This is a belatedly posted column here to the blog. It was a bit of a nightmare to compose because it was composed on a cell phone on a flight home to Duluth From the City of the Title…My eyesight is not as good making proofreading hard on a cellphone. I didn’t describe how I wanted the two photos I sent arranged and the Editor didn’t use the Title with the T in the middle of Montreal made of a larger size to reflect my joke about the French language in the beginning. Instead the Editor renamed it “In the Paris of North America.” Its not what I would have offered because despite its charms no city in North America compares with Paris except in terms of relative size. Nonetheless upon our return an aquaintance told me that he and his wife were planning a trip to Montreal in April. I told him he would have better weather.
Oh and it never was uploaded to the Reader site so I will not be linking the Reader here but simply putting the entire column here on the blog.
The Two Snobs Les deux snobs, is a privately-owned outdoor 2013 art installation with two bronze sculptures by the Canadian artist Marc André J. Fortier, installed at500 Place d’Armes in Montreal, Quebec, Canada.
I am winging my way home from a three night stay in Montreal. Its been a very sweet birthday present from Claudia who “came with,” as we say in Minnesotanese, to keep me out of trouble. For those who follow in my footsteps note that french speakers only put consonants in words to confuse English speakers. The T in Montreal is silent in that language.
As per usual we did a little research beforehand starting with listening to Willa Cather’s novel “Shadows on the Rock” about Quebec City circa 1697. Then it was frontier only a little less remote than Montreal to its west. Priests called the shots. Every winter as the St. Lawrence froze the province was left isolated through the dark winter. Fortunately for us late November was only heavy jacket weather in Montreal.
During our brief sojourn we kept to a five mile radius near the old city. Short walks from Rue Jeanne Mance took us to remnants of the past including the Notre Dame Basilica with its vast nave unobstructed by cathedral columns. After buying tickets to enter we learned we could return to watch the rehearsal of the Montreal symphony Orchestra for that evening’s annual Christmas concert.
The grip of the Catholic church on Quebec has loosened. Most of the songs preformed by a crooner flown in from France were secular Christmas standards. But the Catholic grip was strong in 1775 at the outbreak of the American Revolution. When American troops captured Montreal for seven months Benjamin Franklin traveled north to Montreal eager to enlist Quebec as a 14th colony. Surely they would be open to breaking from the British king who added them to his empire a few years earlier by defeating them in the French and Indian war.
Franklin was out smarted. Protestant Britain agreed to allow the beloved Catholic church to continue exercising its vast authority. That was good enough for the Quebecois.
I knew Franklin dreamed of adding Canada to the colonial rebellion. Indeed, it was a dream that lived on in American minds for the next 70 years. But I was a little surprised to hear that we had invaded Quebec so early in the war. When I heard the governor’s palace, “Chateau Ramezay,” had housed American soldiers and a soon-to-be-disappointed Franklin I had to visit this history museum. It was where Ben got his first crack at international diplomacy. Ben would do much better in France. We had the museum almost to ourselves for an hour.
The French Canadians have not forgotten their heritage or the high and mighty English language. I was in high-school in the Sixties when France’s thin skinned leader Charles De Gaulle poured gas on longtime resentments and told french speakers in Montreal, long live Quebec. Quebec nationhood was in the air.
A major thoroughfare running north of our hotel is named after the Quebec separatist champion Rene Levesque. He led the political Party Quebecois which just missed winning a vote in support of a dividing Canada.
British Canadians wised up and elected a pro-united Canada politician from Quebec, Pierre Trudeau. He was elected as a plebiscite on union loomed. Today all Canadians share the maple leaf flag and today Trudeau’s son, Justin, is the nation’s 23rd prime minister.
There are still signs of old grievances. Two of them stand on opposite corners between the Basilica and the Bank of Montreal.
After I posted pictures on Facebook my cousin Chandra asked me what the lady with a nose extension was all about. I told her to look for the man similarly decorated and sent her this explanation.
Called “the snobs” locally each wears a nose extension as their heads tilt back in disgust. The french speaking woman is sneering at a bastion of English speaking power, the bank. The English speaking man looks at the seat of Catholic/French influence the church and does the same. Oblivious of one another each snob holds a diminutive pet in their arms. The man’s British bull terrier and the woman’s French poodle only have eyes for each other across the long block that separates their owners.
Nowadays we Americans, Canada’s neighbors to the south, seem more likely to disintegrate. Along what geographic feature is anybody guess.
Politics didn’t really intrude on us during our stay. We shopped for stocking stuffers along the crooked old Rue St. Paul. Unlike French city centers that are designed for pedestrians cars can pass through this narrow crooked rue. Most cars, however, seem to avoid it. We took in a museum built over an old city excavation. We shared a single plate of Montreal ‘s signature comfort food, poutine. The original confection is just fries, cheese curds and brown gravy. It is both beloved, infamous and now widely tinkered with..
Several friends who enjoyed the pictures I posted on Facebook asked if I had gotten a chance to speak French. I confessed that I hadn’t explaining there were too many English speakers. This was true but I only took a few stabs at french. I will say the lady at the Rubber ducky store sounded very impressed when I told her “Je suis seulement un débutant en parlant Français.” I took her kind words to mean she was astonished to hear an American even attempt french.
In my own way learning a new language is an effort not to turn my back on the rest of the world. If only Americans could once again learn to speak the same language. Look to our dog parks for salvation.
Harry Welty parle français mais ne pas souvent dans son blog: Www.lincolndemocrat.com