In a ramble that has for its object an inspection of the chief public and historical buildings of the city, the ruins of the Intendant Bigot’s old palace claim attention. They are at the foot of Palace Hill and are now used as ale and porter vaults.
Bigot was a high-placed scamp of the worst description. The times in which he lived were somewhat loose, but even then he excited much unfavorable criticism by living with a woman to whom he was not married. One evening he got drunk, a not infrequent event with him. Stumbling homewards he lost his way in the woods, where he slumbered away some of his drunken stupor. Unfortunately for her a pretty French-Algonquin maiden was passing when he awoke. He saw and admired her, and like more than one of the royal masters of France he built a bower for his Caroline in the woodland depths. It is claimed she was his unwilling prisoner. The Intendant’s pseudo wife soon learned she had a rival hidden away somewhere. Driven mad by jealousy she stealthily followed the unsuspecting Bigot and found his retreat. She returned to the city and said nothing, but soon after that a scream aroused the sleeping Intendant while spending the night in his sylvan bower. He rushed to Caroline’s room and found her lying there, murdered, with a knife in her heart. There are many versions of this terrible affair, and in this connection the novel of William Kirby is well worth reading.
Over the Post Office there is an effigy known as the ‘Chien d’Or,’ or ‘Golden Dog,’ which has excited much interest on account of its enigmatical inscription, a translation of which here follows:
“I am a dog gnawing a bone,
While I gnaw I take my repose.
The time will come, though not yet,
When I will bite him who now bites me.”
The stone tablet bearing this effigy and inscription was originally in the walls of the old house owned by one Philibert, which house formerly stood on the post office site. When the old house was demolished, the tablet was saved and incorporated in the new building. A story of murder and revenge appears to be connected with the strange inscription, but like most of the old traditions it is a matter of dispute. Kirby’s ‘Golden Dog’ gives one version that makes interesting reading.
A beautiful maiden of Quebec was nearly the cause of closing the naval career of the great Nelson. Had it not been for the interposition of a true friend, the young sailor, who visited here in the Albemarle, man-of-war, at the outset of his great and glorious life, would probably have been lost to England, and Trafalgar would have been unfought. Fortunately the insane determination of the young sailor to stay and woo his inamorata, and abandon his ship when it was ordered to India, was overruled by Davison, his true friend. Whether persuasion or bodily force brought about the result, after Nelson—having said ‘good-bye’ to his distinguished and lovely young sweetheart—secretly stole ashore again, is uncertain. What is known is that he was persuaded to adhere to his duty—and the world knows the sequel.
