by Nelson Rusk
The door to the infirmary was open, and I went through the threshold. The nurse waved at me to come in. He was a man named Éric Lefrançois, not much older than me, who did not seem in the least disturbed when I showed him my burn. With obvious skill despite his young age, he covered my hand with ointment, then wrapped it in bandages. In doing so, we made conversation. He told me he was not happy the lead physician had assigned him to night service. Neither was his newlywed wife, as he made it abundantly clear. According to him, it was the price to pay to climb the ladder in an establishment as prestigious as Château Frontenac. The young man talked so much I had difficulty saying a single word. The solitude of night work was obviously antithetical to his temperament.
When he had finished, as he was putting away his burn kit, he exclaimed, joking:
“I think I will leave it close by, this time. The workers on your team do not seem to have discovered the secrets of fire domestication!” With that, he gave a long laugh, which gave me pause. Driven by an intuition, I asked him:
Why do you say that? Did other workers come to see you for a burn?
You have not heard about it? Mr. Jacquard burned himself with a soldering torch about four days ago. It happened while he was working late into the night, which is why it fell unto me to deal with the problem.
This Mr. Jacquard, was he a good worker? How do you burn yourself with a soldering torch?
He was new to the team, but he seemed competent, at least, as best as I can judge. According to what he told me, he dropped the torch while he welded pipes in the basement. I was unable to make him admit it, but I had the distinct impression that something had frightened him. Who could blame him? Night work in the basement of the old wing requires more self-control than I could muster.”
I did not know what to add to this information and limited myself to nodding in silence. This story was taking an unsuspected turn. Had I seen Mr. Jacquard earlier in the tower? It seemed unlikely since the ghostly face I glimpsed was nothing like that of a young man. Even in the light of Mr. Lefrançois' office, in a familiar and relaxed atmosphere, I felt a chill as I remembered the unreal and distorted features of the moonlight apparition. Although all this happened only about an hour ago, an immeasurable breach of time seemed already to separate us, like the reminiscence of a horrible nightmare that vanishes with the dawn. The chasm between reality and the world of dreams is so deep that it is not always easy to ask oneself, when reality enters the world of the strange and the unknown, “Am I dreaming or is this real?”
I took leave of Mr. Lefrançois, returned to my office to collect my belongings, and left the castle. Despite the intense cold of the January night, the breath of fresh air that greeted me through the castle doors was more than welcome. I walked with a light step on rue du Fort then turned around, suddenly curious about the illustrious building which I had just left. Built with the artifice of modernity to represent an epoch long since gone, the Château Frontenac was an architectural aberration that future generations would have a hard time surpassing. While looking at the building with a critical eye, I saw to my surprise that a light was still lit on the ground floor of the old wing, whose frontage overlooked my current position. I remembered turning off all the lights behind me. I considered returning to turn it off, but the idea passed when I visualized myself in the dark solitude of the disused corridors. I resumed my walk, but all lightness had left my step. The night had been too long. I desperately needed to go home and put the last events in perspective.
The Past Revealed
I entered my modest room in the dormitory of the university adjoining the department of history. It was a single large room with a bed containing few belongings. This apartment was temporary and it would have been useless for me to lose time in its aesthetics. A desk covered by books and documents, a rather old-fashioned portrait of my parents, and scattered clothes were the only signs that the room was occupied. The only true decoration was the window, which offered a superb view of the old rue des Remparts, as well as the ramparts themselves and the lower town beyond. In the distance, a large snake of darkness gave a glimpse of the St. Lawrence River, majestic and imperturbable. From my window, I also saw the castle itself, towering over the cliff in the distance and projecting its immensity on the small houses below.
Dormitory of the Laval University, circa 1900.
Exhausted, I hung my coat on the coat hook, then let myself fall on the bed. I took off my jacket with difficulty, noting a rigid asperity in the inside pocket. I slipped my hand in it and pulled out the diary I had found in the tower, which I had forgotten about due to the subsequent events. A Retelling of the events leading up to the fire of 1834, by Robert Muir. The title of the diary implied a link with the fire of the Château Saint-Louis in 1834. The coincidence seemed too amazing for it to be otherwise. On a whim, I got rid of my jacket without further ado and sat at my desk. Since I did not have an oil lamp, I lit two candles for lighting and opened the diary on the first page. The author had written the manuscript in old-fashioned English, with a quick and lively prose. The preamble read:
“Aware that future generations could look upon the events of the winter of 1833-1834 as troubling, and have difficulty interpreting them, I, Robert Muir, officer of the army of His Majesty William IV, 15th Regiment, record my recollections in writing to satiate all those interested in the truth. Already, my memories blur in the chaos following the destruction of the castle, and the investigators of Lord Aylmer, by direct order of the governor or not, do more to quell the affair than to draw it out into the open.
The events leading up to the castle fire, in which I took part, are in the whole attributable to Mr. Emmett Phillips, the governor's aide-de-camp. This formidable man in his forties had spent most of his working life in India as an officer in the British army. Despite going up through the ranks, an imbroglio with the foreign authorities led to his recall to England, and then about five years ago to his reassignment in British North America.
As best I could establish, Mr. Phillips caused several deaths and arsons during his stay in Quebec City. He extensively used his influence with the colony's executive power to spread chaos and evil for reasons I can only speculate on. One thing is certain: by the end of 1833, at the height of his influence, Mr. Phillips had allies and co-conspirators in almost all organs of government and the army. Before the events leading up to the fire, many claimed he had views on the governorship itself, and God knows what foul means he would have used to get his way. The preemptive attack on his quarters and the ensuing fire were necessary. I have no shame in taking part in it before the eyes of God, His Majesty, and posterity.”
Gradually realizing from this reading the extent of the diary’s importance, which went completely against the accepted historical truth, I brought my chair closer to the desk, put my back straight against it, and plunged into the story.
The Tale of Robert Muir, 1833-1834
First Suspicions About the Aide-De-Camp Phillips
T he first part focused on the events that occurred before the year 1834. The author described his assignment to the 15th Regiment of Quebec City three years earlier, and his adaptation to the harsh Canadian climate, very different from that of Aberdeen, Scotland, his hometown. In his writing, it was obvious the author of the paper, Mr. Robert Muir, was a hardy fellow with a boiling temper and a deeply moral character. In addition, and this is a personal impression, but he seemed to admire above all frankness and have a sound contempt for everything secret, hidden, ambivalent, and seditious. This temperament placed him in profound contradiction with the aide-de-camp Phillips.
Although most sources, according to Mr. Muir, attributed to Phillips excellent attributes as a fighter and an aptitude at handling a sword, it seemed equally common knowledge that he was a deceitful man, more inclined to strike in the middle of the night than to attack head-on in broad daylight. In addition, many of the soldiers and servants who had been with him whispered that he had long since ceas
ed to practice the religion of his ancestors. It was that, over anything else, that exasperated Mr. Muir to the highest degree. I would have concluded the man was a bigot in religious matters if not for the fact he attributed to Phillips stranger religious practices than simple atheism. He did not give away his sources, but he claimed Phillips had in fact converted to some pagan cult in eastern India during his time there.
Watercolor of Quebec in 1836.
In that time, most of the British army garrisoned in Quebec lived either at the citadel or at the Château Saint-Louis. Robert Muir, as an officer, lived in the basement of the castle. By pure chance, the officers’ quarters were close to those of the aide-de-camp, with Mr. Muir's room next to Philips’. It is for this reason that the narrator came to rub shoulders with Phillips regularly.
Part of Quebec’s Citadelle, around 1890.
From their first meeting, as narrated in the story, Phillips made a bad impression on Muir. Mr. Muir was ordered to deliver to Phillips, who was in his quarters, plans for the reorganization of the 15th Regiment. Although Mr. Muir knocked on the door and waited for permission to enter, he found Phillips in a strange position, sitting on a carpet on the floor, his back to the visitor, legs crossed as is the custom in the East, wearing for only garments baggy pants. Phillips, without turning, told the narrator to lay the plans on a table, and then leave, which Mr. Muir did, but not without observing his interlocutor with curiosity.
Although sitting, Phillips was a tall, slender man with sticky blond hair and a swarthy complexion due to his years spent in the tropics. In unusual fashion, Phillips also wore an ornament on the left ear, a small jewelry of oriental appearance, representing a form difficult to describe and inlaid with a precious red-orange stone, also of an indefinite nature. On his back, near the scapula, a grotesque scar serrated the man’s pale skin. Its blackened hue would have reminded Muir of the terrible work of gangrene, had it not been for the fact that the wound appeared to have been suffered a long time ago. But more than that, it was the exotic tattoos that covered his back that impressed and disturbed Mr. Muir. These tattoos represented grotesque entities with frivolous, grimacing colors, multiple arms, and a fiery body of fire.
Another element that troubled Muir during this meeting was Phillips' laborious speech and unusual intonations. Phillips' odd and archaic way of talking, more suited to an allophone, never ceased to bother the narrator. This peculiarity resounded so much in Mr. Muir’s ears that he confessed to feeling an intangible disgust during each of their meetings, although he could not specify exactly why. Part of the discomfort, he thought, was that although Phillips was English-speaking, his command of his native language was incomplete. He showed a clear language affinity for some complex topics, including those related to religion and science, while exhibiting an inexplicable ignorance of certain common subjects.
Following this meeting, Mr. Muir kept an eye on Phillips’ quarters. He mentions frequently that a pungent odor of an unknown source seemed to come from his quarters. Sometimes, a thin stream of smoke was even visible, coming out in volutes from under the door. Workers in charge of renovating Phillips’ quarters asserted, when Mr. Muir questioned them, that black and thick soot covered the walls of one room. It was strange since the room had no fireplace and was empty, despite the furniture showing residual traces of a previous occupation.
According to the same workers, they had been impressed by the presence of a huge stained-glass window in one of the rooms. It was so dense in content that it was difficult to determine exactly what it represented. There seemed to be a kind of entity at the center of the drawing, in a humanoid form, with many filiform members moving in all directions. The antiquity of the stained glass tarnished all the colors, but an employee washed a piece of glass enough to discover a deep blue hidden under the dirt and soot. The location of the stained-glass window was also open to interpretation since it did not appear to be inherent to the castle, but rather a later addition. When the workers pointed their lamps at it, they had the impression that the stained glass concealed a passage. However, they did not have time to go any further in their investigations, since Phillips surprised them and was furious, driving them out of his quarters and asking for their replacement. The workers who replaced them heard this story and were careful not to arouse the wrath of this man whose idiosyncrasies were so unusual.
Mr. Muir, whose obsession with Phillips grew as he was recounting his tale, noticed the increasingly strange comings and goings near the quarters of the aide-de-camp. Besides what appeared to be professional visits, Phillips had links with a multitude of individuals from all walks of life in Quebec: soldiers, politicians, and businessmen, but also characters of lesser repute from the cultural or even criminal milieu. Although some tried to hide their presence or at least avoid unwanted attention, all seemed well acquainted with Phillips and had a cordial relationship with him. Mr. Muir even thought he noticed in their gestures and manner of communication a certain deference to Phillips, even though one was a judge of the court, with a social rank higher than that of the aide.
While Mr. Muir's surveillance of Phillips became tighter, he noted that a large amount of material was being sent to him, always in wooden cases sealed with heavy planks. The narrator doubted that it was military equipment since the official seal of King William IV and the Dominion of Canada did not appear on the crates. Officer Muir only had once the opportunity to read the receipt of the parcel without arousing suspicion. He was surprised to find the sender was a Montreal glassblower company, Fillion et fils.
For no clear reason, Phillips received large quantities of such equipment. The material should have filled his quarters a long time ago, so frequent were the dispatches. According to the investigations conducted by Robert Muir, however, other officers who visited Phillips’ quarters noticed no out-of-the-ordinary clutter of materials and even said that the aide-de-camp led a spartan existence without an excess of materialism. This kind of detail upset Muir, who speculated a few times that Phillips had a secret warehouse for this equipment. As for the reasons behind this accumulation of strange objects, even the narrator's fertile imagination could not conceive a credible explanation.
Another peculiarity concerning Phillips that comes up a few times in the story is the strange sounds coming from his quarters. Many times during the months of their cohabitation, songs or cries awakened Mr. Muir during the night, despite the excellent insulation of the walls. The narrator had the distinct impression that religious ceremonies took place in the next room. One night, awakened by the constant noise, Mr. Muir got up and walked to the adjoining corridor to determine what happened. As he had seen before, smoke exuded from under the door, filling the air with an acrid, nauseating odor. A monotonous chant made the walls vibrate, but it was impossible to determine exactly what was being said. Mr. Muir believed it was neither French or English, nor was it Latin. Despite all his efforts, the man never could decipher the long, theatrical monologues uttered during these secret ceremonies held in the castle's basement, so impenetrable was the language spoken.
An Insidious Evil Besieges Quebec City
In the next part of the story, from the autumn of 1833, events speed up and the story of the narrator becomes more frenetic, as if the incredible nature of the events had caught him in an immutable spiral. While the veracity of the first part raises no real doubt, the second part, by its eccentricity, makes the reader think the author might have lost his mind or, at least, let himself fall into the most shameless exaggeration.
Toward the end of summer, the exasperated Mr. Muir spoke to other officers about what troubled him concerning Phillips, and he soon realized he was not alone. The narrator recounts with zeal the story of an officer named Williams. The latter swore to know someone who had attended one of Phillips' alleged secret ceremonies. Unfortunately, this witness had lost his mind and was now in the hands of the authorities at the psychiatric institute of Quebec (nowadays renamed the psychiatric hospital Saint-Michel-Archange). T
he last person who spoke to the unfortunate was Father Joseph Tremblay of the St. Roch parish. On his following leave, Mr. Muir contacted the priest. What he drew from the retelling is suspicious and tinged with superstitions but worth sharing.
View of St. Joseph Street, in the heart of the St. Roch parish.
The lunatic, a soldier named James Pearce, was part of the 71st regiment of His Majesty. Like Phillips, he was a veteran of the East Indies. It is probably for this reason that he maintained a friendship with Phillips during the early days of their cohabitation at the castle. Eventually, according to the father, Phillips invited Mr. Pearce to an evening where “he could meet people with the same religious dispositions and ideas about the true place of religion to modern man”. It was during this evening that Mr. Pearce saw or heard things that drove him to madness, and he never recovered. Citizens of Quebec saw him running in the wee hours of the morning, barely dressed and screaming incomprehensible imprecations. Alarmed, they brought him to Father Tremblay, and it was then that Pearce confessed, before the alienists of the hospital Saint-Michel-Archange came to take care of him.
According to Father Tremblay, Pearce said Phillips brought him to a pagan ceremony where several guests sang and screamed before an idol. All wore scarlet red robes, hiding with shame the cursed appearance of their humanity. Pearce seemed to be there for a while, until masked believers led a young woman out of a hidden backroom. According to the witness, the women’s only distinctive feature was a large, sickening burn that had ravaged her face. The high priest said she had the mark. The believers, joined by other members of the congregation, led her to an altar at the front of the room. There, Phillips stood, regal, usurping with supreme arrogance the sacred role of the priest of the ceremony. After things had calmed down, the monster gave a homily in honor of a god whose complicated name escaped Pearce. Retainers removed the young woman’s clothes and, during a pagan ritual, painted her body with a bright blue pigment, covering almost her entire body.
