Macdonald looked toward the leader of the government in Lower Canada, the white-maned, excitable George Cartier. A slight nod invited Cartier to open the response.
“We have had much success, thanks to the strong way in which John A. had held the chair.” Cartier paid the compliment easily in his high-pitched voice, the English words spoken with a heavy layer of the unique French Canadian accent.
“Now, now, George, enough of that,” Macdonald protested with a grin, his wide-set eyes squinting with pleasure.
Cartier waved, signalling to his colleague to shut up.
“John has taken us through a review, a confirmation review, of the seventy-two resolutions we agreed upon at the Quebec Conference and there have been — how shall I put it — there have been no combats!”
“Jolly good!” Carnarvon was surprised. “No fights, no amendments?”
“That’s right,” Macdonald affirmed. “No fights. One amendment to the educational clause was put forward by Alex. The clause allows religious minorities in both Upper and Lower Canada the right to appeal to the central government against any law of a provincial legislature that prejudicially affects their educational interests. Right, Alex?”
“Right. My amendment gives all provinces, including the Maritimes, the right to appeal. In that way we hope at least partly to mollify the Roman Catholic bishops who want equality for their religion in educational matters even in the Maritimes.”
“So you left that problem to be settled by each province in its own way after Confederation.”
“With a right to appeal,” Galt explained, “that I expect will never be used.”
“Also the Maritimers are insisting on a guarantee by the central government that their beloved intercolonial railway will be built,” Cartier said.
“There’s been much noise and wing about that, but nothing’s settled,” Macdonald observed.
Galt added, “And in my bailiwick, the Finance Minister’s world, several resolutions that relate to property and finance have been referred to a committee of three financial wizards …”
“Of which you are the principal wizard.” Macdonald laughed with the others.
“No bloody doubt about that, dear boy!” Galt agreed, slapping his knee in emphasis.
Carnarvon asked, “So I gather that the principles laid out in the Quebec Resolutions will stand? There’s no serious challenge to them, particularly those dealings with the specific powers of the provinces and the overriding residual powers going to the central government?”
“Exactly right, Harry,” Macdonald confirmed.
“Good. You see, gentlemen, I’m most anxious to get a proper draft of the legislation under way. It’s a laborious process, as we all know. So, if you tell me the Quebec Resolutions are going to survive relatively unscathed, I can get the drafting gnomes started immediately. We are pressed for time, are we not, John A.?”
“We most certainly are. The Nova Scotia legislature must dissolve by spring and the seventy-two resolutions of the Quebec Conference still haven’t been put to that legislature for confirmation.”
Galt added, “The Nova Scotia delegates are here and lawfully empowered to represent their government, which is fully supportive of confederation. But their spring election might well put in an anti-confederation government, and all our efforts would be for naught. So we’ve got to get on quickly with … we have to decide quickly.”
“I must also move quickly,” Carnarvon said. “Our parliament opens again on February fifth. That gives us fewer than sixty days to prepare and settle the bill so that I can introduce it in the Lords as soon as possible after the opening formalities.” He looked to Macdonald. “John A., you’ll be back in London tomorrow. I know you and Sir Frederic get on well.” Sir Frederic Rogers was the senior civil servant, the Permanent Under-Secretary in the Colonial Office. “I would be obliged if you would arrange to call upon him on Thursday and hand him a note, which I shall write, instructing him to take the appropriate steps to do another draft of the British North America bill. The first draft, the earlier one done by my people, was a disaster. You can explain the urgency.”
“Yes, I’d be happy to do that. I know he already has a copy of the Quebec Resolutions.”
“Even so, he’ll need copies for the drafting staff. Perhaps you could take along a half dozen or so — if you have them,” Carnarvon said as he passed the port again. This time all three accepted.
He asked, “So you’re still intending to include as much of the British parliamentary system as possible, having regard to your country’s enormous distance and regional differences, right?”
“And also having regard to the ethnic and language differences,” Cartier was quick to point out. “As, you know, Harry, my Quebec — Canada East, Lower Canada, whatever — is French. We come from the sixty thousand French who were there when your English army defeated us on the Plains of Abraham. We have kept our own language, religion, culture, and code of civil laws. I am satisfied that with the creation of the Province of Quebec our rights and our distinctiveness will be reasonably protected. But only the passage of time will tell if I am right.”
“You shouldn’t have any concern about the French language and rights, George,” Galt retorted. “Christ, man, what more do you want? After all, I looked after that issue during the Quebec Conference two years ago.”
“Well, you made an effort,” Cartier acknowledged. “You took a positive step but, again, only the passage of time …”
“An effort?” Galt snorted derisively. He addressed Carnarvon. “George has a memory as short as a pig’s tit, Your Lordship … Harry. It was I myself who took care of the French problem, not George. The member for Sherbrooke, Quebec — that’s I — I proposed the language resolution at the Quebec Conference!”
Carnarvon thought for an instant that he should intervene. But this situation promised to be educational and entertaining. It might provide him with a valuable insight into the minds and personalities of these colonial leaders, people who clearly displayed their lower-class origins. He puffed on his cigar, sipped on his port, and listened.
Galt leaned forward, glaring at Cartier. “Remember my resolution, George? If you’ve forgotten, let me remind you. It was carried unanimously. Even you voted for it!” Galt shouted.
Carnarvon softly suggested, “I wonder, Alex, if you might be good enough to recite the purport of your language resolution. Can you give me the thrust of what it said?”
Lowering his tone, Galt said, “I can give you the thrust and I can also tell you what the resolution didn’t say.” Eyes intense and fixed on Carnarvon, he put down his port goblet. Clenching his thick fingers together, he spoke. “My resolution was in no way a statement of the general principle that the British American federation was to be a bilingual or bicultural nation. Not at all. Canada West and the Maritime colonies are not French. Quebec is French except for the large English numbers in Montreal and around my Sherbrooke base.
“But there had to be some strong recognition of the French language by the central federal government, because it will oversee the affairs of our national interest.”
Macdonald
