Picturesque Quebec : a sequel to Quebec past and present Part 16

And Music Hall! adieu to thee!

Ne'er kinder audiences we'll see; There on each 'Stadacona' night, 'Ye antient citie' proves its right To boast of beauty, whose fair fame, To us at Malta even came.

Adieu, O Rink, and 'thrilling steel,'

Another sort of thrill we feel, As eye entranced, those forms we follow, And see the Graces beaten hollow.

Adieu, John's Gate! your mud and mire Must end in time, _as does each fire_!

Adieu, that pleasant four-mile round, By bilious subs so useful found.

Adieu, Cathedral! and that choir, All eye and ear could well desire.

Adieu, that service--half-past three?

And chance walks after, home to tea.

And 'city fathers,' too, adieu!

Sorry we shan't know more of you.

Adieu, your daughters pa.s.sing fair, In dancing, skating, who so rare?

Adieu, too soon, O Citadel!

Adieu, hogs-back, we like thee well, Though when on _poudre_ days we've crossed, Noses and ears we've all but lost.

Adieu, to Montmorency's Fall!

Adieu, ye ice-cones large and small!

Who can forget the _traineau's_ leap From off that icy height, so steep; It takes your breath as clean away As plunge in air--at best you may Get safely down, and borne along, Run till upset; but ah! if wrong At first, you take to turning round, The _traineau_ leaves you, and you're found Down at the bottom, rolling still, Shaken and bruised and feeling ill.

Adieu, ye lakes and all the fishing!

To cast a fly we've long been wishing.

One last adieu! sorry are we That this must be our p.p.c.!

Folly to think we'll feel resigned In leaving you, who've proved so kind.

Our bark of happiness goes wreck, In quitting you, far-famed Quebec!

_--P.P.C., of the 25th K.O.B._

Our thoroughfares, our promenades, even in those dreary months, when the northern blast howls over the Canadian landscape, have some blithsome gleams of sunshine. Never shall we forget one bright, frosty January afternoon, about four o'clock, in the year 1872, when solitary, though not sad, standing on Durham [80] Terrace, was unveiled to us "a most magnificent picture, a scene of glorified nature painted by the hand of the Creator. The setting sun had charged the skies with all its gorgeous heraldry of purple and crimson and gold, and the tints were diffused and reflected through fleecy clouds, becoming softer and richer through expansion. The mountain tops, wood-crowned, where the light and shadow appeared to be struggling for mastery, stood out in relief from the white plain, and stretching away in indistinct, dreamy distances finally seemed to blend with the painted skies. The ice-covered bay was lit up with glowing shades, in contrast with the deep blue of the clear water beyond; from which the island rose, and into which the point jutted with grand picturesqueness; the light played through the frost-adorned, but still sombre pines, and spread out over deserted fields. Levis and the south sh.o.r.e received not so much of the illumination, and the grimness of the Citadel served as a contrast and a relief to the eye bewildered with the unaccustomed grandeur. But as the sun sank deeper behind the eternal hills, shadows began to fall, and the bright colours toned down to the grey of dusk, stars shone out, the grey was chased away, and the azure, diamond-dotted skies told not of the glory of sunset which had so shortly before suffused them."--(_Morning Chronicle_.)

We have just seen described the incomparable panorama which a winter sunset disclosed from the lofty promenade, to which the Earl of Dufferin has bequeathed his name. Let us now accompany one of our genial summer b.u.t.terflies, fluttering through the mazes of old Stadacona escorting a bride; let us listen to W. D. Howells in the WEDDING JOURNEY. "Nothing, I think, more enforces the illusion of Southern Europe in Quebec than the Sunday-night promenading on the Durham (now Dufferin) Terrace. This is the ample span on the brow of the cliff to the left of the Citadel, the n.o.blest and most commanding position in the whole city, which was formerly occupied by the old Castle of St. Louis, where dwelt the brave Count Frontenac and his splendid successors of the French _regime_. The castle went the way of Quebec by fire some forty years ago (23rd January, 1834), and Lord Durham levelled the site and made it a public promenade. A stately arcade of solid masonry supports it on the brink of the rock, and an iron parapet incloses it; there are a few seats to lounge upon, and some idle old guns for the children to clamber over and play with. A soft twilight had followed the day, and there was just enough obscurity to hide from a willing eye the Northern and New World facts of the scene, and to leave in more romantic relief the citadel dark against the mellow evening, and the people gossiping from window to window across the narrow streets of the Lower Town. The Terrace itself was densely thronged, and there was a constant coming and going of the promenaders, and each formally paced back and forth upon the planking for a certain time, and then went quietly home, giving place to new arrivals. They were nearly all French, and they were not generally, it seemed, of the first fashion, but rather of middling condition in life; the English being represented only by a few young fellows, and now and then a red-faced old gentleman with an Indian scarf trailing from his hat. There were some fair American costumes and faces in the crowd, but it was essentially Quebecian. The young girls, walking in pairs, or with their lovers, had the true touch of provincial unstylishness, the young men had the ineffectual excess of the second-rate Latin dandy, the elder the rude inelegance of a _bourgeoisie_ in them; but a few better-figured _avocats_ or _notaires_ (their profession was as unmistakable as if they carried their well-polished door-plates upon their b.r.e.a.s.t.s), walked and gravely talked with each other. The non-American character of the scene was not less vividly marked in the fact, that each person dressed according to his own taste, and frankly indulged private shapes and colours. One of the promenaders was in white, even to his canvas shoes; another, with yet bolder individuality, appeared in perfect purple. It had a strange, almost portentous effect when these two startling figures met as friends and joined with each other in the promenade with united arms; but the evening was beginning to darken round them, and presently the purple comrade was merely a sombre shadow beside the glimmering white.

The valleys and the heights now vanished; but the river defined itself by the varicolored light of the ships and steamers that lay, dark, motionless hulks upon its broad breast; the lights of Point Levis swarmed upon the other sh.o.r.e; the Lower Town, two hundred feet below them, stretched an alluring mystery of cl.u.s.tering roofs and lamp-lit windows, and dark and shining streets around the mighty rock, mural-crowned. Suddenly a spectacle peculiarly Northern and characteristic of Quebec revealed itself; a long arch brightened over the northern horizon; the tremulous flames of the aurora, pallid violet or faintly tinged with crimson, shot upward from it, and played with a vivid apparition and evanescence to the zenith. While the stranger looked, a gun boomed from the Citadel, and the wild, sweet notes of the bugle sprang out upon the silence."

_THE LOWER TOWN._

On bidding adieu to the lofty plateau which const.i.tutes the Upper Town, on our way to an antiquarian ramble in the narrow, dusty, or muddy thoroughfares of the Lower (as it was formerly styled) the Low Town, we shall cast a glance, a glance only, at the facade of the City Post Office, on the site of which, until razed in 1871, stood that legendary, haunted old house, "LE CHIEN D'OR." Having fully described it elsewhere, [81] let us hurry on, merely looking up as we pa.s.s, to the gilt tablet and inscription and its golden dog, gnawing his bone, pretty much as he appeared one hundred and twenty-two years ago, to Capt. John Knox, of the 43rd Regt., on his entering Quebec, after its capitulation on the 18th September, 1759. History has indeed shed very little light on the Golden Dog and its inscription since that date, but romance has seized hold of him, and Kirby, Marmette, Soulard and others have enshrined both with the halo of their imagination. In 1871 the corner stone of the "Chien d'Or"

was unearthed; a leaden plate disclosed the following inscription:--

"NICOLAS LAQUIN Dit PHILIBER, _M'a pose le 2e Aoust,_ 1735."

We clip the following from KNOX'S JOURNAL, of the siege of Quebec in 1759, at which he was both an actor and an eye-witness:--

"On the right of the descent, leading to the low town, stands a stately old house, said to be the first built of stone in this city (Quebec), and over the front door of it is engraved a dog gnawing a large, fleshy bone, which he has got under and between his fore-feet, with the following whimsical inscription:--

"Je suis le chien qui ronge l'os, Sans en perdre an seul morceau; Le temp viendra, qui n'est pas venu, Je mordrai celui, qui m'aura mordu."

"The true meaning of this device I never could learn, though I made all possible inquiries, without being gratified with the least information respecting its allusion. I have been informed that the first proprietor of the house was a man of great natural abilities, and possessed a plentiful fortune, which he, after many disappointments and losses in trade, had sc.r.a.ped together by means of the most indefatigable industry. Now, whether the foregoing device had any reference to these particulars of his own private affairs, or that we may rather suppose the bone with flesh on it to resemble Canada, and the dog an emblem of fidelity, to represent the French settled there as if determined faithfully to defend that colony for their King and country against the savage natives, who may perhaps be alluded to by the two last lines of the inscription, I will not take upon me to determine, but submit it to the more penetrating capacity of the curious reader."--(KNOX'S JOURNAL, Vol. II., p. 149.)

There are two ways of arriving at this El Dorado of commerce: an easy, expeditious, and, it is believed a safe pa.s.sage, originated by our enterprising fellow-townsman, W. A. G. Griffith, Esq.--the _Terrace Elevator_. The ascent or descent by the elevator occupies fifty seconds of time, at the moderate cost of three cents per head. The elevator, opened to the public on 10th February, 1880, was erected at a cost of about $30,000. Whether it is placed in the most suitable spot remains to be seen.

_THE ELEVATOR._

"The elevator is worked by the weight of water; this necessitates there always being a sufficient supply in the tank at the top of the incline, which is pumped by a 12-horse-power steam pump from a large tank at the foot. The _modus operandi_ is as follows: Suppose a person enters the car at the foot of the incline to be carried to the top, the bell-boy at once rings a bell to notify the brakesman to go ahead; weight is required to bring the car and pa.s.senger from the foot to the top, and both cars being built on tanks with necessary valves for the entrance of the water from the upper tank and for the exit of the same water when it reaches the bottom of the track, which the large tank below receives, the brakesman proceeds to open one of the water valves and allows sufficient water to enter the car tank until it outweighs the car and pa.s.sengers at the foot; the cars are now supposed to be in motion, with the bell-boy at the foot and brakesman at the top of the incline, who duties are to watch that everything runs smoothly and that the track is clear of all obstructions. Nothing can happen inside the cars during the transit that is not noticed by the employes; now let us suppose that while in motion one of the cables breaks, there is a second cable to take all the strain, which is never over five tons, and each cable will lift at least 30 tons, but should it happen by some extraordinary oversight that there existed flaws in the cables which had not been noticed, so that first one cable broke and then the second also broke, it would probably be thought that an accident must occur. No such catastrophe would happen, because under the cars and out of sight there are two enormously strong chisels bolted to the iron tank, and running within half an inch of the trestle work; immediately the strain is taken off the cables, or immediately the two cables break, the two chisels would enter the strong wooden beams that support the iron rails and hold the cars firmly in position. Finally, let us suppose that these chisels also gave way, it must be said surely an accident is now inevitable; but no, for at the top as well as at the foot of the track there are two air buffers, against which the cars strike on their ascent and descent. So nicely adjusted are they, and so ingeniously are they constructed, that although the cars may descend with great force against these air buffers, the resistance being gradually developed as the air compresses, there will be but little, if any, extra shock.

Should the brakesman happen to be absent from his post, we are informed by the Manager that no irregularities would occur in consequence, as a governor regulates the speed at which the cars are to go, and on their arrival the air buffers come into play and receive them. So well has the brakesman the cars under his control that at one stroke of the bell he can stop them instantaneously wherever they may be on the track. The brakes are arranged in such a way that it would seem to be quite impossible for both of them to be out of order at the same time; but even if they were, nothing could happen, as the air buffers would check the force of any extra shock. It may be thought that an enormous quant.i.ty of water must be used to work this machinery, seeing that there is a 5,000 gallon water-tank at the top of the incline and a 10,000 gallon tank at the foot, but such is not the case, the water which is pumped up from the lower to the upper tank returns again to the lower one, and so the same water is used over and over again; indeed, the amount of water wasted is not nearly as much as is consumed by a private family. In confirmation of this statement, only a halt-inch tap is used to supply the tanks, and the Manager informs us that frequently for days together the tap is not turned on either at night or day."

How our worthy grandfathers would have shrugged their shoulders had such an innovation been mooted eighty years ago. The other mode of penetrating into the Lower Town is through that steep and tortuous hill--called Mountain Hill by the English, Cote de la Montagne by the French.

This is the hill which has re-echoed the tread of so many regiments, on which so many Governors, French and English, have, on divers occasions, heard themselves enthusiastically cheered by eager crowds; the hill which Viceroys of France and of England, from the ostentatious Marquis de Tracy to the proud Earl of Durham, ascended on their way to Government House, surrounded by their brilliant staffs and saluted by cannon and with warlike flourish of trumpets! In earlier times the military and religious display was blended with an aroma of literature and elaborate Indian oratory, combining prose and poetry.

Francis Parkman will tell us of what took place on the arrival, on the 28th July, 1658, of the Viscount D'Argenson, the Governor of the colony:-- "When Argenson arrived to a.s.sume the government, a curious greeting had awaited him. The Jesuits asked him to dine; vespers followed the repast; and then they conducted him to a hall where the boys of their school-- disguised, one as the Genius of New France, one as the Genius of the Forest, and others as Indians of various friendly tribes--made him speeches by turn, in prose and in verse. First, Pierre du Quet, who played the Genius of New France, presented his Indian retinue to the Governor, in a complimentary harangue. Then four other boys, personating French colonists, made him four flattering addresses, in French verse. Charles Denis, dressed as a Huron, followed, bewailing the ruin of his people, and appealing to Argenson for aid. Jean Francois Bourdon, in the character of an Algonquin, next advanced on the platform, boasted his courage, and declared that he was ashamed to cry like the Huron. The Genius of the Forest now appeared, with a retinue of wild Indians from the interior, who, being unable to speak French, addressed the Governor in their native tongues, which the Genius proceeded to interpret. Two other boys in the character of prisoners just escaped from the Iroquois, then came forward imploring aid in piteous accents; and in conclusion the whole troop of Indians from far and near laid their bows and arrows at the feet of Argenson, and hailed him as their chief.

Besides these mock Indians, a crowd of genuine savages had gathered at Quebec to greet the new "Ononthio." On the next day--at his own cost, as he writes to a friend--he gave them a feast, consisting of seven large kettlesful of Indian corn, peas, prunes, sturgeon, eels and fat, which they devoured, he says, after having first sung me a song, after their fashion."

Probably one of the most gorgeous displays on record was that attending the arrival of the great Marquis of Tracy, in 1665. He came with a brilliant staff, a crowd of young n.o.bles; and accompanied by two hundred soldiers, to be followed by a thousand more of the dashing regiment of Carignan-Salieres. He sailed up the St. Lawrence, and on the 30th of June, 1665, anch.o.r.ed in the basin of Quebec. The broad, white standard, blazoned with the arms of France, proclaimed the representative of royalty; and Point Levi and Cape Diamond and the distant Cape Tourmente roared back the sound of saluting cannon. All Quebec was on the ramparts or at the landing place, and all eyes were strained at the two vessels as they slowly emptied their crowded decks into the boats alongside. The boats at length drew near, and the Lieutenant-General and his suite landed on the quay with a pomp such as Quebec had never seen before.

Tracy was a veteran of sixty-two, portly and tall, "one of the largest men I ever saw," writes Mother Mary (Marie de l'Incarnation), but he was sallow with disease, for fever had seized him, and it had fared ill with him on the long voyage. The Chevalier de Chaumont walked at his side, and young n.o.bles surrounded him, gorgeous in lace and ribbons, and majestic in leonine wigs. Twenty-four guards in the King's livery led the way, followed by four pages and six valets; [82] and thus, while the Frenchmen shouted and the Indians stared, the august procession threaded the streets of the Lower Town, and climbed the steep pathway that scaled the cliffs above. Breathing hard, they reached the top, pa.s.sed on the left the dilapidated walls of the Fort and the shed of mingled wood and masonry which then bore the name of the Castle de St. Louis; pa.s.sed on the right the old house of Couillard and the site of Laval's new Seminary, and soon reached the square betwixt the Jesuit College and the Cathedral.

The bells were ringing in a frenzy of welcome. Laval in pontificals, surrounded by priests and Jesuits, stood waiting to receive the Deputy of the King, and as he greeted Tracy and offered him the holy water, he looked with anxious curiosity to see what manner of man he was. The signs were auspicious. The deportment of the Lieutenant-General left nothing to desire. A _prie-dieu_ had been placed for him. He declined it. They offered him a cushion, but he would not have it, and fevered as he was, he knelt on the bare pavement with a devotion that edified every beholder.

_Te Deum_ was sung and a day of rejoicing followed. [83]

In our day, we can recall but one pageant at all equal: the roar of cannon, &c., attending the advent of the great Earl of Durham, [84] but there were noticeable fewer "priests," fewer "Jesuits," and less "kneeling" in the procession. There was something oriental in the vice- regal pageantry. Line-of-battle ships--stately frigates, twelve in number --the _Malabar_, _Hastings_, _Cornwallis_, _Inconstant_, _Hercules_, _Pique_, _Charybdis_, _Pearl_, _Vestal_, _Medea_, _Dee_ and _Andromache_ visited that summer our sh.o.r.es, a suitable escort to the able, proud, humane, [85] but unlucky Viceroy and High Commissioner, with his clever advisers--the Turtons, Bullers, Wakefields, Hansomes, Derbyshires, Dunkins, _c.u.m multis aliis_. The Dictator was determined to "make a country or mar a career." He has left us a country.

That warlike, though festive summer of 1838, with our port studded with three-deckers and spanking frigates, was long remembered in the annals of the _bon ton_. Some men-of-war were in especial favour. A poetical lament by the Quebec ladies was wafted to the departing officers of H. M.

frigate _Inconstant_, the words by the Laureate of the period, George W. Wicksteed, of Ottawa. This effusion includes the names of every vessel in the fleet _in italics_, and of several of the officers.

_THE LADIES' ADDRESS TO THE INCONSTANTS._ _Written by G. W. Wicksteed._

We saw the _Hastings_ hasting off, And never made a fuss.

The _Malabar's_ departure waked No malady in us.

We were not piqued to lose the _Pique_; Each lady's heart at ease is, Altho' the _Dees_ are on the seas, And gone the _Hercules_--es.

Our parting with the _Andromache_ Like Hector's not at all is; Nor are we Washingtons to seek To capture a _Cornwallis_.

And no _Charybdis_ ever caught Our hearts in pa.s.sion's whirls; There's not a girl among us all Has ever fished for _Pearls_.

The _Vestals_ with their sacred flame Were not the sparks we wanted; We've looked _Medeas_ in the face, And yet were not enchanted.

But when our dear _Inconstants_ go, Our grief shall know no bounds, The dance shall have no joy for us, The song no merry sounds.

All dismal then shall be the waltz, The dull quadrille as bad, And wearily we'll hurry through The joyless galopade.

We'll gaze upon each changeful cloud As through the air it skims, We'll think of fickle fortune's wheel, And fashion's turns and whims--

Sweet emblems of _Inconstancy_ In each of these we'll find, And our _Inconstants_ constantly We'll fondly bear in mind.

And spite of Durham's fetes and b.a.l.l.s, We'll pine and mourn and mope Our long, long winter season through, As girls without a _Hope_.

And when the spring shall come again, Our hearts, to pleasure dead, Shall sigh for spring without an S, And wish for _Pring_ instead.

Unless, indeed, sweet spring with _Hope_ Those hearts again should bless, And bring our dear _Inconstants_ back, And spring without an S.