The Entire March Family TrilogyHowells, William Dean
General
The Entire March Family Trilogy
Howells, William Dean
Fiction; Literature -- Collections
The loyalty, which had already appeared to them in the cathedral,
suggested itself in many ways upon the street, when they went out after
dinner to do that little shopping which Isabel had planned to do in
Montreal. The booksellers' windows were full of Canadian editions of
our authors, and English copies of English works, instead of our pirated
editions; the dry-goods stores were gay with fabrics in the London taste
and garments of the London shape; here was the sign of a photographer to
the Queen, there of a hatter to H. R. H. the Prince of Wales; a barber
was “under the patronage of H. R. H. the Prince of Wales, H. E. the Duke
of Cambridge, and the gentry of Montreal.” 'Ich dien' was the motto of
a restaurateur; a hosier had gallantly labeled his stock in trade with
'Honi soit qui mal y pense'. Again they noted the English solidity
of the civic edifices, and already they had observed in the foreign
population a difference from that at home. They saw no German faces on
the streets, and the Irish faces had not that truculence which they
wear sometimes with us. They had not lost their native simpleness and
kindliness; the Irishmen who drove the public carriages were as civil as
our own Boston hackmen, and behaved as respectfully under the shadow of
England here, as they would have done under it in Ireland. The problem
which vexes us seems to have been solved pleasantly enough in Canada.
Is it because the Celt cannot brook equality; and where he has not an
established and recognized caste above him, longs to trample on those
about him; and if he cannot be lowest, will at least be highest?
However, our friends did not suffer this or any other advantage of
the colonial relation to divert them from the opinion to which their
observation was gradually bringing them,--that its overweening loyalty
placed a great country like Canada in a very silly attitude, the
attitude of an overgrown, unmanly boy, clinging to the maternal skirts,
and though spoilt and willful, without any character of his own. The
constant reference of local hopes to that remote centre beyond seas,
the test of success by the criterions of a necessarily different
civilization, the social and intellectual dependence implied by traits
that meet the most hurried glance in the Dominion, give an effect of
meanness to the whole fabric. Doubtless it is a life of comfort, of
peace, of irresponsibility they live there, but it lacks the grandeur
which no sum of material prosperity can give; it is ignoble, like all
voluntarily subordinate things. Somehow, one feels that it has no basis
in the New World, and that till it is shaken loose from England it
cannot have.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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