I AM NAMED A VICAR OF ST. ROCH, QUEBEC CITY—THE REV. MR.
TETU—TERTULLIAN—GENERAL CARGO—THE SEAL SKINS.
In the beginning of September, 1834, the Bishop Synaie gave me the
enviable position of one of the vicars of St. Roch, Quebec, where the
Rev. Mr. Tetu had been curate for about a year. He was one of the
seventeen children of Mr. Francis Tetu, one of the most respectable and
wealthy farmers of St. Thomas. Such was the amiability of character of
my new curate, that I never saw him in bad humor a single time during
the four years that it was my fortune to work under him in that parish.
And although in my daily intercourse with him I sometimes
unintentionally sorely tried his patience, I never heard an unkind word
proceed from his lips.
He was a fine-looking man, tall and well-built, large forehead, blue
eyes, a remarkably fine nose and rosy lips, only a little too feminine.
His skin was very white for a man, but his fine short whiskers, which he
knew so well how to trim, gave to his whole mien a manly and pleasant
appearance.
He was the finest penman I ever saw; and by far the most skillful skater
of the country. Nothing could surpass the agility and perfection with
which he used to write his name on the ice with his skates. He was also
fond of fast horses, and knew, to perfection, how to handle the most
unmanageable steeds of Quebec. He really looked like Phaeton when, in a
light and beautiful buggy, he held the reins of the fiery coursers which
the rich bourgeois of the city liked to trust to him once or twice a
week, that he might take a ride with one of his vicars to the
surrounding country. Mr. Tetu was also fond of fine cigars and choice
chewing tobacco. Like the late Pope Pius IX., he also constantly used
the snuff-box. He would have been a pretty good preacher, had he not
been born with a natural horror of books. I very seldom saw in his hands
any other books than his breviary, and some treatises on the catechism:
a book in his hands had almost the effect of opium on one’s brains, it
put him to sleep. One day, when I had finished reading a volume of
Tertullian, he felt much interested in what I said of the eloquence and
learning of that celebrated Father of the Church, and expressed a desire
to read it. I smilingly asked him if he were more than usual in need of
sleep. He seriously answered me that he really wanted to read that work,
and that he wished to begin its study just then. I lent him the volume,
and he went immediately to his room in order to enrich his mind with the
treasures of eloquence and wisdom of that celebrated writer of the
primitive church. Half an hour after, suspecting what would occur, I
went down to his room, and noiselessly opening the door, I found my dear
Mr. Tetu sleeping on his soft sofa, and snoring to his heart’s content,
while Tertullian was lying on the floor! I ran to the rooms of the other
vicars, and told them: “Come and see how our good curate is studying
Tertullian!”
There is no need to say that we had a hearty laugh at his expense.
Unfortunately, the noise we made awoke him, and we then asked him: “What
do you think of Tertullian?”
He rubbed his eyes, and answered, “Well! well! what is the matter? Are
you not four very wicked men to laugh at the human frailties of your
curate?” We for awhile called him Father Tertullian.
Another day he requested me to give him some English lessons. For,
though my knowledge of English was then very limited, I was the only one
of five priests who understood and could speak a few words of that
language. I answered him that it would be as pleasant as it was easy for
me to teach the little I knew of it, and I advised him to subscribe for
the “Quebec Gazette,” that I might profit by the interesting matter
which that paper used to give to its readers; and at the same time I
should teach him to read and understand its contents.
The third time that I went to his room to give him his lesson, he
gravely asked me: “Have you ever seen ‘General Cargo?’”
I was at first puzzled by that question, and answered him: “I never
heard that there was any military officer by the name of ‘General
Cargo.’ How do you know that there is such a general in the world?”
He quickly answered: “There is surely a ‘General Cargo’ somewhere in
England or America, and he must be very rich; for see the large number
of ships which bear his name, and have entered the port of Quebec these
last few days!”
Seeing the strange mistake, and finding his ignorance so wonderful, I
burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. I could not answer a word,
but cried at the top of my voice: “General Cargo! General Cargo!”
The poor curate, stunned by my laughing, looked at me in amazement. But,
unable to understand its cause, he asked me: “Why do you laugh?” But the
more stupefied he was, the more I laughed, unable to say anything but
“General Cargo! General Cargo!”
The three other vicars, hearing the noise, hastily came from their rooms
to learn its cause, and get a good laugh also. But I was so completely
beside myself with laughing, that I could not answer their questions in
any other way than by crying, “General Cargo! General Cargo!”
The puzzled curate tried then to give them some explanation of that
mystery, saying with the greatest naivete: “I cannot see why our little
Father Chiniquy is laughing so convulsively. I put him a very simple
question when he entered my room to give me my English lesson. I simply
asked him if he had ever seen ‘General Cargo,’ who has sent so many
ships to our ports these last few days, and added that that general must
be very rich, since he has so many ships on the sea!” The three vicars
saw the point, and without being able to answer him a word, they burst
into such fits of laughter that the poor curate felt more than ever
puzzled.
“Are you crazy?” he said, “What makes you laugh so when I put to you
such a simple question? Do you not know anything about that ‘General
Cargo,’ who surely must live somewhere, and be very rich, since he sends
so many vessels to our port that they fill nearly two columns of the
‘Quebec Gazette?’”
These remarks of the poor curate brought such a new storm of
irrepressible laughter from us all as we never experienced in our whole
lives. It took us some time to sufficiently master our feelings to tell
him that “General Cargo” was not the name of any individual, but only
the technical words to say that the ships were laden with general goods.
The next morning the young and jovial vicars gave the story to their
friends, and the people of Quebec had a hearty laugh at the expense of
our friend. From that time we called our good curate by the name of
“General Cargo,” and he was so good-natured that he joined with us in
joking at his own expense. It would require too much space were I to
publish all the comic blunders of that good man, so I shall give only
one more.
On one of the coldest days in January, 1835, a merchant of seal skins
came to the parsonage with some of the best specimens of his
merchandise, that we might buy them to make overcoats. For in those days
the overcoats of buffalo or raccoon skins were not yet thought of. Our
richest men used to have beaver overcoats, but the rest of the people
had to be contented with Canada seal skins; a beaver overcoat could not
be had for less than $200.
Mr. Tetu was anxious to buy his skins; his only difficulty was the high
price asked by the merchant. For nearly an hour he had turned over and
over again the beautiful skins, and had spent all his eloquence on
trying to bring down their price, when the sexton arrived, and told him,
respectfully: “Mr. le Cure, there are a couple of people waiting for you
with a child to be baptized.” “Very well,” said the curate, “I will go
immediately;” and addressing the merchant, he said: “Please wait a
moment; I will not be long absent.”
In two minutes after, the curate had donned the surplice, and was going
at full speed through the prayers and ceremonies of Baptism. For, to be
fair and true towards Mr. Tetu (and I might say the same thing of the
greatest part of the priests I have known), it must be acknowledged that
he was very exact in all his ministerial duties; yet he was in this case
going through them by steam, if not by electricity. He was soon at the
end. But, after the sacrament was administered, we were enjoined, then,
to repeat an exhortation to the godfathers and godmothers, from the
ritual which we all knew by heart, and which began with these words:
“Godfather and godmothers: you have brought a sinner to the church, but
you will take back a saint!”
As the vestry was full of people who had come to confess, Mr. Tetu
thought that it was his duty to speak with more emphasis than usual in
order to have his instructions heard and felt by everyone. But instead
of saying, “Godfather and godmother, you have brought a sinner to the
church, you will take back a saint!” he, with great force and unction,
said: “Godfather and godmother, you have brought a sinner to the church,
you will take back a _seal skin_!”
No words can describe the uncontrollable burst and roar of laughter
among the crowd, when they heard that the baptized child was just
changed into a “seal skin.” Unable to contain themselves, or do any
serious thing, they left the vestry to go home and laugh to their
heart’s content.
But the most comic part of this blunder was the _sang froid_ and the
calmness with which Mr. Tetu, turning towards me, said: “Will you be
kind enough to tell me the cause of that indecent and universal laughing
in the midst of such a solemn action as the baptism of this child?”
I tried to tell him his blunder; but for some time it was impossible to
express myself. My laughing propensities were so much excited, and the
convulsive laughter of the whole multitude made such a noise, that he
would not have heard me had I been able to answer him. It was only when
the greatest part of the crowd had left that I could reveal to Mr. Tetu
that he had changed the baptized baby into a “seal skin!” He heartily
laughed at his own blunder, and calmly went back to buy his seal skins.
The next day the story went from house to house in Quebec, and caused
everywhere such a laugh as they had not had since the birth of “General
Cargo.”
That priest was a good type of the greatest part of the priests of
Canada: Fine fellows—social and jovial gentlemen—as fond of smoking
their cigars as of chewing their tobacco and using their snuff; fond of
fast horses; repeating the prayers of their breviary and going through
the performance of their ministerial duties with as much speed as
possible. With a good number of books in their libraries, but knowing
nothing of them but the titles; possessing the Bible, but ignorant of
its contents; believing that they had the light, when they were in awful
darkness; preaching the most monstrous doctrines as the gospel of truth;
considering themselves the only true Christians in the world, when they
worshipped the most contemptible idols made with hands. Absolutely
ignorant of the Word of God, while they proclaimed and believed
themselves to be the lights of the world. Unfortunate, blind men,
leading the blind into the ditch!