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Madame Bolduc1 is singing the R-100 song on CKAC Radio. Almost a year ago to the day, the big airship floating over Montreal was the talk of the town. Gliding over the rooftops, the dirigible with the magic number was making the children dizzy. They were running after it, twisting their necks to look up as it hung above the city. Mary Travers, alias la mère Bolduc, who regularly toured with her company, was inspired by the public’s infatuation to write a song about the R-100, and now it is on everybody’s lips.
Whenever he hears the song, Maurice thinks back to the past year and its difficult moments. After the car accident in 1929, he ended up in hospital again in March 1930. An emergency. He was suffering from a hernia. And he was in much pain for several months. This time, he thought he would die, despite his sisters’ encouraging words and Dr. Dufresne who came down from Montreal to look after him.
Camillien Houde’s fans were on the verge of rejoicing.
“Maurice has suffered complications: stomach hemorrhages, appendicitis, peritonitis. I think he is washed up. He’s going to die, for sure. Taschereau sent him a bouquet of red roses. He is as white as a sheet! He looks like a ghost.”
But you can’t take anything for granted. Today, bursting with health, he can look back and see himself in his white bed. And the many months he had to spend at home…
La Bolduc can be heard singing on the radio: “Va donc mettre ton prince albert, on s’en va à Saint-Hubert…” [Grab your coats and let’s be off to Saint-Hubert.] Maurice has made great strides in the past year. Yesterday, his detractors were burying him. Today, he has never been closer to his goal: to govern the province of Quebec.
The backbiting is fierce. Maurice Duplessis is accused of colluding with Taschereau ever since the premier wanted to dump Camillien Houde, who is nothing but a ranter. It’s an open secret: the Liberals much prefer the member from Trois-Rivières. Even if his puns can be irritating, at least he knows how to handle a debate.
“Have you heard the rumour?” Houde asks Duplessis.
The mayor of Montreal has just travelled to Trois-Rivières to call upon his lieutenant, who is growing more and more distant.
“J. H. Dillon wants to pass a law to prevent me from contesting my defeat in the election… And to think I went ahead and blew a $69,000 deposit…” says Houde, jokingly. “Anyhow, Taschereau’s gang are plotting to adopt a retroactive law that would prevent honest members like myself from contesting an election. If ever a vote is taken on the Dillon Law at the Assembly, I would like you to start a petition so that the lieutenant-governor will not be able to ratify it.”
Maurice doesn’t bat an eyelash. He has no intention of supporting his former leader. If Houde had worked harder at being elected in his own riding, he would not be standing there in front of him begging for allies.
And Duplessis has other things on his mind. The pot is reaching the boiling point in the province. The Liberals, feeling secure with their overwhelming majority, are not being prudent. “They’re heading for disaster.” Remembering his years at college when he was studying Latin, he parodies Cicero: “Quousque tandem abtere, Louis-Alexandre Taschereau, patienta nostra? [How long, Louis-Alexandre Taschereau, will you abuse our patience?] The debts are piling up and the revenues are not coming in. The Rouges, easygoing, presumptuous, are digging themselves into a hole. Convinced that they have Quebec all sewn up, they are not paying attention to their adversaries. They think that the worm of discord is in the Conservative Party’s apple. Camillien’s departure has reassured them.
They are wrong. Maurice Duplessis is still there.
He watches the members of the majority party and how they act. The solid front has developed cracks. The wear and tear of power has exposed rivalries. Outside the House, the Opposition is muttering quietly. A name is on people’s tongues – that of Paul Gouin. The youngest son of former Premier Sir Lomer Gouin, and a lawyer, he is also the grandson of Honoré Mercier. There is talk that a group of dissatisfied Liberal members sometimes gathers at his home in Montreal.
Miss Cloutier receives a phone call from Mr. Duplessis.
“Can you get me the names of the young members of the Reform Club? And also the names of those who meet at the École sociale populaire? Apparently, young Gouin met with several of them last week.”
It is 1932, and summer is almost over. The newspapers are full of the eclipse of the sun slated to take place on August 31. Maurice pokes fun at all this. An upheaval far greater than that is in the offing. Since eclipse is on everyone’s lips, Maurice thinks that the Rouges had better be wary of the true meaning of the word.
Quebec is celebrating. On March 16, 1933, Archbishop Jean-Marie Rodrigue Villeneuve is appointed cardinal. No wonder the flags are flying in the provincial capital. Many ecclesiastics from Montreal, including Msgr. Paul Bruchési, had been coveting this appointment to the Sacred College. From now on His Eminence, Cardinal Villeneuve, elector of, and advisor to, the Pope, is like a monarch. He is wearing a pallium – a white woollen stole with black crosses. Dressed in his scarlet robes, the Prince of the Church blesses the faithful. A reception is being held in his honour following the investiture. All the members of the Legislature turn out to pay him tribute.
Among them, Maurice Duplessis bends to kiss the Cardinal’s ring. A practising Catholic, he goes to Mass every Wednesday morning. He believes in God, and he believes in the power of the Church. This sacred institution has always been a benefactor of the French Canadians and has acted as a bulwark for their survival. When Taschereau’s Liberals passed a law on public assistance, Duplessis sided with the Church’s condemnation of this law and with the State’s meddling in community affairs. How dare the State take responsibility for Christian charity. It is the duty of the Church to take care of the poor, the alcoholics, the unmarried mothers, the orphans. His Eminence Cardinal Rodrigue Villeneuve likes to hear this kind of talk. He and Duplessis are on the same wavelength for many things. He finds the interim head of the Conservative Party sympathique.
“How do you like your new title, Mr. Duplessis?”
“My dear friend, you know that I am only replacing Camillien Houde at the Assembly. My party has not elected me. Our leadership convention will be held in a few months. Camillien doesn’t stand a chance. He goes from defeat to defeat. He can no longer sit in Quebec City, and Montreal prefers Fernand Rinfret to him. But do you want my opinion? Houde still has a trick or two up his sleeve. He will come back, either as mayor of Montreal or to sit in the Assembly or go to Ottawa. He is indefatigable… like myself. You’ll see, Your Eminence, in less than a year, you will be speaking to the premier of Quebec!”
And what if an adversary were found to prevent Maurice Duplessis from being acclaimed leader of the Conservative Party? Camillien Houde’s friends have no intention of being derailed, of not throwing a monkey wrench into the works. Their plan: convince Onésime Gagnon, a backbencher, to present himself at the leadership convention in the autumn. Who – Duplessis or Gagnon – will replace Houde?
The leadership convention is being held in Sherbrooke. Delegates from all over Quebec arrive in cars decked out in ribbons and streamers. Onésime’s supporters are meeting at the New Sherbrooke
