We were able to walk to Old Montreal from our hotel on Saint Denis; it took about 15-20 minutes. We passed what I’m guessing were the government buildings, including one that had a few lovely and interestingly landscaped designs on the lawn. I posted one yesterday, and here’s my favorite:

From the civic area it was not at all difficult to navigate our way to the Notre-Dame Basilica, which is one of the most spectacular structures I’ve ever seen, inside and out.

I couldn’t stop taking pictures inside, but unfortunately most of them came out blurry. Like this one:

And this one, of the impressive organ (have I been reading too many smutty books, or was that dirty for everyone? Organ pipes! Organ PIPES!):

I usually tell people I’m not a religious person (even people who don’t ask! I just walk up to strangers and say, “I’m not a religious person.” They’re usually cool with it) though there are a couple Jewish holidays and practices that I observe. Being in old cathedrals and churches used to make me a little uncomfortable, like I didn’t belong there. Not as a (basically lapsed) Jew, but because in general I don’t hold much stock in religion, and I think I’d be the same if I were Catholic or other Christian denomination.

But being in this space is awe-making on several levels. That it’s still used for masses and rituals (Celine Dion got married there, apparently — did you know that?), that as we shuffled through on our self-guided tour we passed a number of people who were offering up prayers to various saints (I find this fascinating, seeing faith in practice), that people BUILT this, BY HAND, so long ago . . .

And then I was drawn to one stained glass window in particular. The way the confessionals are set up cuts across the windows so I wasn’t able to get a clear shot of it, but here’s part of it:

It’s unusual, I think, for stained glass to depict relatively modern scenes, and as a former student of post-colonial theory I was particularly struck by the image of a nun surrounded by supplicating Iroquois? Algonquin? children, with an Algonquin? Iroquois? woman gesturing toward a tree stump as if to say, “Look what destruction you have wrought.” (NB: nothing in my admittedly cursory online research points to a specific group, league, or nation; rather, indigenous Canadians are irksomely categorized as “Native American,” which seems wrong to me, even though I assume it means “Native NORTH American.” So I’m broadly guessing based on what little I know of Canadian/Native geography. If anyone can tell me for sure, I’d appreciate it.)

I know absolutely nothing about Canadian history. For an education system that primarily on the history of the white man (you heard me) it’s strange that it leaves out the history of our northern neighbor. I mean, they’re right there. We should know a little something about them, don’t you think? (Obviously we should know more about the history of everyone in the world, but now probably isn’t the time to launch into a diatribe on the deplorable state of American education.)

I have since found out that she is Marguerite Bourgeoys — Saint Marguerite Bourgeoys, I should say, since she was canonized in 1982 (first Canadian female saint!) — and she’s considered a co-founder of Montreal. She came over from France in the 17th century, opened the first school in Montreal, and taught colonists how to survive through harsh winters and food shortages by teaching them how to run a home and farm. She opened a school for indigenous children — there’s where the stained glass panel and this painting comes in — and, according to the Wikipedia page, received the first two indigenous Canadians into the Church. Colonization at work! Canadians! They’re just like the rest of the western world. Who knew?

In all seriousness, though, I am rather fascinated with this woman.

And here’s where I must leave you for today — not even halfway through Day Two. There’s more to come! And not as heavy as all this. (Except for the poutine.)

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