FESTIVITIES IN A PARSONAGE.
God had heard the poor widow’s prayer. A few days after the priest had
taken our cow she received a letter from each of her two sisters,
Genevieve and Catherine.
The former, who was married to Etienne Eschenbach, of St. Thomas, told
her to sell all she had and come, with her children, to live with her.
“We have no family,” she said, “and God has given us the good things of
this life in abundance. We shall be happy to share them with you and
your children.”
The latter, married in Kamouraska to the Hon. Amable Dionne, wrote: “We
have learned the sad news of your husband’s death. We have lately lost
our only son. We wish to fill the vacant place with Charles, your
eldest. Send him to us. We shall bring him up as our own child, and
before long he will be your support. In the meantime, sell by auction
all you have, and go to St. Thomas with your two younger children. There
Genevieve and myself will supply your wants.”
In a few days all our furniture was sold. Unfortunately, though I had
carefully concealed my cherished Bible, it disappeared. I could never
discover what became of it. Had mother herself, frightened by the
threats of the priest, relinquished that treasure? or had some of our
relatives, believing it to be their duty, destroyed it? I do not know. I
deeply felt that loss, which was then irreparable to me.
On the following day, in the midst of bitter tears and sobs, I bade
farewell to my poor mother and young brothers. They went to St. Thomas
on board a schooner, and I crossed in a sloop to Kamouraska.
My uncle and aunt Dionne welcomed me with every mark of the most sincere
affection. Having soon made known to them that I wished to become a
priest, I began to study Latin under the direction of Rev. Mr. Morin,
vicar of Kamouraska. That priest was esteemed to be a learned man. He
was about forty or fifty years old, and had been priest of a parish in
the district of Montreal. But, as is the case with the majority of
priests, his vows of celibacy had not proved a sufficient guarantee
against the charms of one of his beautiful parishioners. This had caused
a great scandal. He consequently lost his position, and the bishop had
sent him to Kamouraska, where his past conduct was not so generally
known. He was very good to me, and I soon loved him with sincere
affection.
One day, about the beginning of the year 1822, he called me aside and
said:
“Mr. Varin (the parish priest) is in the habit of giving a great
festival on his birthday. Now, the principal citizens of the village
wish on that occasion to present him with a bouquet. I am appointed to
write an address, and to choose some one to deliver it before the
priest. You are the one whom I have chosen. What do you think of it?”
“But I am very young,” I replied.
“Your youth will only give more interest to what we wish to say and do,”
said the priest.
“Well, I have no objection to do so, provided the piece be not too long,
and that I have it sufficiently soon to learn it well.”
It was already prepared. The time of delivering it soon came. The best
society of Kamouraska, composed of about fifteen gentlemen and as many
ladies, were assembled in the beautiful parlors of the parsonage. Mr.
Varin was in their midst. Suddenly Squire Paschal Tache, the seigneur of
the parish, and his lady entered the room, holding me by each hand, and
placed me in the midst of the guests. My head was crowned with flowers,
for I was to represent the angel of the parish, whom the people had
chosen to give to their pastor the expression of public admiration and
gratitude. When the address was finished, I presented to the priest the
beautiful bouquet of symbolical flowers prepared by the ladies for the
occasion.
Mr. Varin was a small but well-built man. His thin lips were ever ready
to smile graciously. The remarkable whiteness of his skin was still
heightened by the rose color of his cheeks. Intelligence and goodness
beamed from his expressive black eyes. Nothing could be more amiable and
gracious than his conversation during the first quarter of an hour
passed in his company. He was passionately fond of these little fetes,
and the charm of his manners could not be surpassed as the host of the
evening.
He was moved to tears before hearing half of the address, and the eyes
of many were moistened when the pastor, with a voice trembling and full
of emotion, expressed his joy and gratitude at being so highly
appreciated by his parishioners.
As soon as the happy pastor had expressed his thanks, the ladies sang
two or three beautiful songs. The door of the dining-room was then
opened, and we could see a long table laden with the most delicious
meats and wines that Canada could afford.
I had never before been present at a priest’s dinner. The honorable
position given me at that little fete permitted me to see it in all its
details, and nothing could equal the curiosity with which I sought to
hear and see all that was said and done by the joyous guests.
Besides Mr. Varin and his vicar there were three other priests, who were
artistically placed in the midst of the most beautiful ladies of the
company. The ladies, after honoring us with their presence for an hour
or so, left the table and retired to the drawing-room. Scarcely had the
last lady disappeared when Mr. Varin rose and said:
“Gentlemen, let us drink to the health of these amiable ladies, whose
presence has thrown so many charms over the first part of our little
fete.”
Following the example of Mr. Varin, each guest filled and emptied his
long wine-glass in honor of the ladies.
Squire Tache then proposed “The health of the most venerable and beloved
priest of Canada, the Rev. Mr. Varin.” Again the glasses were filled and
emptied, except mine; for I had been placed at the side of my uncle
Dionne, who, sternly looking at me as soon as I had emptied my first
glass, said: “If you drink another I will send you from the table. A
little boy like you should not drink, but only touch the glass with his
lips.”
It would have been difficult to count the healths which were drank after
the ladies had left us. After each health a song or a story was called
for, several of which were followed by applause, shouts of joy, and
convulsive laughter.
When my turn to propose a health came I wished to be excused, but they
would not exempt me. So I had to say about whose health I was most
interested. I rose upon my two short legs, and turning to Mr. Varin, I
said, “Let us drink to the health of our Holy Father, the Pope.”
Nobody had yet thought of our Holy Father, the Pope, and the name,
mentioned under such circumstances by a child, appeared so droll to the
priests and their merry guests that they burst into laughter, stamped
their feet and shouted, “Bravo! bravo! To the health of the Pope!”
Everyone stood up, and at the invitation of Mr. Varin, the glasses were
filled and emptied as usual.
So many healths could not be drunk without their natural
effect—intoxication. The first that was overcome was a priest, Noel by
name. He was a tall man, and a great drinker. I had noticed more than
once, that instead of taking his wine-glass he drank from a large
tumbler. The first symptoms of his intoxication, instead of drawing
sympathy from his friends, only increased their noisy bursts of
laughter. He endeavored to take a bottle to fill his glass, but his hand
shook, and the bottle, falling on the floor, was broken to pieces.
Wishing to keep up his merriment he began to sing a Bacchic song, but
could not finish. He dropped his head on the table, quite overcome, and
trying to rise, he fell heavily upon his chair. While all this took
place the other priests and all the guests looked at him, laughing
loudly. At last, making a desperate effort, he rose, but after taking
two or three steps, fell headlong on the floor. His two neighbors went
to help him, but they were not in a condition to help him. Twice they
rolled with him under the table. At length another, less affected by the
fumes of wine, took him by the feet and dragged him into an adjoining
room, where they left him.
This first scene seemed strange enough to me, for I had never before
seen a priest intoxicated. But what astonished me most was the laughter
of the other priests over that spectacle. Another scene, however, soon
followed which made me sadder. My young companion and friend, Achilles
Tache, had not been warned, as I had, only to touch the wine with his
lips. More than once he had emptied his glass. He also rolled upon the
floor before the eyes of his father, who was too full of wine to help
him. He cried aloud, “I am choking!” I tried to lift him up, but I was
not strong enough. I ran for his mother. She came, accompanied by
another lady, but the vicar had carried him into another room, where he
fell asleep after having thrown off the wine he had taken.
Poor Achilles! he was learning, in the house of his own priest, to take
the first step of that life of debauchery and drunkenness which twelve
or fifteen years later was to rob him of his manor, take from him his
wife and children, and to make him fall a victim to the bloody hand of a
murderer upon the solitary shores of Kamouraska!
This first and sad experience which I made of the real and intimate life
of the Roman Catholic priest was so deeply engraved on my memory that I
still remember with shame the bacchic song which that priest Morin had
taught me, and which I sang on that occasion. It commenced with these
Latin words:
Ego in arte Bacchi,
Multum profeei
Decies pintum vini
Hodie bibi.
I also remember one sung by Mr. Varin. Here it is:
Savez-vous pourquoi, mes amis, (_bis_)
Nous sommes tous si rejouis? (_bis_)
Amis n’endoutez pas,
C’est qu’un repas
N’est bon.
Qu’ apprete sans façon,
Mangeons a la gamelle.
Vive le son, vive le son,
Mangeons a la gamelle,
Vive le son du flacon!
When the priests and their friends had sung, laughed and drank for more
than an hour, Mr. Varin rose and said: “The ladies must not be left
alone all the evening. Will not our joy and happiness be doubled if they
are pleased to share them with us?”
This proposition was received with applause, and we passed into the
drawing-room, where the ladies awaited us.
Several pieces of music, well executed, gave new life to this part of
the entertainment. This resource, however, was soon exhausted. Besides,
some of the ladies could well see that their husbands were half drunk,
and they felt ashamed. Madam Tache could not conceal the grief she felt,
caused by what had happened to her dear Achilles. Had she some
presentiment, as many persons have, of the tears which she was to shed
one day on his account? Was the vision of a mutilated and bloody
corpse—the corpse of her own drunken son fallen dead, under the blow of
an assassin’s dagger, before her eyes?
Mr. Varin feared nothing more than an interruption in those hours of
lively pleasure, of which his life was full, and which took place in his
parsonage.
“Well, well, ladies and gentlemen, let us entertain no dark thoughts on
this evening, the happiest of my life! Let us play blind man’s buff.”
“Let us play blind man’s buff!” was repeated by everybody.
On hearing this noise, the gentlemen who were half asleep by the fumes
of wine seemed to awaken as if from a long dream. Young gentlemen
clapped their hands; ladies, young and old, congratulated one another on
the happy idea.
“But whose eyes shall be covered first?” asked the priest.
“Yours, Mr. Varin,” cried all the ladies. “We look to you for the good
example, and we shall follow it.”
“The power and unanimity of the jury by which I am condemned cannot be
resisted. I feel that there is no appeal. I must submit.”
[Illustration: FESTIVITIES IN A PARSONAGE.]
Immediately one of the ladies placed her nicely perfumed handkerchief
over the eyes of her priest, took him by the hand, led him to an angle
of the room, and having pushed him gently with her delicate hand, said:
“Mr. Blindman! Let everyone flee! Woe to him who is caught!”
There is nothing more curious and comical than to see a man walk when he
is under the influence of wine, especially if he wishes nobody to notice
it. How stiff and straight he keeps his legs! How learned and
complicated, in order to keep his equilibrium, are his motions to right
and left! Such was the position of priest Varin. He was not _very_
drunk. Though he had taken a large quantity of wine, he did not fall. He
carried with wonderful courage the weight with which he was laden. The
wine which he had drank would have intoxicated three ordinary men; but
such was his capacity for drinking, that he could still walk without
falling. However, his condition was sadly betrayed by each step he took
and by each word he spoke. Nothing, therefore, was more comical than the
first steps of the poor priest in his efforts to lay hold of somebody in
order to pass his band to him. He would take one forward and two
backward steps, and would then stagger to the right and to the left.
Everybody laughed to tears. One after another they would all either
pinch him or touch him gently on his hand, arm or shoulder, and passing
rapidly off would exclaim, “Run away!” The priest went to the right and
then to the left, threw his arms suddenly now here and then there. His
legs evidently bent under their burden; he panted, perspired, coughed,
and everyone began to fear that the trial might be carried too far, and
beyond propriety. But suddenly, by a happy turn he caught the arm of a
lady who in teasing him had come too near. In vain the lady tries to
escape. She struggles, turns round, but the priest’s hand holds her
firmly.
While holding his victim with his right hand he wishes to touch her head
with his left, in order to know and name the pretty bird he had caught.
But at that moment his legs gave way. He falls, and drags with him his
beautiful parishioner. She turns upon him in order to escape, but he
soon turns on her in order to hold her better!
All this, though the affair of a moment, was long enough to cause the
ladies to blush and cover their faces. Never in all my life did I see
anything so shameful as that scene. This ended the game. Everyone felt
ashamed. I make a mistake when I say _everyone_, because the men were
almost all too intoxicated to blush. The priests also were either too
drunk or too much accustomed to such scenes to be ashamed.
On the following day every one of those priests celebrated mass, and ate
what they called the body and blood, the soul and divinity of Jesus
Christ, just as if they had spent the previous evening in prayer and
meditation on the laws of God! He, Mr. Varin, was the arch-priest of the
important part of the diocese of Quebec from La Riviere Ouelle to Gaspe.
Thus, O perfidious Church of Rome, thou deceivest the nations who follow
thee, and ruinest even the priests whom thou makest thy slaves.