A LOVELY RIDE TO CANADA--QUEBEC, A CORNER OF OLD FRANCE STRAYED UP AND
LOST IN THE SNOW--THE FRENCH CANADIANS--THE PARTIES IN CANADA--WILL
THE CANADIANS BECOME YANKEES?
_Montreal, February 1._
The ride from the State of Maine to Montreal is very picturesque, even
in the winter. It offers you four or five hours of Alpine scenery
through the American Switzerland. The White Mountains, commanded by
Mount Washington, are, for a distance of about forty miles, as wild and
imposing as anything the real Switzerland can supply the tourist.
Gorges, precipices, torrents, nothing is wanting.
Nearly the whole time we journeyed across pine forests, coming, now and
then, across saw mills, and little towns looking like bee-hives of
activity. Now there was an opening, and frozen rivers, covered with
snow, formed, with the fields, a huge uniform mass of dazzling
whiteness. The effect, under a pure blue sky and in a perfectly clear
atmosphere, was very beautiful. Now the country became hilly again. On
the slopes, right down to the bottom of the valley, we saw Berlin Falls,
bathing its feet in the river. The yellow houses with their red roofs
and gables, rest the eyes from that long stretch of blue and white. How
beautiful this town and its surroundings must be in the fall, when Dame
Nature in America puts on her cloak of gold and scarlet! All the country
on the line we traveled is engaged in the lumber trade.
For once I had an amiable conductor in the parlor car; even more than
amiable--quite friendly and familiar. He put his arms on my shoulders
and got quite patronizing. I did not mind that a bit. I hate anonymous
landscapes, and he explained and named everything to me. My innocence of
American things in general touched him. He was a great treat after those
"ill-licked bears" that you so often come across in the American cars.
He went further than that: he kindly recommended me to the Canadian
custom-house officers, when we arrived at the frontier, and the
examination of my trunk and valise did not last half a minute.
[Illustration: THE AMIABLE CONDUCTOR.]
Altogether, the long journey passed rapidly and agreeably. We were only
two people in the parlor car, and my traveling companion proved a very
pleasant man. First, I did not care for the look of him. He had a new
silk hat on, a multicolored satin cravat with a huge diamond pin fixed
in it; a waistcoat covered with silk embroidery work, green, blue, and
pink; a coat with silk facings, patent-leather boots. Altogether, he was
rather dressed for a garden party (in more than doubtful taste) than for
a fifteen hours' railway journey. But in America the cars are so
luxurious and kept so warm that traveling dresses are not known in the
country. Ulsters, cloaks, rugs, garments made of tweed and rough
materials, all these things are unnecessary and therefore unknown. I
soon found out, however, that this quaintly got-up man was interesting
to speak to. He knew every bit of the country we passed, and, being
easily drawn out, he poured into my ears information that was as rapid
as it was valuable. He was well read and had been to Europe several
times. He spoke of France with great enthusiasm, which enrolled my
sympathy, and he had enjoyed my lecture, which, you may imagine, secured
for his intelligence and his good taste my boundless admiration. When we
arrived at Montreal, we were a pair of friends.
* * * * *
I begin my Canadian tour here on Monday and then shall go West. I was in
Quebec two years ago; but the dear old place is not on my list this
time. No words could express my regret. I shall never forget my feelings
on landing under the great cliff on which stands the citadel, and on
driving, bumped along in a sleigh over the half-thawed snow, in the
street that lies under the fortress, and on through the other quaint
winding steep streets, and again under the majestic archways to the
upper town, where I was set down at the door of the Florence, a quiet,
delightful little hotel that the visitor to Quebec should not fail to
stop at, if he like home comforts and care to enjoy magnificent scenery
from his window. It seemed as though I was in France, in my dear old
Brittany. It looked like St. Malo strayed up here and lost in the snow.
The illusion became complete when I saw the gray houses, heard the
people talk with the Breton intonation, and saw over the shops Langlois,
Maillard, Clouet, and all the names familiar to my childhood. But why
say "illusion"? It was a fact: I was in France. These folks have given
their faith to England, but, as the Canadian poet says, they have kept
their hearts for France. Not only their hearts, but their manners and
their language. Oh, there was such pleasure in it all! The lovely
weather, the beautiful scenery, the kind welcome given to me, the
delight of seeing these children of Old France, more than three thousand
miles from home, happy and thriving--a feast for the eyes, a feast for
the heart. And the drive to Montmorency Falls in the sleigh, gliding
smoothly along on the hard snow! And the sleighs laden with wood for the
Quebec folks, the carmen stimulating their horses with a _hue la_ or
_hue donc_! And the return to the Florence, where a good dinner served
in a private room awaited us! And that polite, quiet, attentive French
girl who waited on us, the antipodes of the young Yankee lady who makes
you sorry that breakfasting and dining are necessary, in some American
hotels, and whose waiting is like taking sand and vinegar with your
food!
The mere spanking along through the cold, brisk air, when you are well
muffled in furs is exhilarating, especially when the sun is shining in
a cloudless blue sky. The beautiful scenery at Quebec was, besides, a
feast for eyes tired with the monotonous flatness of America. The old
city is on a perfect mountain, and as we came bumping down its side in
our sleigh over the roads which were there in a perfect state of
sherbet, there was a lovely picture spread out in front of us. In the
distance the bluest mountains I ever saw (to paint them one must use
pure cobalt); away to the right the frozen St. Lawrence and the Isle of
Orleans, all snow-covered, of course, but yet distinguishable from the
farm lands of Jacques Bonhomme, whose cosy, clean cottages we soon began
to pass. The long, ribbon-like strips of farm were indicated by the tops
of the fences peeping through the snow, and told us of French thrift and
prosperity.
[Illustration: "THAT QUIET, ATTENTIVE FRENCH GIRL."]
Yes, it was all delightful. When I left Quebec I felt as much regret as
I do every time that I leave my little native town.
* * * * *
I have been told that the works of Voltaire are prohibited in Quebec,
not so much because they are irreligious as because they were written by
a man who, after the loss of Quebec to the French Crown, exclaimed: "Let
us not be concerned about the loss of a few acres of snow." The memory
of Voltaire is execrated, and for having made a flattering reference to
him on the platform in Montreal two years ago, I was near being
"boycotted" by the French population.
The French Canadians take very little interest in politics--I mean in
outside politics. They are steady, industrious, saving, peaceful, and so
long as the English leave them alone, in the safe enjoyment of their
belongings, they will not give them cause for any anxiety. Among the
French Canadians there is no desire for annexation to the United States.
Indeed, during the War of Independence, Canada was saved to the English
Crown by the French Canadians, not because the latter loved the English,
but because they hated the Yankees. When Lafayette took it for granted
that the French Canadians would rally round his flag, he made a great
mistake; they would have, if compelled to fight, used their bullets
against the Americans. If they had their own way, the French in Canada
would set up a little country of their own under the rule of the
Catholic Church, a little corner of France two hundred years old.
The education of the lower classes is at a very low stage; thirty per
cent. of the children of school age in Quebec do not attend school. The
English dare not introduce gratuitous and compulsory education. They
have an understanding with the Catholic Church, which insists upon
exercising entire control over public education. The Quebec schools are
little more than branches of the confessional box. The English shut
their eyes, for part of the understanding with the Church is that the
latter will keep loyalty to the English Crown alive among her submissive
flock.
The tyranny exercised by the Catholic Church may easily be imagined from
the following newspaper extract:
A well-to-do butcher of Montreal attended the Catholic Church at Ile
Perrault last Sunday. He was suffering at the time with acute cramps,
and when that part of the service arrived during which the
congregation kneel, he found himself unable to do more than assume a
reclining devotional position, with one knee on the floor. His action
was noticed, and the church-warden, in concert with others, had him
brought before the court charged with an act of irreverence, and he
was fined $8 and costs.
Such a judgment does not only expose the tyranny of the Catholic Church,
but the complicity of the English, who uphold Romanism in the Province
of Quebec as they uphold Buddhism in India, so as not to endanger the
security of their possessions.
The French Canadians are multiplying so rapidly that in a very few years
the Province of Quebec will be as French as the town of Quebec itself.
Every day they push their advance from east to west. They generally
marry very young. When a lad is seen in the company of a girl, he is
asked by the priest if he is courting that girl. In which case he is
bidden to go straightway to the altar, and these young couples rear
families of twelve and fifteen children, none of whom leave the country.
The English have to make room for them.
[Illustration: AN INTERVIEW WITH THE PRIEST.]
The average attendance in Catholic churches on Sundays in Montreal is
111,483; in the sixty churches that belong to the different Protestant
denominations, the average attendance is 34,428. The former number has
been steadily increasing, the latter steadily decreasing.
* * * * *
What is the future reserved to French Canada, and indeed to the whole
Dominion?
There are only two political parties, Liberals and Conservatives, but I
find the population divided into four camps: Those in favor of Canada,
an independent nation; those in favor of the political union of Canada
and the United States; those in favor of Canada going into Imperial
Federation, and those in favor of Canada remaining an English colony, or
in other words, in favor of the actual state of things.
Of course the French Canadians are dead against going into Imperial
Federation, which would simply crush them, and Canadian "society" is in
favor of remaining English. The other Canadians seem pretty equally
divided.
It must be said that the annexation idea has been making rapid progress
of late years, among prominent men as well as among the people. The
Americans will never fire one shot to have the idea realized. If ever
the union becomes an accomplished fact, it will become so with the
assent of all parties. The task will be made easy through Canada and the
United States having the same legislature. The local and provincial
governments are the same in the Canadian towns and provinces as they are
in the American towns and States--a House of Representatives, a Senate,
and a Governor, with this difference, this great difference, to the
present advantage of Canada: whereas every four years the Americans
elect a new master, who appoints a ministry responsible to himself
alone, the Canadians have a ministry responsible to their parliament,
that is, to themselves. The representation of the American people at
Washington is democratic, but the government is autocratic. In Canada,
both legislature and executive are democratic, as in England, that
greatest and truest of all democracies.
The change in Canada would have to be made on the American plan.
With the exception of Quebec and parts of Montreal, Canada is built like
America; the country has the same aspect, the currency is the same.
Suppress the Governor-General in Ottawa, who is there to remind Canada
that she is a dependency of the English Crown, strew the country with
more cuspidores, and you have part of Jonathan's big farm.
[Illustration]