Sometimes a person in your family tree is just a name and dates; and yet somehow you develop an image of them in your mind's eye. Perhaps you have a location where they once lived, so you might have some context to develop the image, notions based on period dress and/or hairstyles. When you start to dig into the documents they left behind, vital records and census records add little to the picture really. Maybe their chosen profession tells you something about their character or gives you a glimpse at their day-to-day lifestyle. I often find myself wondering if certain ancestors looked like their descendants that I know, or even like me. When I stumble across an old family photo in another researcher’s collection, I find myself thinking, Yes, they do look like they could be related or, No, that doesn't look like an Earle.
What truly brings an ancestor to life are the stories; the oral histories passed down through generations or written recollections, if any exist. Things like their obituary or newspaper articles in which they’re mentioned are really the gems.
Names alone, though, carry meaning. It’s usually the first thing people learn about someone, and it shapes the way they’re perceived. A name can suggest character and color one's preception until a story is uncovered.
In my own tree I fell in love with the first name of my great-great-great grandmother, Olivine Page-Ethier. How lovely is that? Olivine. It is like Olivia but not nearly as common. It comes from the Latin word oliva, meaning olive, and thus links the name to the olive tree and its symbolism; a timeless emblem of peace and abundance. Across the Mediterranean, the olive tree nourishes the body and thus its oil fuels daily life. Olivine also evokes the shimmering green mineral of the same name born of volcanic rock that since antiquity has been valued as an element of fine jewelry. It just gives vibes of quiet elegance, vitality, earthy-mother like beauty. I love it. And so I have this preconceived notion about what my 3rd great grandma Olivine must have looked like and been like. And then I found this...
The Daily Telegraph, Quebec, Canada, October 12, 1877
At noon yesterday a woman named Olivine Page, wife of Augustin Either, was arrested at her residence, No. 12, King street, charged by a young woman named Cedulie Rouleau, widow of Joseph Latour, of luring her into an infamous den. The complainant substantially testified that on Tuesday week she left Rapin’s hotel where she had just been discharged from service as a domestic servant, to look for work, but meeting the defendant, whom she was slightly acquainted with, standing at her house door she, in the course of a conversation informed her of the position of which she was placed. The woman Page thereupon pressed her to stay and have dinner, and afterwards appearing to feel the greatest interest in the unfortunate girl’s helpless condition, easily persuaded her to pass the night in her house. During that and the following night she was imprisoned in her room and made to comply with everything her hostess desired, men being introduced into her room each evening. Plaintiff further added that the accused took most of her clothes away and offered her no recompense whatever, treating her as an absolute slave. Liquor was also unlawfully sold to one of the frequenters of the place, defendant having no license. The prisoner, who conducted herself in the most composed manner possible, when these serious charges were being made, denied that such was the case. Detective Riché, who went yesterday to the place indicated to recover the clothes alleged to have been stolen from the young woman, described the place as a low shebeen, the occupants of which have been suspected of selling liquor on the sly for some time. The clothing had evidently been sold, as all he could find was a few rags. Strange to say the police could give no information about the place, and were altogether ignorant of the character it bore. The Recorder fined the defendant $5 including costs, in default $8, or one month’s imprisonment.
Huh?
Yeah, this doesn't sound elegant at all.
Apparently in 1877, great-great-great grandma Olivine was running a seedy little tavern, that is what a shebeen is, and potentially a brothel. She was arrested there, accused of luring a recently unemployed servant into her home and keeping her as a prostitute. Not to mention she was illegally selling alcohol.
Now this item below appeared in the Daily Witness on January 26, 1875, nearly three years earlier, under the heading City Items:
- A woman names Olivine Page was accused to-day by her son, Augustine Ethier, of loose, idle and disorderly conduct and was committed to jail till Wednesday for trial by the Police Magistrate.
Wow, Grandma Olivine. Just WOW.
This is in stark contrast to the character of her daughter, Malvina Ethier-Desjardins, my great-great grandmother. In the articles I found which mention Malvina, she is painted as a saintly mother in regard to her son's brush with the law. Malvina, who has a name which to me sounds pretty malificient and dark, resuced her son, Albert Gardner (a.k.a. Almond Desjardins) and his friend, James Kidney, from the New York City Protectory; a Catholic orphange and home for juvenline delinquents.
Malvina's momma though, Olivine, woah.
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