THE old post road which winds along the blue waters of Bedford Basin used to be a tranquil drive. To-day it is a highway for motorists. A rickety little circular house stands on a knoll of ground overlooking the water, and separated from the road by railway tracks. There is nothing to draw the attention of a stranger even when, on a brisk day, a crazy little string of coloured washing beckons airily.
Seeing the washing, we thought the tenant might be in.
But no one answered our knock. If any one had opened we should have peered into that circular exterior and probably met squalor full in the eye. As it was, we remained without, and recalled old stories of the Duke of Kent and his “lovely rotunda” for music.
It was in the seventeen-nineties that Prince Edward Augustus, fourth son of George III, arrived at Halifax from St. Kitts, British West Indies, to become Commander-in-General of the Military Forces. Having been brought up as a soldier, under the régime of Baron Wangenheim in Hanover, this English Prince, known as the Duke of Kent, was a bit of a martinet so far as military matter were concerned. [page 84] But he had a sentimental German feeling for pleasure and so, enchanted by the view of Bedford Basin, he leased from Governor Wentworth a little cottage, set in lovely grounds, which the Governor modestly called “Friar Laurence’s Cell.” This the Duke proceeded to pull down and build up until he achieved a sort of glorified Italian villa. He embellished it by ornamental grounds in which “charming surprises,” Chinese temples, pagodas, rustic arbors and bowers, were set. Silken brocades, candelabra, and fine furniture enriched the interior, and all this, with the addition of the rotunda or music room, on the opposite side of the post road next the water, created such an impression, in the days of its glory, that stories of Prince’s Lodge have an almost legendary effect. Legendary because it has all departed,—every trace except the rickety little house on its hillock grass.
“It was surmounted by a large gilded ball flashing in the sunlight.”…“Chinese pagoda bells, sometimes sounded from the grounds over the Bedford Basin.”…“My lady would arrive with her carriage-wheels muddied to the hilt.”…It may be that rumours still persist, not only in Nova Scotia but in Europe; in Spain, in Italy, in France. Whispers of old grandfathers’ stories—officers who had drifted to this port, when a dark-eyed lady from Martinique and the father of the powerful Victoria, gave summer fêtes to the people of Halifax.
Even the great-great-grandson of the Duke, in [page 84] his fabulous journeys about the world, has probably encountered no more romantic spot, for the lady from the West Indies, Madame de St. Laurent, who accompanied the Duke and “as much as she was permitted by society” shared his social responsibilities, must have had some strange encounters on warm mid-summer evenings—semi-tropic as Canada becomes in July and August—when Prince’s Lodge was en fête, not only to the grandees of the town but to officers and guests from here, there and everywhere.
It was a semi-feudal existence, for the villa contained its military quarters nearby, “gothic outhouses” for kitchen and servant’s use, and a perfect régime for systematic entertainment; so that there was an endless clatter of swords, jingling of spurs, glitter of gold lace, epaulets of scarlet cloth and blaze of jewels. [page 85]
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In the meantime we stood before the door of the rotunda.
No one knows quite all that has happened within this little place…Apart from its music and moonlight intrigues it was used at one time for the worship and practice of Voodoo, by a strange tribe of maroons from Jamaica, descendants of African slaves, who were so cruel and unmanageable as to be banished to the rigours of Canada where, on their arrival, the Duke was amazingly pleased with their ebon beauty, and not only put them to work on the fortifications but let them practice their black magic in his rotunda.
We stood staring idly at the forlorn little place. A child cried somewhere near. We hurriedly retreated. It was better, after all, that the door should not be opened in answer to our knock. [page 86]
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