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Updated: May 25, 2025
"Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre Mais quand reviendra-t-il?" "Malbrouck has gone a-fighting, But when will he return?" and with their characteristic light-heartedness the men caught up the famous old air and the march was resumed without a murmur.
Though it afterwards struggled once or twice to be free, it became docile and was easily taught, when its anger and fear were over. And Gregory Thorne had his live moose. He had also, by that splendid shot, achieved with one arm, saved Malbrouck from peril, perhaps from death. They drew up before the house at Marigold Lake on the afternoon of the day before Christmas, a triumphal procession.
Then he broke off: and in a childish fit of temper he played Malbrouck s'en va t'en guerre with one finger, got up from the piano, faced the audience, and said: "That is all you are fit for." The audience were for a moment so taken aback that they did not quite take in what the musician meant. Then there was an outburst of angry protests. Followed a terrible uproar.
It was making for the trees exactly what Malbrouck desired. He deftly threw the rope round a sapling, but not too taut, lest the moose's horns should be injured. The plucky animal now turned on him. He sprang behind a tree, and at that instant he heard the thud of hoofs behind him. He turned to see a huge bull-moose bounding towards him. He was between two fires, and quite unarmed.
But I found out nothing the next morning, and I left with a paternal benediction from Malbrouck, and a smile from his wife that sent my blood tingling as it hadn't tingled since a certain season in London, which began with my tuneful lyre sounding hopeful numbers and ended with it hanging on the willows.
I guessed from what I had been told, that the Malbrouck show must be hereaway somewhere. I smelled the lake miles off oh, you could too if you were half the animal I am; I followed my nose and the slippery-elm between my teeth, and came at a double-quick suddenly on the fair domain. There the two sat in front of the house like turtle-doves, and as silent as a middy after his first kiss.
One Sunday he dined me handsomely on eels stewed in white wine, tame duck, and codfish balls, and after the dance, in which his wife, Ghost Girl, Malicious Gossip, Water, and the host joined, we sat for some time singing "Malbrouck se va t'en guerre," "La Carmagnole," and other songs of France.
The Norman airs and folk-songs of the day were easy to learn, simple and melodious. They have remained in the hearts and on the lips of all French Canada for over two centuries. The shantyman of Three Rivers still goes off to the woods chanting the Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre which his ancestors sang in the days of Blenheim and Oudenarde.
He did not open letters, he did not besiege dispatch-boxes, he did not ask impudent questions; he watched and listened. In his own way he found out that the man had been a soldier in the ranks, and that he had served in India. They were most attached to the child, whose name was Marguerite. One day a visitor, a lady, came to them. She seemed to be the cause of much unhappiness to Mrs. Malbrouck.
Malbrouck fired and killed a heifer, and then all ran in pursuit as the moose made for the woods. Gregory, in the pride of his first slaughter, sprang away towards the wounded leader, which, sunk to the earth, was shaking its great horns to and fro.
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