Picturesque Quebec : a sequel to Quebec past and present

by Sir J. M. Le Moine

CASTOR VILLE

"In woods or glens I love to roam,
* * * *
Or by the woodland pool to rest."

In the deepest recesses of the Lorette woods, amongst the most shady meanders of the sinuous Cahire Coubat, some five miles due north from Castel-Coucy, we know a bank, not precisely where

"The wild thyme grows,"

but where you are sure, in spring and summer, to pluck handfuls of trilliums, wild violets, ferns of rare beauty, columbines, kalmias, ladies' slippers, ladies' tresses (we mean of course the floral subjects). In this beauteous region, sacred to Pan, the Naiades, Dryades, and the daughters of Mnemosyne, you might possibly, dear reader, were you privileged with a pass from one of our most respected friends, be allowed to wander; or perchance in your downward voyage from Lake Charles to the Lorette Falls, in that vade mecum of a forester's existence—a birch canoe—you might, we repeat, possibly be allowed to pitch your camp on one of the mossy headlands of Castor Ville, and enjoy your luncheon, in this sylvan spot, that is, always presuming you were deemed competent to fully appreciate nature's wildest charms, and rejoice, like a true lover, in her coyest and most furtive glances.

Castor Ville, a forest wild, where many generations of beavers, otters, caribou, boars, foxes and hares once roamed, loved and died, covers an area of more than one hundred acres. Through it glides the placid course of the St. Charles—overhung by hoary fir trees—from the parent lake to the pretty Indian Lorette Falls, a distance of about eight miles of fairy scenery, which every man of taste, visiting Lake St. Charles, ought to enjoy at least once in his life. It is all through mantled over by a dense second growth of spruce and fir trees, intersected by a maze of avenues. The lodge sits gracefully, with its verandah and artillery, on a peninsula formed by the Grand Desert and St. Charles streams. You can cross over in a canoe to that portion of the domain beyond the river: along the banks, a number of resting places—tiny bowers of birch bark—dingies and canoes anchored all round—here and there a portage—close by, a veritable Indian wigwam—Oda Sio [293] by name. On a bright morning in early spring, you may chance to meet, in one of the paths, or in his canoe, a white-haired hunter, the Master of Castor Ville, returning home after visiting his hare, fox, or otter traps, proudly bearing Lepus in his game bag, next to which you may discover a volume of Molière, Montaigne or Montesquieu. On selling Castle-Coucy, its loyal-hearted old proprietor, taking with him the guns of the fort, retired to the present wild demesne, in which occasionally he passes, with his family, many pleasant hours, amidst books, friends and rural amusements, far from city noises and city excitement.

Castor Ville belongs to the Hon. Louis Panet, member of the Legislative
Council of Canada." (Written in 1865.)

Since this little sketch was penned, sixteen years ago, the unwelcome shadow of years has crept over our old friend, eighty-six winters and then frost has cooled the ardor of the Chasseur, Castor Ville for Mr. Panet has lost much of its sunshine.

THE JOYS OF WINTER.

"Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
Filling the earth and sky below,
Over the house-tops, over the street,
Over the heads of the people you meet,
Dancing,
Flirting,
Skimming along,
Beautiful snow, it can do no wrong,
Flying to kiss a lady's cheek,
Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak,
Beautiful snow from the heaven above,
Pure as an angel, gentle as love!

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow
How the flakes gather and laugh as they go,
Whirling about in the maddening fun,
It plays in its glee with every one,
Chasing,
Laughing,
Hurrying by,
It lights on the face and sparkles the eye!
And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound,
Snap at the crystals that eddy around,
The town is alive, and its heart is aglow!
To welcome the coming of the beautiful snow

How the wild crowds go swaying along,
Hailing each other with humour and song,
How the gay sledges, like meteors, pass by,
Bright for the moment, then lost to the eye,
Ringing,
Swinging,
Dashing they go,
Over the crust of this beautiful snow,
Snow so pure when it falls from the sky,
To he trampled and tracked by the crowd rushing by,
To be trampled and tracked by the thousands of feet,
Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street."

Has it ever been your fortune, kind reader, to enjoy, in the depth of winter, a ramble in a Canadian forest, at the mystic hour when the Queen of Night asserts her silent sway? Have you ever revelled in this feast of soul, fresh from the busy hum of city life—perchance strolling up a mountain path with undulating plains of spotless whiteness behind you, or else canopied by the leafy dome of odorous pines or green hemlock, with no other companion but your trusty rifle, nor other sound but the hoot of the Great Horned Owl, disturbed by the glare of your camp fire—or the rustle of the passing hare, skulking fox, or browsing cariboo? Have you ever been compelled, venturesome hunter as you are, with the lengthening shades of evening, after a twenty miles' run, to abandon the blood-stained trail, reserving for the morrow the slaying of the stricken cariboo? Can you recall the sense of weariness, with which you retraced your heavy steps to the camp—perspiring at every pore,—panting with thirst—famished— perhaps bewildered with the flakes of the gathering storm—yea, so exhausted, that the crackling of the pine faggots of your mountain hut— watched over in your absence by your faithful Indian "Gabriel" [294]— struck on your quickened senses amidst the winter gloom like heavenly music—sounds as soft, as welcome as the first April sunbeam? Have you ever had the hardiness to venture with an Indian guide and toboggin on an angling tour far north in the Laurentian chain, to that Ultima Thule sacred to the disciples of old Isaac. Snow Lake, over chasm, dale, mountain, pending that month dear above all others to King Hiems— inexorable January? If so, you can indeed boast of having held communion with the grim God of Winter in some of his stern, though captivating, moods. Nor are these the only charms which the capricious monarch has in store.

Never shall I forget, one balmy March morning, sauntering along the green uplands of Sillery, towards the city, while the "sun god" was pouring overhead, waves of soft, purple light. The day previous, one of our annual, equinoctial storms had careered over the country; first, wind and snow; then wind and sleet, the latter dissolving into icy tears, encircling captive Nature in thousands of weird, glossy crystals; every tree of the forest, according to its instinct, its nature, writhing in the conqueror's cold embrace—rigid, creaking, ready to snap in twain rather than bend, as the red oak or sugar maple, or else meekly, submissively curving to the earth its tapering, frosted limbs, like the silver birch— elegant, though fragile, ornament of the Canadian park, or else, rearing amid air a graceful net-work—waving, transparent sapphire-tinted arabesques, stretched on amber pillars; witness the Golden Willow. Each gleam of sunshine investing this gorgeous tapestry with all the glories of Iris; here, rising above his compeers, a stately lord of the grove, hoary with frost and years, whose outspreading boughs are burnished, as if every twig had been touched by the hand of an enchanter, whilst there, under his shade, bends a mountain ash, smeared with the crimsoned berries of the preceding summer, now ice-coated bon-bons eagerly plucked by troops of roseate grosbeaks resting on the whitened branches. How lovely the contrasts!

Such, the scene in the winsome light of day. But of those objects, viewed by moonlight, who would have dared becomingly depict the wild beauty? The same incomparable landscape, with Diana's silver rays softly sleeping on the virgin snow; on each side, an avenue of oak, spruce and fir trees, the latter with their emerald boughs wreathed in solid ice, and to the earth gracefully bending in festoons—now and again kissed by the night wind; at each wavy motion disclosing their dark trunks, under the frozen foliage, like old Ocean's billows breaking on dark rocks; the burnished gold of the morn changed into silver floss, twinkling with a mild radiance, under the eye of night, like diamond tiaras—a vista fit for Queen Mab! Of such, mayhap dreamed Moorish maid, under the portals of the Alhambra. Were Armida's enchanted forests brighter?

Who can describe all thy witchery? Thy nameless graces, who can compass, serene majesty of Winter in the North? And yet all these glories of frost and moon-lit snows we once did see round our Canadian Home.

Wouldst thou fancy another view of winter less serene; a contrast such as glorious old KIT NORTH would have revelled in? Step forward, my witty, my sarcastic friend of the Evènement newspaper—by name Henri Fabre!

"The true season of Canada is winter; winter with its bright skies by day and its brighter stars by night. Of spring we have none. April is nothing better than a protracted thaw, with scenes of mud and melting snow. May, the month dear to poets, is frequently but an uninterrupted succession of showers to fecundate the earth; its symbol, an array of outspread umbrellas in our streets. As to our summer, it is but the epitome of the lovely summer of France and Italy for the use of new countries. Autumn is a shade better; but anon, the first frost hurries on to blanch and disperse the leaves and dim the hues of mellowed nature. When the fields slumber under ten feet of snow; when human noses freeze before their sneezing owners have time to utter a cry for help, then is the beau ideal of our climate. He who on such an occasion dares to sigh for the boasted shade of trees and the murmur of gushing waters, that man is no true Canadian. The searching wind, the cold, the northern blast, [295] are part and parcel of our country; one is bound to love them. Should they increase in intensity, rub your hands, first to keep yourself warm, nest to denote your patriotic joy!"

But all this won't prevent us from exclaiming with a Canadian son of song:

"Oh! dear is the Northern forest home,
Where the great pine shoots on high;
And the maple spreads its soft, green leaves
In the clear, blue, taintless sky;
Though the summer mantle paleth fast
Into winter's virgin veil
There is health in the fierce, quick lightning blast,
And strength in the icy gale;
And life glides on in a quiet calm,
Like our own great river's flow;
And dear to the hearts of her children all
Is our own FAIR LAND OF SNOW!"

SILLERY, near Quebec, 1881.

THE MANOR HOUSE, BEAUPORT.

Let us view a remnant of feudal times.

On the Beauport road, four miles from the city and about forty feet from the late Colonel B. C. A. Gugy's habitation, stood until 1879 an antiquated high-gabled French stone dwelling, very substantially put together. About thirty years back there was still existing close to and connected with it, a pavilion or tower, used in early days as a fort to protect the inmates against Indian raids. It contained the boudoir and sleeping apartments of some of the fair seignieuresses [296] of Beauport in the house which Robert Giffard, the first seignor built there more than two centuries ago; it is the oldest seignorial manor in Canada. Robert Giffard's house—or, more properly, his shooting box—is thought to have stood closer to the little stream to the west. The first seignior of Beauport had two daughters who married two brothers, Juchereau, the ancestors of the Duchesnays; and the manor has been in the possession of, and occupied by, the Duchesnays for more than two hundred years.

Robert Giffard had visited Canada, for the first time, in 1627, in the capacity of a surgeon; and being a great sportsman, he built himself a small house on the banks of the Beauport stream, to enjoy to perfection, his favorite amusements—shooting and fishing. No authentic data exist of the capacity of Beauport for game in former days; we merely read in the Relations des Jésuites that in the year 1648. 1200 ptarmigan were shot there, we also know that the quantities of ducks congregating on the adjoining flats caused the place to be called La Canardière. There is a curious old record in connection with this manor, exhumed by the Abbé Ferland; it is the exact formula used by one of the tenants or censitaires in rendering foi et hommage to the Lord of the Manor. Guion (Dion?), a tenant, had by sentence of the Governor, Montmagny, been condemned on the 30th July, 1640, to fulfil this feudal custom. The document recites that, after knocking at the door of the chief manorial entrance, and in the absence of the master, addressing the farmer, one Boulle, the said Guion, having knelt down bare headed without his sword or spurs, repeated three times the words,—"Monsieur de Beauport, Monsieur de Beauport, Monsieur de Beauport, je vous fais et porte la foy et hommage que je suis tenu de vous porter, a cause de mon fief du Buisson, [297] duquel je suis homme de foy relevant de votre seigneurie de Beauport, lequel m'appartient au moyen du contrat que nous avons passe ensemble par devant Roussel à Mortagne, le 14 Mars, 1634, vous déclarant que je vous offre payer les droits seigneuriaux et féodaux quand dûs seront, vous réquerant me recevoir à la dite foy et homage." "Lord of Beauport, Lord of Beauport, Lord of Beauport, I render you the fealty and homage due to you on account of my land du Buisson … which belongs to me by virtue of the title-deed executed between us in presence of Roussel at Mortagne, the 14th March, 1634, avowing my readiness to acquit the seignorial and feudal rents whenever they shall be due, beseeching you to admit me to the said and homage." This Guion, a mason by trade, observes the Abbé Ferland, was the man of letters and scribe of the parish. There is still extant a marriage contract, drafted by him, for two parishioners; it is one of the earliest on record in Canada, bearing date the 16th July, 1636. It is signed by the worthy Robert Giffard, the seignior, and by Francois Bellanger and Noël Langlois; the other parties affixed their mark. It possesses interest as serving to illustrate the status and education of the early French settlers. In 1628, Robert Giffard had been taken a prisoner of war by the English, on board of Rocmont's fleet. On his return, and in acknowledgement of the services rendered by him to the colonial authorities, he obtained a grant of the seigniory of Beauport, together with a large tract of land, on the River St. Charles. For many long years the ancestral halls of the Duchesnays, at Beauport, rang with the achievements of their warlike seigneurs. One of them, Nicholas Juchereau de St. Denys, so distinguished himself at the siege of Quebec in 1690, that his sovereign granted him "a patent of nobility." ("Le sieur de St. Denys, seigneur de Beauport, " says Charlevoix, "commandait ses habitants, il avait plus de soixante ans et combattait avec beaucoup de valeur, jusqu'a ce qu'il eut un bras casse d'un coup de feu. Le Roi récompensa peu de temps après son zèle en lui accordant des lettres de noblesse.") His son distinguished himself in Louisiana. Two other members of the family won laurels at Châteaugay. A descendant, Lieut.-Col. Théodore Duchesnay, is Deputy Adjutant General of Militia.

The late Col. Gugy, built himself, in 1865, close to the manor, a comfortable dwelling, wherein, amidst rural retirement, he divided his existence between literature, briefs and his stud, noted all over Canada. He had recently added to his domain, by purchase, a large tract of land from the adjoining property, the De Salaberry homestead, where H.R.H. the Duke of Kent, the father of our beloved Queen, in 1791 enjoyed more than one petit souper. The broad acres which in 1759 resounded to the tread of Montcalm's heavy squadrons, for years the quiet home of a barrister of note, now bear the name of Darnoc. Cedant arma togae.

Darnoc, since the death of Col. Gugy, in 1878, is occupied by Mrs. Gugy and Herman Ryland, Esq., who married a daughter of the late proprietor. The ruins of the Duchesnay Manor, more than once have been disturbed by the pick and shovel of the midnight seeker for hidden French piastres: though religiously protected against outrage by Mrs. Gugy's family, and more especially watched over by the Genius Loci, the divining rod and a Petit Albert have recently found their way there; however successfully poised and backed by the most orthodox incantations and fumigations, the magic rod has failed so far to bring to the surface either gold or silver coin. This was probably owing to the omission of a very important ceremony: the production on the spot of "a candle [298] made out of the fat of an executed murderer, as the clock strikes twelve at midnight," under suitable planetary influence.

The recent discovery of the corner stone of the old manor, and of an inscription dating back to 1634, have given rise to a spicy newspaper discussion among our antiquarians.

THE SEIGNIORIAL MANOR OF THE FIRST SEIGNEUR OF BEAUPORT, 1614.

I.H.S. M.I.A. LAN 1634 LE NTE 25 IVILET.IE.ETE-PLA PREMIERE.P.C.GIFART SEIGNEVR.DE CE.LIEV

In March 1881, the Literary and Historical Society of Quebec, received from the widow of the late Col. B. C. A. Gugy, of Darnoc, Beauport, a lead plate, with the above quoted inscription, and a note, stating under what circumstances Col. Gugy's family became possessed of it. This lead plate, affords a written record of the laying of the foundation stone, on the 25th July, 1634, of the historical homestead of the fighting Seigneurs of Beauport: the Gifart, the Juchereau, the Duchesnay.

The massive old pile alleged to have been the headquarters of the Marquis de Montcalm, during the siege of Quebec, in 1759, and in which many generations of Duchesnays and some of Col. Gugy's children were born, became the prey of flames in 1879, 'tis said, by the act of a Vandal. Thus perished the most ancient stronghold of the proud feudal Lairds of Beauport, of the stone manor of Surgeon Robert Giffard; the safe retreat against the Iroquois of the warlike Juchereau Duchesnays, one of whose ancestors, in 1645, had married Marie Gifart, or Giffard, a daughter of the bellicose Esculapius from Perche, France,—Surgeon Robert Gifart. Grim and defiant the antique manor, with its high-peaked gables, stood in front of the dwelling Col. Gugy had erected, at Darnoc, in 1865: it rather intercepted the view to be had from this spot, of Quebec. One of the memorable landmarks of the past, it has furnished a subject for the pencil of Col. Benson J. Lossing, author of the "American Revolution," and "Life of Washington," who, during his visit to Quebec, in July, 1858, sketched it with others, for Harper's Magazine, where it appeared, over the heading "Montcalm's Headquarters, Beauport," in the January number, 1859, page 180, from which drawing it was transferred to the columns of the Canadian Illustrated News, for May, 1881.

Whilst the deciphering of some of the letters I.H.S.—M.I.A. at the top of the inscription has exercised the ingenuity of our Oldbucks and Monkbarns, the plate itself and its inscription will furnish to the student of history an indefeasible proof of the exact spot, and of the date, when and where stood the oldest of our seigniorial manors,—that of Robert Gifart, on the margin of the ruisseau de l'ours, at Beauport, in 1634.

J. M. LeMoine Esquire, President Literary and Historical Society, Quebec:

BEAUPORT, 26th March, 1881

"SIR.—The tablet found in the Manor House of Beauport by some workmen, last summer, and only recently restored to the proprietors, is a circular plate of lead or pewter much injured by the fire which consumed the building.

Owing to the unwillingness of the men concerned to give any information, it is difficult to learn much about whereabouts in the building it was found, nor what other articles may have accompanied it, but as far as can be ascertained, this oval plate (about 1/4 of an inch in thickness) was rolled up and contained a few coins and some documents; the first cannot be traced and are spoken of as "quelques sous;" the latter, they say, crumbled into dust at once.

The inscription, as well as can be deciphered, is as follows:—

I.H.S. M.I.A. LAN 1634 LE NTE 25 IVILET.IE.ETE-PLA PREMIERE.P.C.GIFART SEIGNEVR.DE CE.LIEV

This is rudely but deeply cut into the plate, and underneath may be seen in patches, traces of a fainter etching, part of which may be a coat of arms, but this is uncertain; underneath can be seen a heart reversed, with flames springing from it upwards. All these are enclosed in a larger heart, point downwards.

The enclosed rough simile may give an idea of the lettering at the top of the circle, the plate itself being about nine inches in diameter."

(With Mrs. Gugy's compliments.)

Darnoc, 26th March, 1881.

THE BEAUPORT MANOR INSCRIPTION.

(To the Editor of the Morning Chronicle.)

"Whilst regretting the loss of the coins and document accompanying the inscription of the Beauport Manor, on account of the light it might have thrown on this remote incident of Canadian history, let us examine the case as it stands.

This rude inscription of 25th July, 1634, gives priority as to date to the Beauport Manor over any ancient structure extant in Canada this day. The erection of the manor would seem to have preceded by three years the foundation of the Jesuits' Sillery residence, now owned by Messrs. Dobell and Beckett, which dates of July, 1637. Who prepared the inscription? Who engraved the letters? Who cut on the lead the figure of the "flaming heart?" The stars? Are they heraldic? What did they typify? Did the plate come out, ready prepared from France? Had the Académie des Inscriptions, etc., or any other académie, any hand in the business? No, for obvious reasons.

The lead-plate was imbedded in solid masonry. It is too rude to be the work of an engraver. Could it have been designed by Surgeon Gifart, the Laird of Beauport and cut on the lead-plate by the scribe and savant of the settlement, Jean Guion (Dion?) whose penmanship in the wording of two marriage contracts, dating from 1636, has been brought to light by an indefatigable searcher of the past—the Abbé Ferland? probably.

But if the lettered Beauport stone mason, who never rose to be a Hugh Miller, whatever were his abilities, did utilize his talents in 1634, to produce a durable record in order to perpetuate the date of foundation of this manor, he subsequently got at loggerheads with his worth seignieur, probably owing to the litigious tastes which his native Perche had instilled in him. Perche, we all know, is not very distant from Normandy, the hot-bed of feuds and litigation, and might have caught the infection from this neighborhood:

Governor Montmagny, in the space of eight short years, had been called on to adjudicate on six controversies which had arisen between Gifart and his vassals, touching boundaries and seigniorial rights, though the learned historian Ferland, has failed to particularize, whether among those controverted rights, was included the Droit de Chapons and Droit de Seigneur; could the latter unchaste, but cherished right of some Scotch and German feudal lords, by a misapprehension of our law, in the dark days of the colony, have been claimed by such an exacting seignior as M. de Gifart? One hopes not.

Be that as it may, the stone mason and savant Jean Guion had refused to do feudal homage to "Monsieur de Beauport," and on the 30th July, 1640, six years after the date of the inscription, under sentence rendered by Governor de Montmagny, he was made to do so.

Who will decipher the I.H.S.—M.I.A. the letters at the top of the plate? Is there no defendant of the haughty Seignior of Beauport, Rob. Gifart, to give us his biography, and tell us of his sporting days; of the black and grey ducks, brant, widgeon, teal, snipe, and curlew, etc., which infested the marshy banks of the stream—the Ruisseau de l'Ours, on which he had located, first his shooting box, and afterwards his little fort or block-house, against Iroquois aggression? Dr. Gifart was a keen sportsman, tradition repeats. Did the locality get the name of Canardière on account of the Canards, the ducks, he had bagged in his time? Who will enlighten us on all these points?

ENQUIRER.

Quebec, 8th April, 1881.

QUERY.—Would I. H. S. stand for Jesus Hominum Salvator? and M.I.A. for Maria-Josephus-Anna?—the Holy Family—asks Dr W. Marsden.

COUNT D'ORSONNENS LETTER

A monsieur J. M. LeMoine, président de la Société Littéraire et Historique de Québec, etc., etc, etc.

CHER MONSIEUR,.—Votre lettre du 1er avril, publiée dans le Morning Chronicle, en groupant, autour du premier Manoir canadien, des grands noms canadiens, des faits historiques et des traditions, semble vouloir nous faire regretter encore plus la perte d'un monument dont il ne reste plus qu'une plaque de plomb gravée sans art, avec une inscription sans orthographe. Je suis allé, comme bien d'autres, voir ce morceau de plomb, qui contient, autant que l'imprimerie peut le représenter, l'inscription suivante:

I.H.S. M.I.A. LAN 1634 LE NTE 25 IVILET.IE.ETE-PLA PREMIERE.P.C.GIFART SEIGNEVR.DE CE.LIEV

La première ligne a été, sans doute, gravée avec une pointe, l'incision plus indécise est aussi moins profonde, de même que les lettres NTE ajoutées au-dessus de PLA, pour faire le mot planté, que l'art du graveur ou la largeur du ciseau n'avait pas su contenir dans la troisième ligne.

Les lettres des trois dernières lignes ont été coupées avec un ciseau de un demi-pouce de large, l'incision est nette et bien dessinée; on voit encore les lignes qui ont été tracées dans toute la largeur de la plaque, an moyen d'une pointe pour guider le ciseau du graveur.

Dans le centre de la plaque, on distingue avec peine un écusson. portant un coeur renversé et fiammé; au centre de l'écu, trois étoiles. Impossible de dire si elles sont posées en face ou sur un champ quelconque. Le tout a du être surmonté d'un heaume, car on voit encore de chaque coté de l'écu des lignes courbes multiples, qui doivent nécessairement représenter les lambrequins; sur le côte gauche, un bout de banderolle, mais l'artiste a dû abandonner sa première idée, car le haut de la banderolle se perd dans les lignes du lambrequin.

J'ai lu dans la lettre qui accompagnait l'envoi de Madame Gugy, que les ouvriers, qui avaient travaille aux ruines, disaient avoir trouve la plaque de plomb, roulée avec certains documents qui seraient tombés en poussière au toucher. La chose me paraît impossible. Le dessous de la plaque indique qu'elle a été posée à plat sur un lit de mortier, et la partie gravée, du moins celle où sont gravées les armoiries qu'une pierre pesante a été placée dessus, et c'est par l'enfoncement de sa surface inégale que la plupart des lignes gravées ont été détruites. On voit encore dans le plomb oxidé l'empreinte d'une coquille pétrifiée qui se trouvait agrégée au calcaire.

En roulant le bloc supérieur, les ouvriers ont pu plier le métal; de là l'erreur de croire que la plaque était roulée, elle a dû, comme toutes choses de ce genre, être placée dans une cavité comme fond, où on avait deposé le document tombé en poussière et les "quelques sous" que ces honnêtes ouvriers ont gardés pour eux, sans doute, sans en connaître la valeur.

Peu habitué à lire de telles inscriptions, mais connaissant la piété des premiers colons du Canada, j'essayai de donner un sens courant à l'inscription et je trouvai qu'on pouvait lire ici:

Iesu Hominum Salvatore, Mariâ Immaculatâ Auspice

(Sous les auspices ou la protection de Jesus sauveur des hommes et de
Marie-Immaculée)

L'an 1634,
le 25 juillet—je—été plantée
première par (ou pour) C. (chirur.) Gifart, Seigneur de ce lieu.

Jusqu'à présent la chose se lit bien, le sens en est raisonnable et positif. Supposant le chirurgien un homme instruit et lettré, l'inscription latine se complète d'elle-même. Mais, hélas! il y un mais,—la lettre C avant Gifart me trouble un peu. Comme je n'ai sous la main aucun volume, aucune tradition du temps à consulter, je suis obligé de m'en tenir aux correspondances de journaux, et je trouve dans toutes le prénom de Robert—ce qui ne commence pas du tout par un C! [299] Mais le C, le malheureux C, ne serait-il pas l'initiale de Cloutier, le charpentier ou l'entrepreneur avec lequel Gifart avait fait un contrat à Mortaigne, le 14 mars 1634, quatre mois à peu près avant la pose de la première pierre? Alors il faudrait lire j'ai été plantée par Cloutier, Gifart étant seigneur de ce lieu.

Je m'arrête, le souvenir de certaine inscription sur certain pont vient troubler toutes ces belles spéculations. A force de vouloir être savant, on pourrait faire dire à Robert Gifart des choses qu'il n'a jamais pensées.

Si, après tout, ce Gifart n'était pas savant, et qu'il eut voulu dire par I. H. S., Jésus-Christ, et M. I. A., Maria, ce serait trop fort—J'aimerais mieux la théorie de M. le Dr. Marsden, et de M. Bédard, Maria, Joachim, Anna. Le 25 juillet étant la fête de saint Jacques, et la vigile de saint Joachim, il serait plus raisonnable de penser qu'on aurait mis la construction du premier Manoir canadien sous la protection et les auspices du saint du jour

Reste a savoir si la Saint Jacques se fêtait le 25 juillet, la Saint
Joachim le 26, en l'an de notre Seigneur 1634.

Je laisse à d'autres de mieux trouver.

Quoiqu'il en soit, cette date 1634, est un centenaire mémorable, car c'est en 1534 que Jacques Cartier, visita le golfe Saint-Laurent et c'est en 1535, qu'il remonta notre beau fleuve jusqu'à Hochelaga, cent ans avant la première concession seigneuriale de Beauport.

J'ai l'honneur d'être, Monsieur,
votre humble servt.,
Cte. d'ORSONNENS