,
Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought into action.
She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a woman.
"Sunshine of St. Eulalie" was she called; for that was the sunshine
Which, as the farmers believed, would load their orchards with apples; 145
She too would bring to her husband's house delight and abundance,
Filling it full of love and ruddy faces of children.

SECTION II.

Now had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer,
And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters.
Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from the ice-bound, 150
Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands.
Harvests were gathered in; and wild with the winds of September
Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel.
All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement.
Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their honey 155
Till the hives overflowed; and the Indian hunters asserted
Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes.
Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful season,
Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints!
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape 160
Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood.
Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless heart of the ocean
Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in harmony blended.
Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards,
Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons 165
All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and the great sun
Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapors around him;
While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and yellow,
Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of the forest
Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with mantles and jewels. 170

Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection and stillness.
Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending
Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead.
Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other,
And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening. 175
Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer,
Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her collar,
Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection.
Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside,
Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them followed the watch-dog, 180
Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct,
Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly
Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers;
Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept; their protector,
When from the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves howled. 185
Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes,
Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor.
Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks,
While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles,
Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson, 190
Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms.
Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders
Unto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in regular cadence
Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended.
Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farm-yard, 195
Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness;
Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors,
Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent.

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