There is a fine outlook from the Dufferin Terrace, high up on the
cliff above the river, the favorite gathering-place of the townsfolk
on pleasant afternoons. The St. Lawrence flows placidly, with a narrow
strip of town far down below at its edge, and a few vessels moored to
the bank. At one's feet are the Champlain market and the famous little
church, and a mass of the peaked tin-covered roofs of the diminutive
French houses crowded in along the contracted street at the base of
the cliff. High above rises the towering citadel with its rounded
King's Bastion, the black guns thrusting their muzzles over the
parapet and the Union Jack floating from a flagstaff at the top.
Across the river is Point Levis, with piers and railroad terminals
spread along the bank, and various villages with their imposing
convents and churches crown the high bluff shore for a long distance
up and down. Farther back upon the wooded slopes of the hills are the
great modern built forts which command the river and are the military
protection of Quebec, their lines of earthworks just discernible among
the trees. The river sweeps grandly around the projecting point of
Cape Diamond and the surmounting citadel, passing away to the
northeast with broadening current, where it receives the St. Charles,
and beyond is divided by the low projecting point of the green Isle of
Orleans. The main channel flows to the right behind Point Levis, and
the other far away to the left with the Falls of Montmorency in the
distance, and the dark range of Laurentian Mountains for a background
with the noble summit of Mount Sainte Anne, and the huge promontory of
Cape Tourmente at the river's edge. Nearer, the Quebec Lower Town
spreads to a flat point at St. Charles River, ending in the broad
surface of Princess Louise Basin, containing the shipping. Beyond
this, a long road extends along the northern river bank, through
Beauport and down to Montmorency, bordered by little white French
cottages strung along it like beads upon a thread. Such is the
landscape of wondrous interest seen from the cliff of Quebec. Across
the St. Lawrence, elevated one hundred and fifty feet above the river,
between Quebec and Point Levis is about being constructed a great
railway bridge with the largest cantilever span in the world.
A ride along the attractive road through Beauport gives an insight
into the home life of the French Canadian _habitan_. The village
stretches several miles, a single street bordered on either hand by
rows of unique cottages, nearly all alike; one-story steep-roofed
houses of wood or plaster, almost all painted white, and one
reproducing the other. The first Frenchman who arrived built this sort
of a house, and all his neighbors and descendants have done likewise.
They, like him, do it, because their ancestors builded so. The house
may be larger, or may be of stone, but there is no change in form or
feature. The centre doorway has a room on either hand with windows,
and a steep roof rises above the single story. The house, regardless
of the front road, must face north or south. The long, narrow strips
of farms, some only a few yards wide, and of enormous length, run
mathematically north and south. It matters not that this highway,
parallel with the river, runs northeast. That cannot change the
inexorable rule, and hence all the houses are set at an angle with the
road, and all the dividing-fence lines are diagonals. The sun-loving
Gaul taboos shade-trees, and therefore the sun blazes down upon the
unsheltered house in summer, while the careful housewife, to keep out
the excessive light, closes all the windows with thick shades made of
old-fashioned wall-papers. The little triangular space between the
cottage and the road is usually a brilliant flower-garden. Crosses are
set up frequently for the encouragement of the faithful, and there
are imposing churches and ecclesiastical buildings at intervals. Along
this road ride the French in their queer-looking two-wheeled caléches,
appearing much like a deep-bowled spoon set on wheels, and in
elongated buckboard wagons of ancient build, surmounted by the most
homely and venerable gig-tops. These French cottages are more
picturesque than their vehicles.
The French Canadian _habitan_, the _cultivateur_, and peasant of
Quebec province, is about the same to-day as he was two or three
centuries ago. The Lower Canada village reproduces the French hamlet
of the time of Louis XIV., and the inhabitants show the same zealous
and absorbing religious devotion as when the French first peopled the
St. Lawrence shores. Within the cottage, hung above the _habitan's_
modest bed, is the black wooden cross that is to be the first thing
greeting the waking eyes in the morning, as it has been the last
object seen at night. Below it is the sprig of palm in a vase, with
the little bonitier of holy water, and alongside is placed the
calendar of religious events in the parish. The palm sprig is annually
renewed on Palm Sunday, the old sprig being then carefully burnt.
Great is its power in warding off lightning strokes and exorcising the
evil spirits. The central object around which every village clusters
is always the church, with its high walls, sloping roof, and tall and
shining tin-clad spire. The curé is the village autocrat; the legal
and medical adviser, the family counsellor, and usually the political
leader of his flock. He blesses all the houses when they are built,
and as soon as the walls are up a bunch of palm is attached to the
gable or the chimney, a gun being fired to mark the event. When the
_Angelus_ tolls all stop work, wherever they are, and say the short
prayer in devout attitude. Before beginning or completing any task the
reverent _habitans_ always piously cross themselves. They do this also
in passing churches, or the many crosses and statues set up along the
roads and in the villages. They are temperate, industrious and
thrifty, live simply, eat the plainest food, are abundantly content
with their lot, and usually raise large families. In fact, there is a
bounty given, by act of the Quebec Provincial Legislature, of one
hundred acres of land to parents having more than twelve living
children. It is not infrequent to find twenty-five or thirty or more
children in a single family. In personal appearance the _habitan_ is
generally of small or medium size, with sparkling brown eyes, dark
complexion, a placid face and well-knit frame. He has strong endurance
and capacity for work, but usually not much education, the prayer-book
furnishing most of the family reading. The Church encourages early
marriages, and domestic fecundity is honored as a special gift from
Heaven. The pious veneration, like the creed of this simple-minded
people, is the same to-day as it was in the seventeenth century.
Their faith is fervent and their belief complete. They typify the
beautiful idea the late Cardinal Newman exemplified in his exquisite
poem:
"Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead thou me on;
The night is dark, and I am far from home;
Lead thou me on;
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.
"I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou
Shouldst lead me on;
I loved to choose and see my path; but now
Lead thou me on!
I loved the garish day, and spite of fears
Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years!
"So long thy power hast blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone,
And with the morn those angel faces smile,
Which I have loved long since and lost awhile!"