University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER 4

Quebec

Dear Mother:

We arrived here at the early hour of six-thirty, entered a cab and were driven up, up, almost to heaven! The streets were in gala attire, banners of the saints hanging everywhere. We just missed the religious celebration in honor of the ter-centenary of Quebec. In the morning light the ancient city looked her best, and the drive to the Chateau Fontenac was filled with interest. There is a magnificent hotel built on the site of Chateau St. Louis, of historic associations. There is nothing ancient about this hostelry. It is a place of beautiful nooks and corners, wide spaces and sunshine. Far below lies the old town, and high above frowns the famous citadel.

The Dufferin Terrace, two hundred feet above the St. Lawrence, is the pride of Quebec, and here you see the beauty and chivalry ever promenading. We followed it for quite a distance, then I desired to reach the top of the fortress crowned rocks that we retraced our steps, and finding a street car, were soon at our goal. The view is beyond description, and had I not felt time was passing we would have lingered there for hours. Of course we were on the heights of Abraham, where Wolf died and Montcalm was mortally wounded. Do you remember as a child I used to be disconsolate because I knew not which hero I should mourn--whether I should rejoice with the English or weep with the French? Well, Dear, I felt just the same this sunshiny morn.

The street car rides are delightful; you are in such unexpected places, now in a broad, modern thoroughfare, and then into a tiny street where children, chickens, dogs and cats scamper into doorways to escape the car, which I assure you fully occupies the street and even extends over the narrow sidewalk. Ed was determined that I should visit the fish market. I cannot say I desired it, but of course I followed him. The place was filled with queer fish and I am glad I saw it, yet I shall not visit another. It is too "smelly" for me.

As we were turning down a little street, not far from the market, Ed saw a sign, "Dressmaking," and shouted: "Hurrah, come on, C.; this is where we get your dress altered." To explain, Mother, my suit in which I expected to travel all over Europe came from the maker too large and I did not have time to have it made smaller, and this appeared to Ed, "the time, the place and the woman."

We entered the shop and a French lady of imposing dimensions assured him that her time was fully occupied, but that she knew of a seamstress who would gladly effect the change. We were to go up one block, then turn north, walk two, and half way of the next block we would see a stairway, walk up, and there we would find her. We started. The street was like the road to heaven, narrow, steep, and beset with pitfalls. We boldly opened the outer wicket of the stairway into a dark passage, age old, up a flight, into Stygian blackness and the odor of the grave. I saw a door on a little landing and knocked. Hearing a voice, I opened, and imagine my consternation when I caught a glimpse of a man and woman seemingly engaged in preparing dinner. The man turned a scowling face and I quickly closed the door, caught Ed's hand and pulled him helter skelter down the musty, dusty stair into God's sunlight. My dress shall await a London tailor. We hailed a cab and drove to the city walls, and into all sorts of nooks and corners. After luncheon we decided to take a car for Montmorency Falls and the shrine of St. Anne de Beaupre. The Falls are exquisite, so foamy and milky white. We were told they were far higher than Niagara, but they are not so awe-inspiring--you can laugh and chatter without feeling that you are misbehaving in church. We entered a cage and were drawn to the plateau above the falls where we drank tea on the veranda of Kent House, once the home of the grandfather of Edward VII. and wandered at will in the zoological garden kept up there by the big fur establishments of Quebec.

The water power is utilized for many purposes. You see the spirit of commercialism is even invading this delightful spot. We barely caught the car to St. Anne's we remained so long. The little French villages nestling beside the hills, with the river flowing peacefully towards the sea, are very picturesque. The houses are all of the same type, be they old or new, just as much alike as peas in a pod, all with dormer windows and an outside stairway. The farms are so tiny not like a farm out our way. In Oklahoma a tenant would expect you to allow him that amount of land rent free, for a garden.

The place of the shrine is a village with an air of the medieval ages. The chapel is ancient, but the Basilica with its twin towers and colossal statue of St. Anne, is of comparatively recent date. Such faith as is evinced here! How can it be, in this material age of ours? I knew of St. Anne's, but I never conceived of anything like unto this. We talked long with the priest in charge and he told us of cures at which we marveled greatly. It is a place of many miracles, judged by the number of crutches, canes, etc., left by cured supplicants.

Oh, dear, we are hurried. Hardly do we become fairly interested when we must move on. We did not reach the city until nightfall and thus once more enjoyed a Canadian twilight. Glimpses of the inhabitants engaged in evening chores, laughing children, green fields, and the lights on the river gave to all an air most enthralling. Surely this must be like your beloved France, for it is not English nor American.

This evening we have witnessed a Canadian political celebration, watched a procession, listened to speeches and enjoyed the music.

The city is brilliantly illuminated and Dufferin Terrace is aglow with handsomely gowned women. I do not feel that I could have done dear, dear old Quebec even scant justice, and I could find it in my heart to wish the boat did not sail so soon. We are going to the Empress in a caleche,[1] so, as Ed declares I may have a foretaste of a ship at sea. Mother, I have your last letter to solace me when I am far from my "ain countree" but oh, dear, I do feel such a clutch at my heart when I think of the vast sea so soon to separate us. --Why can we not have pleasure without pain?

Good night and good-bye until we land on the shores of Albion. Can you wait that long?

Lovingly,

C.