Thus, Compassionate
Reader, Was Entrapped, Caught And Committed The First Litterateur
Of Sillery - Irrevocably Handed Over To The Tender Mercies Of All The
Critics, Present And Future, In And Out Of The Parish.
Oh, my friends,
what a crunching up of literary bones in store!
What an ample repast was
thus prepared for all the reviewers - the Jeffreys and LaHarpes - in and out
of the parish, should the luckless litterateur fail to assign fairy
scenery - important historical events - great battles, not only to each
renowned spot, but even to the merest potato-patch, turnip-ground or
cabbage-garden within our corporate limits? Yes, tremble for him.
Joking apart, is there not a formidable difficulty besetting our path - the
insipidity and monotony inseparable from the necessity which will devolve
on us of having constantly to discover new beauties in spots identical in
their main features; and should we, in order to vary the theme, mix up the
humorous with the rural, the historical, or the antiquarian style, may not
fun and humour be mistaken for satire - a complimentary notice for
flattery, above all others, a thing abhorrent to our nature? But 'tis vain
to argue. That fatal "yes" has been uttered, and no true knight goes back
from his plighted word. There being no help, we devoutly commend our case
to St. Columba, St. Joseph, and the archangel St. Michel, the patrons of
our parish, and set to our task, determined to assume a wide margin, draw
heavily on history, and season the whole with short anecdotes and glimpses
of domestic life, calculated to light up the past and present.
O critic, who would fain seek in "Our Parish" - in our homes - great
architectural excellence, we beseech you to pause! for the majority of
them no such pretension is set up. Nowhere, indeed, on our soil are to be
found ivied ruins, dating back to doomsday book, moated castle, or
mediaeval tower. We have no Blenheims, no Walton Halls, nor Chatsworths,
nor Woburn abbeys, nor Arundel castles, to illustrate every style of
architectural beauty, rural embellishment, and landscape. A Dainpierre, a
Rochecotte, a LaGaudiniere, may suit old France: they would be lost in New
France. Canadian cottages, the best of them, are not the stately country
homes of
"Old pheasant-lords,
... Partridge-breeders of a thousand years,"
typifying the accumulated wealth of centuries or patrician pride; nor are
they the gay chateaux of La Belle France. In the Canada of the past,
we could - in many instances we had to - do without the architect's skill;
nature having been lavish to us in her decorations, art could be dispensed
with. Our country dwellings possess attractions of a higher class, yea, of
a nobler order, than brick and mortar moulded by the genius of man can
impart. A kind Providence has surrounded them in spring, summer and autumn
with scenery often denied to the turreted castle of the proudest nobleman
in Old England. Those around Quebec are more particularly hallowed by
associations destined to remain ever memorable amongst the inhabitants of
the soil.
Some of our larger estates, like Belmont (comprising 450 acres,) date back
more than two centuries, whilst others, though less ancient, retrace
vividly events glorious in the same degree to the two races, who, after
having fought stoutly for the mastery, at last hung out the olive branch
and united long since, willing partners, in the bonds of a common
nationality, neither English nor French, though participating largely of
both, and have linked their destinies together as Canadians. Every
traveller in Canada, from Baron La Hontan, who "preferred the forests of
Canada to the Pyrenees of France," to the Hon. Amelia Murray, Charlevoix,
LaGalissoniere, Peter Kalm, Isaac Weld, John Lambert, Heriot, Silliman,
Dickens, Lever, Ampere, Marmier, Rameau, Augustus Sala, have united in
pronouncing our Quebec landscape so wild, so majestic, and withal so
captivating, as to vie in beauty with the most picturesque portions of the
Old or the New World.
Let us first sketch "Our Parish," the home of our forefathers - the home of
our children.
SILLERY.
Henry IV. of France had for his chancellor, in 1607, Nicholas Brulart de
Sillery, a worthy and distinguished magistrate, who, as state councillor,
ever enjoyed the confidence of his sovereign until death closed his useful
career in 1627, at the ripe age of 80. He was the eldest brother: his
father had also for years basked in the smiles of good King Henry IV. for
his unwavering adherence to his fortunes. To this eminent lawyer and
statesman was born a patriarchal family of sons and daughters. The
youngest of his sons, Noel Brulart de Sillery, [169] having brilliantly
completed his studies at Paris in the classics, entered, at the age of 18,
the military order of the Knights of Malta, and resided twelve years in
that island as a knight; his martial bearing and ability, modesty, and
uniform good conduct soon paved the way for him to the highest dignities
in this celebrated Order. Soon the Grand Master appointed him "Commandeur
de Troyes"; this preferment yielded him 40,000 livres per annum.
On his return to Paris in 1607, the favour of the court and the protection
of Marie de Medicis were the means of having him nominated Knight of
Honour. His talents, birth, deportment and position soon procured him the
appointment of French Ambassador to the Court of Spain in 1614, which high
position he left for that of Ambassador at Rome in 1622, where he replaced
the Marquis of Coeuvres. He spent two years in the Eternal City, and
subsequently acknowledged that it was there that he conceived the idea
first of embracing Holy Orders; Cardinal de LaValette replacing him at the
Roman Court as French Charge d'Affaires. From what can be gleaned
in history, this distinguished personage led a princely life, his enormous
rent-roll furnishing the means for a most lordly establishment of
retainers, liveries and domains. [170] His fancy for display, great though
it was, never, however, made him lose sight of the poor, nor turn a deaf
ear to the voice of the needy.
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