Erneste Bergeron, the fourth member of the French contingent, spoke very little, perhaps because he spoke little English (though it was clear that he understood a great deal) or perhaps because he, like LaFontaine, was reserved by nature. He was a handsome, slightly balding fellow of fifty years, with placid, hazel eyes in which kindness and tolerance were suffused with an abiding sadness. Indeed, his whole countenance seemed to droop, and he appeared to find it difficult to smile at points where his patrician manners dictated that he ought to. For although Bergeron was not a true patrician – a grand seigneur or member of the ancient landed aristocracy of Quebec – he had made himself an extensive and influential landowner. He was also a devout Roman Catholic, according to Robert.
As the dessert was being served – apple tart garnished with walnuts and topped with fresh cream – Marc took a moment to study the servants, for he had sensed a certain tension in that quarter during the other courses of the meal. The dishes themselves arrived on a dumb-waiter, and were served to the guests by Austin Bragg and the parlour-maid, Priscilla Finch. The latter was a pretty, flaxen-haired young woman with nervous blue eyes. Bragg was darkly handsome and, oddly for a manservant, wore an expression of barely restrained belligerence. Both were in uniform and equally skilled at their work. They had obviously been well-trained by the deceased butler, Alfred Harkness.
But whenever the new butler, Graves Chilton, uttered a quiet word of instruction or came within an arm’s length of either of his underlings, as he did several times while pouring out the wine with practised ease, they would recoil with a noticeable shudder – of fear or revulsion. Chilton himself seemed aware of this response, for Marc watched him carefully keep his distance whenever he could, and offer any necessary directives with a curt nod or small wave of his right hand. Certainly this discretion on his part was in marked contrast to the loud dressing-down he had given Bragg earlier in the foyer. And although Marc realized that he had taken a dislike to Chilton (who reminded him of supercilious servants he had encountered as a youth back in England), he nonetheless felt sorry for him. It was not easy replacing a long-time and much revered employee in a settled household.
When Garnet Macaulay indicated that luncheon was concluded and suggested that the gentlemen meet in the library for the inaugural session of their conference, LaFontaine nodded agreement and said in carefully enunciated English, “Please offer my congratulations to your cook for a most delicious meal. We look forward to supper with as much anticipation as we do the conversations to come.”
Macaulay’s cook, Mrs. Noreen Blodgett, was renowned throughout the capital and beyond, and Macaulay smiled broadly on her behalf. The historic gathering had gotten off to a fine start.
***
It was decided that the Quebec delegates would speak in French, slowly and formally where possible, and the Upper Canadians likewise in English. And while much would be understood by the listeners on both sides, Marc would translate the gist of a given speech and be available for clarifications as matters progressed. It was not an ideal protocol for a set of tough negotiations among participants who felt variously aggrieved and alienated, but it would have to do. On the positive side, more than a dozen lengthy letters had been exchanged between LaFontaine and Hincks since September, so that the main points of contention and initial positions were already known. It was the presence of LaFontaine’s associates that was worrisome.
It was also decided that no written record of the meetings would be made. Individuals could make notes if they wished to and pen private summaries after each session, where desirable. But only if a formal accord were reached by Friday would anything be crystallized in writing. It was assumed, of course, that all participants were honourable, sincere, and cognizant of the need for continuing secrecy – whatever the outcome.
No-one objected to Robert Baldwin beginning the debate by outlining the general plan and its principal objectives, for it had been he and Hincks who had conceived it and made overtures to the Quebec radicals through LaFontaine. In his plain, forthright style, Robert presented the scheme as if his audience were hearing it for the first time, which, in the case of LaFontaine’s associates, might well be true. The proposed new Legislative Assembly would be composed of forty-two members elected from Lower Canada (to be renamed Canada East) and forty-two from Upper Canada (to be renamed Canada West). The united provinces would be called, simply, Canada or, more familiarly, the Canadas. If the anticipated elections were fair and gerrymandering held to a minimum, they might assume that a sizeable number of parti Rouge members would be returned from Canada East, as there had been widespread support for its active involvement in the armed uprising and even for the violent incursions from the United States that had followed it in 1838. Those members of the French establishment remaining after the social upheaval of a decade – seigneurs, churchmen, and the few entrepreneurs and placeholders who had thrived under British rule – would make sure that a rump group of their own reached the new Assembly as the Bleu party.
Meanwhile in Canada West, the fractured and dispersed Reformers were slowly regrouping, and hoped to take fifteen or more seats of their allotted forty-two. Their opponents were now irretrievably splintered. The expedient coalition of raucous Orangemen, recalcitrant churchmen, dyed-in-the-wool royalists, Family Compact opportunists propped up by successive Governors, and moderate conservatives with an eye to the advancement of commerce – this house of cards, Robert assured the delegates, had begun to collapse under the weight of armed civil conflict, widespread social unrest, repeated crop failures, and the paralysis of the banking system. While they might be able to elect a majority in Canada West, they would be unable to operate cohesively in the new Assembly. It could be taken for granted, Robert concluded with the hint of a smile, that each Tory splinter-group would defend its own shrinking turf and that their right-wing counterparts from Quebec would do the same.
Marc noted with satisfaction that the French delegates seated across the conference table from him were listening intently as he took Robert’s workmanlike English and rendered it into passable French. He could tell from their expressions that they realized only one conclusion could be drawn from Robert’s initial analysis: the new joint Assembly would be ripe for a takeover by any group with a coherent policy and shared goals. And such a group might conceivably be comprised of reform-minded members from two sources who were thought to be implacable antagonists: alienated, French-speaking rebels and non-combatant, English-speaking politicians. Even Tremblay’s perpetual scowl softened for a moment at that delicious possibility. LaFontaine himself, Marc noted, spent most of his time observing his own countrymen from his position at the far end of the table.
“So you see, gentlemen,” Robert summed up, “the opportunity to seize control of the Assembly is going to present itself. Of that there can be no doubt. The question is, can we form a party of Rouge and Reform with common goals and policies?”
At this remark, everyone turned to LaFontaine, but he said nothing. His expression was impassive. He simply waited, unperturbed, as the silence grew and bright sunlight poured into the room from the high windows in the south wall.
Daniel Bérubé cleared his throat nosily. “What’s the use of controlling the Assembly when the Legislative Councillors will be appointed for life by the governor and will have the authority to thwart our progressive legislation, as they have done in the past?”
“Half of them will be appointed from Quebec,” Hincks pointed out.
“And of those, how many will be English, eh?” Tremblay said, breaking his self-imposed silence. “And how many members will be Chasseurs?” he added, alluding to the name the French patriots had given to their doomed revolutionary organization.
“We’ll end up with the same sort of deadlock we’ve always had,” Bérubé insisted.
LaFontaine made no effort to intervene in this sharp exchange.
“Gentlemen,” Robert said quietly, “I realize that these are critical questions, but please bea
r with us. Francis and I have developed a plan to achieve our goals that is predicated on moving one important step at a time. The first step, upon which agreement must be reached or the entire project abandoned, is this: do we have in common a set of policies and priorities stable enough to build a functioning political party upon? And I’m referring to fiscal, economic, legal and social policies. Further, do we share a vision of the future for two provinces, two cultures and two languages? If we don’t, then I suggest we have a good supper, shake hands and go our separate ways.”
“You’re asking us to postpone the other questions while we talk over the nitty-gritty items – like trade and the money supply?” Bérubé said.
“And education and land grants and public works,” Hincks said.
“Exactly,” Robert said. “It seems to me that these are issues that have turned all of us in this room into reformers of one kind or another.”
Tremblay, Bérubé and Bergeron (who had said nothing but had taken everything in) now looked at their leader. LaFontaine nodded. Marc could hear the sigh of relief uttered by Hincks sitting next to him.
“Right, then,” Robert said. “Let us proceed to tackle these issues one by one. Who would like to begin?”
At this point Graves Chilton slipped into the room so quietly that only Garnet Macaulay noticed him poised above a tea-trolley just inside the doorway. Macaulay dipped his chin, and Chilton sidled around the delegates and deposited a steaming cup of coffee before each one without ruffling a cuff or stinting the flow of conversation. He even managed to slip a dish of macaroons silently alongside Robert Baldwin’s coffee cup. Chilton alone was to be allowed into the room at predetermined intervals to serve refreshment and clear away unwanted dishes, after which he was to slip across the hall to his office, where he kept watch with the door open. Again, Marc was impressed with the security precautions Macaulay had taken. No employee was to leave the grounds of Elmgrove between now and Friday evening: sufficient supplies of food and drink had been laid in for the duration. They were snowbound, and safe. The rest was up to the men in this room.
***
Looking steadily at Bérubé while he spoke and Marc translated, Francis Hincks said, “The economic development of each of our provinces has been stunted and strangled for almost ten years because successive governors and their reactionary administrations have been terrified of the emergence of an entrepreneurial middle class, one whose success would threaten their chokehold on the banking system and challenge their right to appoint their friends and relations to government posts, where their incompetence compounds the injury. Both provinces need public improvements to foster trade and industry. Our roads are a disgrace, our canal system is in need of renewal and expansion, our city streets need paving, and our postal service must be modernized.”
Bérubé nodded enthusiastically long before Marc had finished translating.
“But these improvements will be financed principally by one province, will they not?”
It was LaFontaine, who had spoken for the first time on an issue, and all eyes turned to him. But he did not elaborate. Finally, Hincks said, “You are referring, of course, to the fact that the Upper Canadian debt of eighty thousand pounds will be taken over by the new dominion?”
Tremblay did not wait for the translation. “In being compelled to merge with you, we are to start out as an insolvent state!” he said angrily. “At the present we in Quebec have no public debt, not a penny! How can we begin to collaborate with you English when such an inequity stares us in the face?”
“I agree, sir, that the inequity exists,” Hincks said, “and we did all we could last fall in our Assembly to get better terms for the union. But the union itself is as good as made. We can’t be expected to review or regret the terms that will be law in a month or two.”
“Yes, but it is also expected that we begin by being able to trust one another and to feel comfortable with each other’s motives,” Tremblay said, not quite as angrily but forcefully nonetheless. “When we see the terms of union so blatantly stacked against us – we’ve got half the seats but three-fifths of the population and only your language is to be spoken in the Legislature – how are we to put any faith in your claims and promises?”
“Mr. LaFontaine here has spoken eloquently from a dozen platforms about the injustices of the Union Act,” Bergeron said evenly. “We have come here with our distinguished leader as a courtesy to him – to listen and judge for ourselves whether there are English voices worth our attention. It is you, sirs, who must convince us that our dangerous journey and audacious gamble have been worthwhile.”
LaFontaine made no sign that he acknowledged the reference to him or approved of the remark itself. Marc was beginning to wonder what sort of game he was playing.
It was Robert who calmed the waters. “I suggest, Mr. Tremblay, that we all remember how we reached the current financial state. Upper Canada’s debt is almost entirely due to the costs incurred by our failed revolt and its deadening aftermath. They are not representative of our economic potential. And in Quebec you are debtless because the governing establishment, abetted by the seigneurs and churchmen, have set out to stifle enterprise except where it enriches them and furthers their own interests. In that respect, both provinces desperately need a reform-minded government. Our joint prosperity, once achieved, will make both the debt and the injustice a distant memory. Moreover, if we don’t mutually believe that a united Canada can evolve into a progressive and more democratic and economically viable state, then I agree we are wasting our time.”
Marc was certain he saw a smile hovering at the corners of LaFontaine’s mouth.
“Socially progressive, democratic, and economically stable,” Hincks said slowly, pausing between each descriptor to let Marc translate. “These are words that strike a chord in you, do they not, gentlemen?” he added, gazing at the French delegates opposite him.
Bérubé nodded and smiled. Bergeron nodded. Tremblay looked stricken, and glanced across at his leader. LaFontaine responded in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone: “Then let us get down to the nitty-gritty, as my colleague has termed it.”
***
The economy was the obvious place to start, and Bérubé warmed to the topic quickly, often outracing the translation and straining to interpret Hincks’s comments and replies on his own. Specific improvements to the Lachine Canal and the St. Lawrence waterway around Montreal Island, and enhanced harbour facilities there and at Kingston, Toronto and Burlington were suggested and seconded. Hincks went on to dazzle the guests with his grasp of taxation issues and a revised scheme of tariffs – all designed to take advantage of the natural highway provided by the St. Lawrence and the Great Lakes into the very heart of North America. Montreal was perfectly situated to be the nexus of the import-export business, while Toronto would increasingly be the entry point for a vast hinterland just now being fully opened to settlement and commerce.
“For too long,” Bérubé stated so passionately that his pink face flushed scarlet, “those Frenchmen with an entrepreneurial urge have had to sit and twiddle their thumbs while the English monopolies and English governors and English bankers reaped huge profits. My sons have had to consider the law or the priesthood because they have had no other choice. It was no surprise to me when they joined Papineau and Nelson in the uprising. I cheered them on.” He looked now at Robert and added, “What Mr. Hincks has outlined here is a vision of the kind I have dreamed about all my life. I don’t know whether or not the political arrangements you intend to propose later in these meetings will be able to bring it about, but something must do so or we are doomed as a race.”
Robert smiled gravely, but before he could respond Erneste Bergeron leaned forward and said, “There is more to our future than commerce or industry.” He glanced at LaFontaine, and then continued. “I refer, of course, to the question of education and religion. I have been told that you, Mr. Baldwin, have advocated a secular society and a secular system of schools. We in Quebec ar
e a Christian community, a Catholic one. The church and parish are the focal points of our rural life. Back in ‘thirty-seven I took up arms for the first time in my life to defend the little church at St. Eustache, near my estate, and was captured and imprisoned for a month by the marauding militia. The church was callously razed by those hooligans and two of my barns burnt to the ground. These are not the actions of a people who respect religion.” It was the longest speech given by Bergeron, and it seemed to leave him winded and a bit embarrassed.
Robert did not wait for Marc to finish translating. “You raise a serious question, sir, and a valid one. I have indeed fought all my life against the entrenchment of an established Church of England in Upper Canada. The reason I did so has little to do with religion and everything to do with politics and power. I am a devout Christian of the Anglican faith, but in my province the oligarchy who held sway over the ordinary people – the Family Compact as we called them – wished to have a state-supported Anglican church in order to solidify their hold on power and tap into the proceeds from the reserve lands they considered their entitlement. They wished to develop not a Christian society but an Anglican one in which government posts, school syllabuses, and universities themselves would be controlled and financed by a single cabal – to the exclusion of the other faiths, which, taken together, form a large majority. In a way, my battles against the Clergy Reserves were symbolic: were our lives going to be dominated by an Anglican and Tory elite or were they going to be organized as the majority wished – in a state dedicated to religious tolerance and respect for tradition?”
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