Chapter XXIV.
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 goodnatured
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!
