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Over the years, Van Horne and his family had moved often, following the rapid progress of his railway career in the American Midwest. It must have been a relief when, in 1883, he seemed settled with the Canadian Pacific Railway and the family finally joined him in Montreal.

The stage for this move was set in the autumn of 1882. That fall, the steadily escalating pressure of railway business weighed heavily on Van Horne, both in his office in Winnipeg and in Montreal, the location of the CPR headquarters. It was particularly heavy during his visits to Montreal, when his schedule was chockablock with consultations and interviews. Whether he was in the office or at his hotel, there was always somebody waiting to see him. He put in exceedingly long days and rarely got to bed before midnight. As the construction of the railway forged ahead across the prairies and through the most challenging sections — the Rockies and the north shore of Lake Superior — the CPR management decided that Van Horne should transfer his own headquarters from Winnipeg to Montreal as soon as possible. Consequently, in November 1882, he took up residence in the venerable Windsor Hotel in downtown Montreal.

At winter’s end, in April 1883, the family left Milwaukee and joined him in Montreal. Little Addie was delighted to have her father close by again. During the long absence she had written him often, but always with regret: “The weather is very pleasant and all the roses are in bloom,” she wrote in one of her letters. “Those red roses you planted when you came here are one mass of bloom and are the admiration of everyone…. Papa, I wish you would come home, just think! It has been almost 4 months since you was [here] last, we all long to see your dear face again.”

Once again, Van Horne had found a suitable home for the family. Like most prosperous businessmen at the time, he chose to live in “the Square Mile,” an area on the southern flank of Mount Royal near McGill University where many prosperous English-speaking residents built stately mansions in the last half of the nineteenth century and the opening years of the twentieth. He bought the eastern wing of an imposing semi-detached stone residence that later became known as the Shaughnessy House — after Thomas Shaughnessy, who, in late 1882, was the CPR’s purchasing agent. Located at the western end of Dorchester Street, it had been built by CPR director Duncan McInyre, who still lived in its west wing, and timber merchant Robert Brown, who previously occupied the wing that Van Horne purchased. A century later the Shaughnessy House would be integrated into the Canadian Centre for Architecture, but for Van Horne, the location was ideal: the house was close to Donald Smith’s ostentatious residence — where the Van Hornes would attend many functions — and it was also within a short distance of the CPR headquarters on Place d’Armes, in the heart of Montreal’s financial and commercial district.

The Van Horne mansion on Sherbrooke Street West in Montreal. Derided by critics for resembling an armoury, it was razed in 1973 despite a furious campaign to save it.

Courtesyof the Notman Photographic Archives, McCord Museum of Canadian History, Montreal, MPMP-000.2345.4.

At the time of the move, there were seven people in the Van Horne family: William and Addie; their children, Little Addie and Bennie; Addie’s mother, Mrs. Hurd; and William’s mother and his sister Mary. Mrs. Van Horne senior died in 1885, but the rest of them lived in the Shaughnessy House until April 1892, when they moved to a much larger residence at the foot of Mount Royal. It was a neo-classical stone mansion located on the northeast corner of Sherbrooke and Stanley streets. The house, which was probably built in the 1860s, originally belonged to John Hamilton, a senator and president of the Merchants Bank, who occupied it from 1869 to 1890. Critics said it resembled an armoury, but it suited Van Horne. He wanted a bigger house in which to display his ever-growing collections of art and pottery.

Van Horne purchased the property in 1890 and immediately set about to alter it so it would provide the additional space he required. To carry out the remodelling, he hired someone whose work he knew and liked. Edward Colonna was best known as a pioneer of art nouveau, the decorative movement featuring long, sinuous curves of vegetal-inspired forms that was regarded in Europe at the time as the “Modern Style.” In the United States, Colonna had worked for Bruce Price, who found a position for him as chief designer for the renowned railway-car builder Barney & Smith Manufacturing Company of Dayton, Ohio. It was there that Colonna probably had his first dealings with Van Horne, who involved himself in the purchase of passenger cars for the CPR. Following his stint with this firm, Colonna stopped off briefly in New York City before heading in 1889 to Montreal. There he opened his own office and renewed his contact with Van Horne, who frequently invited Colonna and his wife, Louise, to meals at the family home. Colonna designed a large portion of the renovation of the Van Horne residence at 917 (later 1139) Sherbrooke Street. In so doing, he provided Canada with a unique example of art-nouveau decoration, and Van Horne with a ground-floor interior that reflected his essentially “modern” taste.

Montreal, with a population of approximately two hundred and sixty thousand, was by far Canada’s largest city. In terms of financial clout and entrepreneurial spirit, it was the capital of Victorian Canada as well. A century earlier the North West Company had brought wealth and power to the city from the West. Now the Canadian Pacific Railway would do likewise. But this would occur only after the long depression (1873–96) ended and prosperity returned to the United States and Canada. When that happened, in 1897, the city and the province embarked on a period of renewed prosperity and rapid industrialization.

Montreal’s commercial aristocracy controlled not only the province of Quebec but also two-thirds of Canada’s wealth and the majority of the country’s major corporations. Most of these businessmen lived in the Square Mile, which was then at the peak of its influence. This powerful Anglophone community was British to the core. In slavish imitation of London society, the Square Mile denizens rode to hounds, imported servants from Britain, copied British social mores, and occupied mansions that were surrounded by acres of lawn, orchards, and gardens. Although Sir John A. Macdonald’s National Policy and the building of railways by the Grand Trunk, the Intercolonial, and the Canadian Pacific had helped to create this moneyed class, almost all its members had not been raised in privileged circumstances. The CPR duo Donald Smith and George Stephen were typical: both were from humble origins. Smith was the fourth child of a hard-drinking saddler, and Stephen, his cousin, was the first child of a carpenter who had a large family to support. (Stephen became Lord Mount Stephen in 1897.) Robert Mackay, another Square Mile resident and Van Horne friend, was the son of a crofter. Smith, Stephen, and Mackay were all Scottish born, but even those members of the Square Mile aristocracy not born in Scotland were Scottish to “the marrow of their souls.” No matter what their religion or background, “they knew how to parlay endurance of the spirit into earthly salvation,” according to Canadian journalist and author Peter C. Newman.

Certainly Van Horne knew how to make the most of his time here on Earth. Nevertheless, the fearless optimism that governed most of his life and his extravagant displays of affection for his family ruled out any claim to his being Scottish. So did his gambling instincts, his delight in high living, and his love of big practical jokes. Like most Victorian men, Van Horne was the authority figure in his family. He controlled the family purse and made all the important decisions, although he did consult Addie from time to time. Unlike many other men in his circle, however, Van Horne doted on his wife and children. The role of remote husband and father was not for him. Perhaps because of his own father’s early death and the straitened circumstances in which he left the young family, Van Horne craved a sense of security. The love of a devoted wife and a closely knit family became all important to him. His extended family and Addie, with her remarkably serene spirit, became indispensable restoratives for his soul, and he worried constantly about their well-being when he was away from them. Still, like many men of his era, when he went to distant places such as Europe or the west coast of the United States, he travelled in the company of other men and left his wife to look after the children and the home.

In letters to his wife, Van Horne frequently chastised her for being a poor correspondent and fretted about her health. “I am much distressed by your letter of yesterday and as I know you have been and are still seriously ill. I trust that you have not failed to call a doctor,” he wrote Addie in October 1872, just after he had moved from Chicago to St. Louis. “If you have not done so do it at once. You must take no risks nor trifle with your health,” he continued. To drive home the point that his instructions must be obeyed, he added, “I am very busy but am so nervous on your account that I can hardly do anything. Do not fail to let me hear from you every day. Now my Treasure, do not forget that I am anxious about you and that I will be in agony if I do not hear from you and if I do not hear that you have called the doctor.” Unfortunately, there is no indication in this letter or in any subsequent correspondence of the nature of Addie’s illness. Nor are there any hints as to why Addie’s health should have been a source of recurring concern to family members. As it happened, although six years older than her husband, she outlived him for a full fourteen years.

Addie was fortunate in having Van Horne’s sister Mary as an indispensable helpmate in running the household in Montreal. This was no light task in a day of large families, big houses, and high housekeeping standards. However polished the butler might be, and no matter the efficiency of the housekeeper and her large staff, Addie was expected to take a personal and informed interest in her kitchen, linen room, and garden. Van Horne’s sweet-tempered sister not only played a leading role in numerous local organizations but also rendered invaluable assistance to Addie. She helped out with grocery shopping, raising the children, and entertaining the countless guests who passed through the doors of the Sherbrooke Street mansion. Her death in 1904 at the age of only forty-eight left a yawning void in the family.

Van Horne was certainly conscious of the magnitude of his wife’s responsibilities, yet he was not inclined to lavish favours on her. His parsimony, in fact, upset young Addie, who, in her last teenage year, pointed out to her adored father that his wife was “the only lady in Montreal of high position who has not her own horses and you know it does not look well for the wife of the President of the C.P.R. to go calling in cabs or what is worse for her on foot.”

For her part, Addie was devoted to her demanding, restless husband. A quiet, intelligent woman, whom the Canadian novelist William A. Fraser described as “the most gracious woman I have ever met in my life,” she was ideally suited to providing the solace and support that Van Horne desperately needed in his harried professional life. It is a reflection of how highly he regarded her intelligence and judgment that he consulted her about major career decisions. Despite her college education and musical talents, however, Addie was content to remain in her husband’s shadow. For her, home was where she belonged, and, if given a choice, she would have shunned the glimmer and glitter of stuffy Montreal society altogether. Outside the home, she contented herself with serving as vice-president of the women’s branch of the Antiquarian Society, attending musical recitals of notable artists, and exhibiting regularly at flower shows.

Although satisfied to play the role of the model late-Victorian wife, Addie at times complained about her lot. Similarly, she occasionally resented her husband’s directions. Like so many successful men, Van Horne could be opinionated and dogmatic: he always knew what was best. This superiority could, of course, annoy people, particularly when he proved to be wrong. One day after Addie viewed a display of wedding presents received by a Miss Lonsdale, who married her cousin John Lonsdale Gilman in December 1885, she wrote gleefully to Mary, her sister-in-law:

The presents were many, pretty and useful — I selected a beautiful card receiver — best plate. I showed it to Will who said “No one ever sent plate. I might throw that away.” So I changed it for a pie knife solid only a trifle more & not half as pretty. There were ever so many plated silver articles — There was a coffee & tea service from Mr Gilman’s mother & a pretty silver five o’clock tea set from Mr and Mrs Finlay. I asked Mrs F if the large service was solid. She replied “She thought not hers was not.” So I looked closely at the rest & concluded mine was among the few solid pieces. So I quite enjoyed telling Will he was sometimes mistaken.

Addie was often forced by circumstances to be a gracious hostess — a role expected of the wife of a Square Mile resident, especially someone as prominent as her husband. Because Van Horne, like Lord Strathcona, gloried in it, entertaining was elevated to a high art in the Van Horne home. With strangers and mere acquaintances, and in formal social situations, Van Horne could be cold and austere, if not downright shy. With friends, however, he was genial and gracious. As someone who revelled in the role of courtly host and paterfamilias, he orchestrated countless dinners, Sunday lunches, and overnight visits. While away from home, he would pepper Addie with instructions regarding plans he had for entertaining friends and business associates when he returned. People from all walks of life and occupations figured in his plans: CPR contractors, judges, railway titans, artists, politicians, financiers, industrialists, and writers all enjoyed lavish and warm hospitality at his Sherbrooke Street mansion and at Covenhoven — his beloved New Brunswick estate.

When he was in New Brunswick in the late 1880s to negotiate the lease of the New Brunswick Railway Company to the CPR, Van Horne stopped off in the small resort town of St. Andrews in the southwestern part of the province. He was so struck by the beauty of Passamaquoddy Bay and its islands that he set about acquiring property on Minister’s Island, a five-hundred-acre strip of verdant land located a half-mile offshore and around a point from St. Andrews. Over the next couple of decades he put his diverse talents and still formidable energy to work transforming four hundred acres of the island into a self-sustaining estate — not only a large summer home and sprawling gardens but also an impressive working farm and assorted outbuildings. Until the end of his life, Covenhoven would be Sir William’s refuge, the haven to which he retreated during the summer and the early autumn in search of rest and creative renewal.

Van Horne acquired his Minister’s Island property piecemeal, starting in 1891. That year, he bought one hundred and fifty acres at the most southerly end of the island. Five years later he purchased another two hundred and fifty acres. Addie, after his death, acquired the island’s remaining hundred acres in 1926. Once he had purchased his parcels of land, Sir William set out to design a summer home that he named Covenhoven in salute to his father and his Dutch ancestry. The actual construction began in 1898, but unidentified problems soon arose. Forced to seek assistance, Van Horne turned to a young Montreal architect, Edward Maxwell, who, with his younger brother William, would go on to create one of the most significant architectural practices in Canadian history. As soon as Van Horne issued his call for help, Edward hurried to Minister’s Island to rectify the construction problems. His intervention succeeded and, when Van Horne decided the following year to enlarge the modest dwelling, he called on Edward once more. The end result was a house that, again, was large and bulky like Van Horne himself. Further additions and modifications were undertaken in subsequent years. All were closely supervised by Van Horne, who sometimes found it necessary to drop everything in Montreal and hurry to Minister’s Island to inspect some new construction.

Of all the wings that were added to the main house over the years, the addition that contained his grandson’s nursery was probably the one that most involved Van Horne’s attention. It was in this room that he lovingly painted a joyous mural for small William — Bennie’s son. This room also featured at least one mantel constructed of Dutch picture tiles that Van Horne ordered specially from Montreal.

A partial view of the family home at Covenhoven, the impressive Van Horne estate on Minister’s Island, New Brunswick. Dignitaries from across North America and around the world visited here during the summer months.

Courtesy of Library and Archives Canada, PA21681.

Besides helping to design the original house, Van Horne also turned his attention to planning the farm manager’s house, one of several buildings on the large working farm that he envisaged for Minister’s Island. Without question, the most impressive farm building on the property was the massive barn, which became the centrepiece of the entire operation. Three storeys in height and built on a stone foundation, it had twenty-five windows on the ground floor alone and boasted a kitchen equipped with an elevator that provided access to the upper floors. Two immaculately kept floors housed Van Horne’s prized herd of Dutch belted cattle, so called because of the large white band this breed displays over the shoulders. To Van Horne’s delight, these cattle went on to win many show ribbons, including some from the prestigious Royal Winter Fair in Toronto.

Determined to make Minister’s Island as self-sufficient as possible, Van Horne installed a fresh-water system on the property: a windmill, assisted by kerosene-fired engines, pumped water from an artesian well to the main house through a system of hydrants. He arranged for a supply of gas for lighting and cooking: in an adjoining plant, when carbide pellets were dropped into water, the resulting gas was collected and piped into the family home. He also grew a vegetable garden and raised sheep, cattle, pigs, turkeys, and guinea fowl. In his own inventive way, he was the best of pioneers.

Even when not at Covenhoven, Van Horne immersed himself in myriad details relating to the estate’s operation. His manager consulted him on a wide range of matters, from the castration of a bull to the grading of turnips for sale. In addition to the property manager, the outdoor staff included a head gardener, four assistant gardeners, an assistant stockman, three teamsters, a weir manager, a farm hand, a head field hand, poultry hands, carpenters, plumbers, and painters. Over them all, Van Horne reigned as the ultimate decision maker.

Van Horne always claimed that one of Minister Island’s attractions was its relative inaccessibility from the New Brunswick mainland. Still, he could not be long without the company of stimulating friends, and he loved to show people around his estate. They included leading Canadian and American businessmen, railway barons, Japanese royalty, retired generals, and capable women such as Maud Edgar, the principal of a Montreal girls’ school. Invitations were also extended to lesser mortals too, and Van Horne, the consummate host and teacher, made everyone feel quite special. Visitors arrived by train or yacht on the New Brunswick coast and usually crossed to the island at low tide on the natural gravel bar that links it to the mainland. Once there, they journeyed for half a mile through woodland before emerging on the estate’s expansive grounds. There, waiting for them at the door to the mansion, was their host, who invariably extended the same welcome: “Gentlemen, you may have champagne or milk — the price is the same for both.”

Van Horne was a superb storyteller, although in later years he had a tendency to exaggerate. His newspaper friend, Sir John Willison, described him as a gracious host who talked a lot but was never dull or commonplace: “Decisive in judgment and confident in opinion, his sentences were so picturesque and penetrating that even his rasher statements were seldom challenged.” Although Sunday was a favourite time to entertain, especially in Montreal, William and Addie also entertained on weekdays. It was not uncommon for the couple to lunch with friends at their home at 917 Sherbrooke Street and then, later that day, meet the same people elsewhere for dinner. Often they accepted written invitations to a meal at Lord Strathcona’s fine house. The wealthy, bearded financier had come a long way since he toiled for three decades as a Hudson’s Bay Company trader in Labrador and acquired what Governor General Lord Minto contemptuously referred to as a “squaw wife.”

Invariably, the menu was extensive. On Tuesday, January 3, 1893, for example, eighteen people assembled around the Van Horne dining table to consume a dinner of consommé, boiled cod with anchovy sauce, partridge pâté, ox tongue with mushrooms, saddle of mutton, turkey with celery sauce, potatoes, peas, celery root, English pheasant with port-wine sauce, frozen chestnut pudding, celery and cheese, Neapolitan ice cream, pineapple water-ice fruit, coffee, and tea. Meals of this nature, not to mention Van Horne’s unrestrained appetite, no doubt accounted for his growing portliness and the onset of type 2 diabetes.

Among the guests entertained by the Van Hornes in Montreal was James J. Hill. When visiting Montreal in June 1906 to attend Bennie’s wedding, the railway titan arrived on his two-hundred-and-forty-three-foot yacht. Another notable visitor was Rudyard Kipling, who, in 1907, gave rousing speeches on imperial unity across Canada. To provide for their comfort, Van Horne arranged for the famous English author and poet and his wife, Cattie, to have the use of a special private car for their transcontinental train trip. Other visitors included Pauline Johnson, the celebrated Métis poet and entertainer, the popular literary figure Gilbert Parker (later Sir Gilbert), and the American muck-raking publisher Samuel McLure. Canadian artist Wyatt Eaton stayed at the Van Horne mansion for months on end and painted portraits of both Van Horne and Addie.

Among the several art critics who made their way to the Van Horne home was the prominent American Bernard Berenson and his wife, Mary. After one of their visits to Montreal, Mary unburdened herself in a letter to their friend and patroness Isabella Stewart Gardener, the well-known Boston art collector. It was indeed fortunate, wrote Mary, that Isabella had decided not to accompany them on this trip because all they had found in Montreal was provincialism. It was everywhere, but especially in the homes of the Square Mile millionaires, who built “hideous brownstone houses” and “hung in their multifarious and overheated rooms a vast collection of gilt-framed mediocre pictures.” Only time spent with Van Horne would have redeemed their visit, she said, but regrettably they could not see him because he was laid up with “inflammatory rheumatism” — a condition that incapacitated him for months during the winter of 1914– 15. The Berensons did, however, meet Bennie Van Horne, now thirty-six years old, whom Mary described as “a powerful and intelligent man.”

“Powerful” and “intelligent” are not the usual adjectives applied to Van Horne’s only son, who had a good mind, but was spoiled and cynical. Perhaps because he was the only son to survive early childhood, Bennie (“Benj” to his intimate friends) became the victim of his parents’ overpowering and ultimately destructive love. From his earliest years, he was the centre of attention, doted on by his mother, who fretted about him constantly, and continually instructed by his father, who expected great things from him. Unfortunately, Van Horne never seemed to learn that he could not micromanage people’s lives the way he could a railway. Although Bennie graduated from McGill University with an applied science (engineering) degree and, like his father, was an accomplished artist, he never realized his potential. He was essentially unmotivated, lazy, and spoiled. Except for a brief time when he was gainfully employed on one of his father’s projects in Cuba, the Cuba Railroad, he remained at home, a ne’er-do-well, drinking too much, running up bank overdrafts, and gambling.

In 1906, Bennie married Edith Molson, the only daughter and first child of Dr. William Alexander Molson, a member of the large Montreal brewing family, and Esther Shepherd, the daughter of R.W. Shepherd, who owned a steamship line. Van Horne was delighted with this match, which linked the Van Hornes with one of Montreal’s most respected, wealthy, and powerful families. Moreover, he was fond of his daughter-in-law. After their honeymoon, however, the couple moved into the Van Horne mansion. Van Horne, it seems, was incapable of weaning Bennie from his close control, and Bennie was unable to steer a course of his own.

The marriage produced one child, William, who became Van Horne’s adored grandson. Van Horne liked all children, but the love he lavished on this child was beyond reason — and once again destructive. The boy was only eighteen months old when his grandfather began to mould his tastes. As he later wrote, “I wished him to have artistic tastes, so I carried him around to see the pictures. He noticed things in them from the start. Already he can tell ships and birds and the sea, he calls them by name, pats them.” When away from home, Van Horne wrote regularly to William, except on a few occasions when the most urgent business scuttled his good intentions. No matter where he travelled, people always inquired about the grandson. Unfortunately, like Bennie, young William developed into a self-centred, pompous child.

Young Addie, in contrast, had no demons to fight. She was a shy woman who inherited her father’s big frame and beautiful blue eyes. And she adored her father — they shared an abiding interest in art and identifying and collecting fungi. When Addie was twenty years old, she accompanied her Aunt Mary on a grand tour of Europe. Writing to her brother from Europe in September 1888, Mary told Van Horne that she had decided that his daughter should extend her planned sojourn in Europe in order to see as much of the continent as possible. Hitherto, she explained, young Addie had led a quiet, retiring life, but after her return from Europe she would “have to go into society, where she will meet people who have had all the advantages that travel can give.”

After her mother’s death in 1929 and the death of her brother, Bennie, in 1931, Addie stayed on in the family home on Sherbrooke Street West and continued to manage the Covenhoven estate, which she had inherited from her father. In addition to supporting various charitable activities, she also maintained her father’s renowned art and porcelain collections. Even when her eyesight began to fail, nothing gave her more pleasure than to show appreciative visitors around these collections. She knew the location of every exhibit and, when she was almost blind, she drew on her encyclopedic memory to describe the history and features of individual pieces in loving detail. Young Addie died in 1941, after having been ill for some time. She was seventy-two, the same age as her father at his death.

Van Horne with small William, the grandson whom he spoilt shamelessly.

Courtesy of the Notman Photographic Archives, McCord Museum of Canadian History, Montreal, 11-172901.