CHAPTER XIX

HIAWATHA--FRENCH CHANSONS IN QUEBEC--A CHRISTMAS SONG

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born in Portland, which is in the state of Maine, in the year 1807. His father and mother both belonged to families that had been settled in the States for a number of generations. He was of a scholarly disposition, and studied and travelled to fit himself for writing and teaching. He became Smith Professor of Modern Languages at Harvard when he was twenty-seven years old. From that time, he was closely associated with the town of Cambridge, near Boston, in Massachusetts. Harvard University is situated in Cambridge. You may still visit the house where Longfellow lived. In a pleasant small park near the house, there is a statue of the poet. He was fond of children, and loved to have them near him.

_The Song of Hiawatha_ was written specially for the delight of young people. It is a story in verse, telling of a leader among North American Indians, one of themselves, who was to rescue and help his people, aiding them to clear their fishing grounds, to find food, and to live more comfortably and peaceably than in the past.

Hiawatha and his people in Longfellow's story are supposed to live on the south shore of Lake {126} Superior, the largest of the Great Lakes. The scene of the story is between the Pictured Rocks and the Grand Sable.

The poem begins by telling of a sweet singer among the Indians. The singer first sings of the Master of Life; this is a translation of the name which to the Indians means God, Gitche Manito, the Great Spirit. After that, he sings of the four winds, North-wind, South-wind, East-wind, West-wind. Then we come to Hiawatha's childhood. He lived with his grandmother, old Nokomis. His mother was Wenonah, but she died when Hiawatha was born.

By the shining Big-Sea-Water, Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. Dark behind it rose the forest, Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, Rose the firs with cones upon them; Bright before it beat the water, Beat the clear and sunny water, Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.

Here Hiawatha was brought up. He saw the fire-flies, and heard the owls, and he learned to know the name and language of all birds and beasts. When he was old enough, Iagoo, who was a friend of Nokomis, made him a bow and arrows, and told him to bring home a roebuck so that they all might have food. After this, Hiawatha meets his father, Mudjekeewis, the West-wind, who had gone away and left his mother. Indian stories, like Greek stories, tell of the immortals coming down to earth. Hiawatha had a great struggle or contest with Mudjekeewis, who had {127} deserted Wenonah, and Hiawatha, now a young man, was such a mighty warrior that Mudjekeewis could scarcely withstand him. At last he said to Hiawatha,

"Hold, my son, my Hiawatha! 'Tis impossible to kill me, For you cannot kill the immortal. I have put you to this trial, But to know and prove your courage; Now receive the prize of valour! "Go back to your home and people, Live among them, toil among them, Cleanse the earth from all that harms it, Clear the fishing-grounds and rivers, Slay all monsters and magicians, All the giants, the Wendigoes, All the serpents, the Kenabeeks, As I slew the Mishe-Mokwa, Slew the Great Bear of the mountains."

On his way home, Hiawatha was buying arrow-heads from the arrow-maker, and there he met and fell in love with Minnehaha. Later in the story, you will read of Hiawatha's wooing and of the wedding-feast. But before his wedding, Hiawatha completes his first great service for his people. He discovers the secret of a food, Indian corn or maize, a new gift to the Indian nations which was to be their food for ever.

One of the most attractive of the Hiawatha stories tells how he built his canoe.

"Give me of your bark, O Birch-Tree! Of your yellow bark, O Birch-Tree! Growing by the rushing river, Tall and stately in the valley! I a light canoe will build me, {128} Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing, That shall float upon the river, Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, Like a yellow water-lily!"

After this, we read in the story of how Hiawatha slew Pearl-Feather, the greatest of magicians, of many other deeds of Hiawatha, and of his joys and sorrows. Finally, the white man comes. Then Hiawatha is ready for his departure; and his people greatly lament his going.

Thus departed Hiawatha, Hiawatha the Beloved, In the glory of the sunset, In the purple mists of evening, To the regions of the home-wind, Of the Northwest wind Keewaydin, To the Islands of the Blessed, To the kingdom of Ponemah To the land of the Hereafter!

_Hiawatha_, and other stories in verse, travel round the world in books, and boys and girls read them in every country. But old ballads, the simple songs sung among the peoples of different countries, so old that no one knows how old they are, which we read about in Chapter seventeen, have their own ways of travelling. Some of these ballads crossed the sea when the first settlers came, and in parts of the North American continent to-day, the old words and the old airs are sung by descendants of the people who first brought them across the ocean. Two of the places where these ballads are still sung are in North Carolina, and in Nova Scotia where sailors and lumberjacks sing many shanties or songs.

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The most beautiful old songs, however, on this continent are the French chansons of Quebec which were brought over from France when the French first came to Canada. Now French settlement in Canada ceased early in the eighteenth century, so these songs must at least be as old as the seventeenth century. They are probably considerably more than three hundred years old. Various collections of the _chansons_ have been published. Many of them are happy and romantic songs. One of the most beautiful is a Christmas song.

Here is the story of the song told very briefly. Then you will find the song printed in its own French words. If you do not know French well, still you should try to make out the meaning of the words. No translation can give the meaning, or the perfume, as we sometimes say, of the beautiful old song exactly.

The singer meets a shepherd-maid and asks where she has been. She answers that when she was out walking she had come by the stable, and had seen a miracle. What did you see? asks the singer. She had seen a baby lying cradled on the straw. Was he beautiful! As beautiful as the sun. Had she seen nothing more? Mary, his mother, who nursed her child, and Joseph, his father, trembling with the cold. Nothing more? The ox and the ass were near the stall, warming with their breath the place where the baby lay. Nothing more? Three little angels coming down from heaven singing the praises of the Father Eternal.

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D'ou viens-tu, bergère, D'ou viens-tu? 'Je viens de l'étable De m'y promener; J' ai vu un miracle Ce soir arrivé.

Qu' as-tu vu, bergère, Qu' as-tu vu? 'J'ai vu dans la crèche Un petit enfant Sur la paille frâiche Mis bien tendrement.'

Est-il beau, bergère, Est-il beau? This beau que la lune, Aussi le soleil; Jamais dans le monde On vit son pareil.'

Rien de plus, bergère, Rien de plus? 'Saint' Marie, sa mere, Qui lui fait boir' du lait, Saint Joseph, son père, Qui tremble de froid.'

Rien de plus, bergère, Rien de plus? 'Ya le bœuf et l'âne Qui sont par devant, Avec leur haleine Réchauffant l'enfant.'

Rien de plus, bergère, Rien de plus? 'Ya trois petits anges Descendus du ciel Chantant les louanges Du Père éternal.'

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PART V

SOME GREAT IMAGINATIVE WRITERS

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