The Queen & the Chill

Quebec City was an armed camp. On roads leading into the French Canadian provincial capital, police flagged down motorists and searched their cars. The airport and railway station swarmed with plainclothesmen. On the cliffs overlooking the St. Lawrence River, khaki-clad Canadian army troops took their positions while Navy frogmen ran a final check for mines in the dock area of Wolfe's Cove. Yellow police barricades lined the city streets, and knots of helmeted riot police stood ready. Their orders were clear: all demonstrations were banned.

The Queen was coming, and many French Canadians thought Elizabeth of England was unwelcome. Like an old sore suddenly scraped open, French nationalism is raging anew in Quebec after two centuries of British domination. An impatient generation of French Canadians demands more autonomy and a stronger voice in the country's affairs. Some even preach outright secession from English Canada; the more passionate have been punctuating their cries with mailbox bombings, arms raids and threats against the Queen's visit--even her life.

As she approached Quebec last week, ominous letters and telephone calls poured into newspapers. Police seized 14,000 "hate" pamphlets ("First-class funeral for Confederation--the Queen's visit"). And in downtown Quebec City the night before her arrival 1,000 members of the separatist Le Rassemblement pour l'Independance Nationale staged a silent protest march until police broke it up. "This is an example of the democracy we live in," snarled Separatist Leader Pierre Bourgault. Officials were haunted by thoughts of the assassination of President Kennedy.

"Shoo, Shoo, Shoo." As the Queen arrived in Quebec City, all Canada held its breath. Sailing up the St. Lawrence from Prince Edward Island, where she began her eight-day visit, the royal yacht Britannia docked at Wolfe's Cove, and for a full hour security police combed the area before the Queen and Prince Philip stepped ashore. In a bleakly unceremonial freight shed, she inspected the honor guard, listened to a welcoming speech by Premier Jean Lesage, then climbed into a bulletproof Cadillac for the drive to the Quebec Parliament Building--and a reception as chill as the north wind moaning down from the Arctic.

Few cheers or waving flags greeted her passage through town. But if the authorities expected a screaming, stone-throwing mob, there was none of that either. Only a handful of silent, staring people peered curiously between the ranks of police and scarlet-coated Mounties. Possibly through fear, possibly by design, Quebec seemed to be staying home, for the most part ignoring her altogether.

At the Parliament Building a crowd of 200 college-age youths began shouting "Quebec Libre" and chanting "Shoo, shoo, shoo." They dispersed when police flailed away with night sticks. The whole crowd in Parliament Square--a few of them pattering polite applause --hardly numbered 500. "You can count the crowd by counting the police --and then divide by two," said one newsman.

"We Must Explain." Looking paler than usual as she stood before Quebec's solemn legislators, the Queen voiced a quiet appeal for unity: "Between compatriots, we must explain and present our points of view, without passion, respecting the opinions of others. This country is the meeting place of two great civilizations, each contributing its own genius and quality. These qualities are not contradictory, but complement one another."

When the Queen left the building, 50 separatists set up a new chant--"Le Quebec au Ouebecoia [Quebec for Quebeckers]." Again the police shut them up, and she moved on to her official round of appointments--mostly ceremonial and out of public view. For a war memorial dedication at Quebec's historical old Citadel, only 1,500 of 2,500 invited guests bothered to show up; and no sooner were the formal ceremonies under way than another minor demonstration erupted outside the high grey wall surrounding the Citadel. The next day was spent quietly on shipboard, entertaining special guests at a state luncheon.

This week Queen Elizabeth travels on to the federal capital of Ottawa and returns to the warmth of English-speaking Canada. But Quebec--with its troops, its empty streets, sullen people and background music of catcalls--will be hard to forget.

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