Portrait in Linen

I’ve fallen in love.

Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie…by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Reads Wikipedia:

Evangeline describes the betrothal of an Acadian girl named Evangeline Bellefontaine to her beloved, Gabriel Lajeunesse, and their separation as the British deport the Acadians from Acadie in the Great Upheaval. The poem then follows Evangeline across the landscapes of America as she spends years in a search for him. Finally she settles in Philadelphia and, as an old woman, works as a nun among the poor…[Spoiler ending sentence omitted.]

A poem I have never read. A name I’ve only known as a thoroughfare, except to hear it spoken in St. Martinville, to hear them speak of her with reverence and ownership.

I’ve only ventured through the first few passages (courtesy of Google Book Search), and I am spellbound, eyes glossed over, lips whetted with the dew of true romance.

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 neighbouring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

…

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.

A story of enduring love…the story of the Acadian heart. My, but the words grab hold of the soul!

I’m ashamed I’m just now discovering the nature of one of the most beloved personas in Cajun culture. We spent months traveling back and forth to St. Martinville preparing for a play production at Duchamp Opera House. The old theatre sits just across the street from the church square where “Emmeline LaBiche” (the “real” Evangeline, according to tradition) is said to be buried. There is even a statue of Emmeline nearby. I have never visited the church, never seen the statue, never seen the grave, and never read the poem.

But Longfellow has captured my imagination with only a few lines. Love at first sight. I’ve made up my mind to buy the book tomorrow. It will only take me a few days to read it, and then, I’ll make the pilgrimage to St. Martinville to walk the grounds and visit Emmeline, as is proper for a resident of Acadiana.

I fear reading Evangeline may lead me to even more severely romanticize the Cajun culture I love so dearly but know so little about. In the past, I’ve scorned the same kind of naive sentimentality foisted on the Hawaiian culture, because I felt the starry-eyed fascination was more spawned by a subjective, contrived idealism rather than a genuine admiration and reverence for the true identity of the Hawaiian people. Now, the tables are turned, and I’m challenged to love Cajun culture with a pure heart, a trained mind, an educated selflessness.

Did Longfellow love the Acadians? Did he love the land and the people, as did James Michener the Hawaiians?

I may have been guilty of accusing Michener of romanticizing and idealizing the Hawaiians of times past.

From “On James Michener’s Hawaii - Chp. 1 & 2“; Pana Hula archives, written 2 Sept. 2004…

Michener’s command of the English language is glorious, and I find I am at times so caught up in his spell, I forget all about reading critically, questioning his accuracy or comparing his interpretation of Hawai‘i’s history with facts and opinions to which I’ve been previously exposed. I put off consideration of the author’s subjectivity (the novel is–after all–a work of fiction) and allow myself to drift along on the currents of his excellent tale.

With this in mind, I have to wonder how a kanaka maoli’s perception of Hawaii differs from that of the general readership. Is Hawaii considered by Native Hawaiians to be a sentimental white man’s contrived fantasy? Or do they view Hawaii as a valuable contribution to the celebration of the culture? Or, is Hawaii simply disregarded altogether?

I may follow suit, despite my best intentions. Inevitably, some prose or art will come from the lingering euphoria of reading Evangeline. No doubt, the reading coupled with a visit to St. Martinville will stir me up, and the senses and images won’t let me rest until I’ve created something that will speak for my moved spirit.

But will it be genuine? Will it be a reflection of Longfellow’s Evangeline Bellefontaine? Or will it be a stiff ‘Ailina-mannequin crudely wrapped in a cheap Longfellow knock-off? Campy and synthetic, like cellophane hula skirts?