The House of the Wolf

15

For those who first come upon it by road, the Old City of Quebec is a complete surprise. From that direction the profile Quebec first presents might be any urban skyline: high-rises, office towers, a hotel with discoid revolving top floor: all aggressively modern. But driving on down the Grande Allée, past the cafes and bistros and the rows of town houses and condominiums, one is confronted by the St Louis Gate. With its arched entrance and little watchtower it resembles a relic of the Middle Ages, as does the grey stone wall into which it is set. Once past this guardian portal one is in Old Quebec, and time like a retreating tide appears to reverse its flow.

The Old City is the original settlement of Quebec. Its grey stone houses are guarded by grey stone fortifications, some still sporting mounted cannons: the oldest of these walls date to the sixteen-hundreds, when Samuel de Champlain built the first fort. It is the only walled city that survives in North America, and its inner citadel to this day remains an active army base. Outside its ramparts the urban landscape has sprawled and raised its upstart towers, but for the most part Old Quebec remains impervious to modernity. By some inexplicable oversight a wealthy and powerful family in the 1930's was allowed to erect a skyscraper within the old city's walls, the Edifice Price. But it is modest in scale compared to other high-rises of the period, and remains a unique exception. After four centuries Quebec looks very much as it did in its early days. So it will appear, at least, to those who approach it from the opposite direction, by ferry across the St. Lawrence River. From that perspective it is a walled bastion looming atop sheer cliffs, dark and imposing against the sky. "The impression made upon the visitor by this Gibraltar of America: its giddy heights; its citadel suspended, as it were, in the air; its picturesque steep streets and frowning gateways; and the splendid views which burst upon the eye at every turn: is at once unique and lasting," wrote Charles Dickens after his visit there. "It is a place not to be forgotten or mixed up in the mind with other places, or altered for a moment in the crowd of scenes a traveller can recall."

It was by road that Chantal made her first approach. As she drove her car down the Grande Allée she could see evidence of the Winter Carnival all around her. The affable visage of Bonhomme, the carnival's snowman mascot, smiled down from banners and posters all over the city. Opposite the parliament building stood a fabulous construction: a frozen palace, built not of snow like the "forts" Chantal and her friends had built as children, but from solid blocks of clear ice. The pseudo-medieval design of its turrets and battlements mimicked Quebec City's own fortifications. Within moments the real city wall rose before her: she guided Minnie through the narrow stone passage of the Porte Saint Louis, and found herself in the inner precinct. Here were houses much like those of Montreal's old port district: sturdily made of solid and well-weathered stone, with small windows and doors that opened right onto the street. Many of these were shops and restaurants now, or small pension-style hotels such as she and the other students had stayed in on their trip to France. Beyond rose the largest and grandest hotel of all, the Château Frontenac, designed in imitation of the old aristocratic châteaux of France. In the gathering dusk, with its high red-brick walls and its copper turrets reflecting the last lingering glow of sunset, it looked to Chantal like a palace in a fairytale.

As she passed the grand arched gateway leading to its inner court she saw that a dog sled race was in progress. Dozens of over-excited huskies yelped and lunged in their harness, barely restrained by their masters. She watched as they took off down the snowy street, hurtling their drivers right through the heart of town. It seemed an unusual venue for this kind of sport, but the crowds gathered in the public square before the Château and on the Terrasse Dufferin opposite were loudly enthusiastic. Adding to the festive air, an enormous cut fir tree dominated the terrace, secured by cables. It must have been quite a sight when it was lit for Christmas, she thought wistfully as she drove by. She recalled Honoré Dubois's description of the Temps de Fêtes. But Christmas was now long over, even for the Québecois.