Montreal.
Montreal. June.
With some things in Montreal I have been pleased, but with others a good
deal dissatisfied. The appearance which it presents from every point of
view is imposing in the extreme. Its numerous church towers and
extensive blocks of stores, its extensive shipping and noble stone
wharves, combine to give one an idea of great wealth and liberality. On
first riding to my hotel I was struck with the cleanliness of its
streets; and, on being shown to my room, I was convinced that the hotel
itself (Donegana’s) was of the first water. It abounds in public
buildings, which are usually built of lime-stone, and the city extends
along the river St. Lawrence about three miles. The streets in the older
parts of the town are as picturesque and narrow as those of the more
ancient cities of the old world, but in the modern portions they are
quite regular and comfortable. The principal street is Notre Dame, which
always presents, on a pleasant day, a gay and elegant appearance.
Generally speaking, its churches are below mediocrity, but it has one
architectural lion worth mentioning, the Catholic Cathedral. It faces a
square called Place d’Armes, and presents an imposing appearance. It is
built of stone, and said to be after the Norman-Gothic order of
architecture, but I should think it a mixture of a dozen _dis-orders_.
Its extreme length is two hundred and fifty-five feet, breadth one
hundred and thirty-five, and its height seventy-two feet. It has also
two towers, which measure two hundred and twenty feet to their summit.
The windows in these towers are closed with coarse boards; and yet it
cost four hundred thousand dollars. The ground-floor is covered with
pews capable of seating eight thousand people, while the aisles and
galleries might hold two thousand more. The galleries are supported by
wooden pillars, which reminded me of a New York barber’s sign. The
interior has a naked and doleful appearance; the large window above the
altar is wretchedly painted; the altar itself is loaded with gewgaws,
and, of the many paintings which meet you in every direction, there is
not one for which I would pay ten dollars. The organ resembles a
bird-house, and the music perpetrated there every day in the year would
jar upon the ear of even an American Indian. And when it is remembered
that this church was built by one of the wealthiest corporations on the
continent, it is utterly impossible to entertain a feeling of charity
towards the founders thereof.
The population of Montreal is now estimated at forty thousand, one-half
of whom are Roman Catholics, one quarter Protestants, and the remainder
nothing in particular. By this statement it will be readily seen that
the establishments of the Catholics must be the most abundant. Nunneries
are consequently very numerous, some of them well endowed; and to those
who have a passion for such affairs must be exceedingly interesting.
But I wish to mention one or two more specimens of architecture. The
market of Montreal is built of stone, situated near the river, and
remarkably spacious and convenient in all its arrangements. It eclipses
anything of the kind that we can boast of in the States. The only
monument in the city of any note is a Doric column, surmounted with a
statue, and erected in honour of Lord Nelson. The entire column is
seventy feet high, and gives an air of elegance to that portion of Notre
Dame where it stands. On the four sides of the pedestal are pictorial
representations, in alto relievo, representing Nelson in some of his
memorable battles. It was erected by the British inhabitants of Montreal
at a cost of near six thousand dollars.
One of the more striking peculiarities of this city is the fact that
every body has to live, walk, and sleep at the point of a bayonet.
Military quarters are stationed in various portions of the city, and
soldiers meet you at every corner, marching to and fro, and sometimes
puffed up with ignorance and vanity. The last woman, I am sorry to say,
who has become an outcast from society, attributes her misfortune to a
soldier; but the officers of the British army stationed here are
generally well-educated and agreeable gentlemen.
The people whom you meet in the streets of Montreal seem to come from
almost every nation in the world. Now it may be the pompous Englishman,
who represents some wilderness district in Parliament, and now it may be
the cunning Scotchman, or a half-famished Irishman. Sometimes it is the
speculating American, or the humble, but designing Jew, the gay and
polite Habitan, or a group of wandering Indians from the far north. The
better class of Montreal people (so called by a fashionable world) are
the British settlers, or rather the English population. Generally
speaking, they are highly intelligent, somewhat arbitrary in expressing
their opinions, but they entertain hospitable feelings towards
strangers. They boast of their mother-country, as if her glory and power
were omnipotent, and an occasional individual may be found who will not
scruple to insult an American if he happens to defend his own. In
religion, they are generally Episcopalians; they hate the Habitan, look
with contempt upon the poor Irish, and address their brethren of
Scotland with a patronising air. They drink immense quantities of wine;
and those who happen to be the illiterate members of the Provincial
Parliament, think themselves the greatest people on earth.
The island upon which Montreal is situated is seventy miles in
circumference, and was once (if not now) the property of an order of
Catholic priesthood. In the rear of the city rises a noble hill, called
Mount Royal, from which it derives its name. The hill itself is thickly
wooded, but the surrounding country is exceedingly fertile, and studded
with elegant country seats and the rural abodes of the peasantry. A ride
around the Mount, on a pleasant day, is one of the most delightful
imaginable, commanding a view of Montreal and the St. Lawrence valley,
which is grand beyond compare.
To appreciate the unique features of Montreal, it is necessary that you
should be there on the Sabbath, the gala-day of the Catholics. Then it
is that the peasantry flock into the city from all directions, and, when
they are pouring into the huge Cathedral by thousands, dressed in a
thousand fantastic fashions, cracking their jokes and laughing as they
move along, the entire scene is apt to fill one with peculiar feelings.
It was beautiful to look at; but the thought struck me that I should
hate to live in the shadow of that Cathedral for ever. But if you chance
to take a walk in the suburbs on a Sabbath afternoon, you will notice
much that cannot but afford you real satisfaction. You will find almost
every cottage a fit subject for a picture, and the flocks of
neatly-dressed, happy, and polite children playing along the roads,
together with frequent groups of sober men, sitting in a porch, and the
occasional image of a beautiful girl or contented mother leaning out of
a window—all these things, I say, constitute a charm which is not met
with everywhere. But enough. Montreal is a fine city, and I trust that
it will yet be my fortune to visit it again, and see more of its
polished society.