Sylvie Asselin steps into the shoes of Marthe Quitel

Sylvie Asselin, a member of Société d’histoire des Filles du Roy, steps into the shoes of Marthe Quitel. The members of this historical society impersonate New France’s pioneering women.

[Marthe Quitel (Sylvie Asselin)] I didn’t just take country and husband. I took a new confession. But over time, let me tell you, I fell in love with good Saint Anne. She meant so much to us, and I would pray to good Saint Anne. She was very good to me.

But do you know my man? Barthélémy Verreault, dit Le Bourguignon. Nine children, we had. Five boys and four girls. Well, I should probably say two boys. I lost the first three. We King’s brides, we really had to roll up our sleeves. There was a lot of work that went into these lands here.

All the trees to be felled so we could sow between the stumps. And since my man wanted to prosper, he was always looking to expand his land. At one point he bought a lime kiln. My seventh was already on the way then, and my husband was always hard at work. So, we had to give over the land across from the lime kiln to another family so we would be able to make the limestone.

What I found hardest of all were the winters. Oh goodness, you’d be toiling all day long, and the cold would creep through the cracks between the floorboards. And you had to make sure there was enough to eat to get us all through the winter. ‘twas a good thing we were able to fish for eel come springtime. You’d put it in the hearth and smoke it, and you could store it much longer that way. Of course, there was always something to be done…and done again. We’d have to go fetch water for drinking and for cooking. And when it was time to wash the clothes, we’d have to go down to the river. A good thing we didn’t do it too often!

We worked hard, indeed, but what can I say, that’s just how it was. And I outlived my husband, too. Ah yes, his time came some twenty years before mine. That’s a fact! I lived my whole life here in Château Richer.

And they tell me I still have a whole slew of Verreault descendants in Château Richer. Isn’t that something?