Chapter XXVII.
QUEBEC MARINE HOSPITAL—THE FIRST TIME I CARRIED THE
"BON DEIU" (THE WAFER GOD) IN MY VEST POCKET—THE
GRAND OYSTER SOIREE AT MR. BUTEAU'S—THE REV. L.
PARENT AND THE "BON DIEU" AT THE OYSTER SOIREE.
ONE of the first things done by the curate Tetu, after his
new vicars had been chosen, was to divide, by casting lots,
his large parish into four parts, that there might be more regularity
in our ministerial labors, and my lot gave me the northeast
of the parish which contained the Quebec Marine Hospital.
The number of sick sailors I had to visit almost every day
in that noble institution, was between twenty-five and a hundred.
The Roman Catholic chapel, with its beautiful altar was not yet
completed. It was only in 1837 that I could persuade the hospital
authorities to fix it as it is to-day. Having no place there to
celebrate mass and keep the Holy Sacrament, I soon found myself
in presence of a dificulty which, at first, seemed to me of a
grave character. I had to administer the viaticum (holy communion)
to a dying sailor. As every one knows. all Roman
Catholics are bound to believe that by the consecration, the wafer
is transformed into the body, soul and divinity of Jesus Christ.
Hence, they call that ceremony: "Porter le bon dieu au malade"
(carry the good God to the sick.) Till then, when in
Charlesborough or St. Charles, I, with the rest of Roman Catholic
priests, always made use of pomp and exterior marks of
supreme respect for the Almighty God I was carrying in my
hands to the dying.
I had never carried the good God without being accompanied
by several people, walking or riding on horseback. I then wore
a white surplice over my long black robe (soutane) to strike the
people with awe. There was also a man ringing a bell before me,
all along the way, to announce to the people that the great God,
who had not only created them, but had made himself man to
save them, by dying on Calvary, was passing by; that they had
to fall on their knees in their houses, or along the public roads
or in their fields, and prostrate themselves and adore him.
But could I do that in Quebec, where so many miserable
heretics were more disposed to laugh at my God than to adore
him?
In my zeal and sincere faith, I was, however, determined to
dare the heretics of the whole world, and to expose myself to
their insults, rather than give up the exterior marks of supreme
respect and adoration which were due to my God everywhere;
and twice I carried Him to the hospital with the usual solemnity.
In vain my curate tried to persuade me to change my mind.
I closed my ears to his arguments. He then kindly invited me
to go with him to the bishop's palace, in order to confer with
him on that grave subject. How can I express my dismay when
the bishop told me, with a levity which I had not yet observed
in him, "that on account of the Protestants whom we had to
meet everywhere, it was better to make our `God' travel incognito
in the streets of Quebec." He added in a high and jocose
tone: "Put Him in your vest pocket, as do the rest of the city
priests. Carry Him to your dying patients without any scruples.
Never aim at being a reformer and doing better than your venerable
brethern in the priesthood. We must not forget that we
are a conquered people. If we were masters, we would carry
Him to the dying with the public honors we used to give Him
before the conquest; but the Protestants are the stronger. Our
governor is a Protestant, as well as our Queen. The garrison
which is inside the walls of their impregnable citadel, is composed
chiefly of Protestants. According to the laws of our
holy church, we have the right to punish, even by death, the miserable
people who turn into ridicule the mysteries of our holy
religion: But though we have that right, we are not strong
enough to enforce it. We must, then, bear the yoke in silence.
After all, it is our God himself, who in his inscrutable judgment,
has deprived us of the power of honoring Him as He deserves;
and to tell you my whole mind as plainly as possible, it is not
our fault, but His own doing, so to speak, if we are forced to
make Him travel
incognito through our streets. It is one of the
sad results of the victory which the God of battles gave to the
heretics over us on the plains of Abraham. If, in His good providence,
we could break our fetters, and become free to pass again
the laws which regulated Canada before the conquest, to prevent
the heretics from settling among us, then we would carry Him
as we used to do in those happy days."
"But," said I, "when I walk in the streets with my good
God in my vest pocket, what will I do if I meet any friend who
wants to shake hands and have a joke with me?"
The bishop laughed and answered: "Tell your friend you
are in a hurry, and go your way as quickly as possible; but if
there is no help, have your talk and your joke with him, without
any scruple of conscience. The important point in this delicate
matter is that the people should not know that we are carrying
our God through the streets incognito; for this knowledge would
surely shake and weaken their faith. The common people are,
more than we think, kept in our holy church, by the impressing
ceremonies of our processions and public marks of respect we
give to Jesus Christ, when we carry Him to the sick; for the
people are more easily persuaded by what they see with their
eyes and touch with their hands, than by what they hear with
their ears."
I submitted to the order of my ecclesiastical superior; but I
would not be honest, were I not to confess that I lost much of
my spiritual joy for some time in the administration of the viaticum.
I continued to believe as sincerely as I could, but the
laughing words and light tone of my bishop had fallen upon
my soul as an icy cloud. The jocose way in which he had
spoken of what I had been taught to consider as the most awful
and adorable mystery of the church, left the impression on my
mind that he did not believe one iota of the dogma of transubstantiation.
And in spite of all my honest efforts to get rid of
that suspicion, it grew in my mind every time I met him to talk
on any ministerial subject.
It took several years before I could accustom myself to carry
my God in my vest pocket as the other priests did, without any
more ceremony than with a piece of tobacco. So long as I was
walking alone I felt happy. I could then silently converse with
my Saviour, and give Him all the expressions of my love and
adoration. It was my custom, then, to repeat the 103d or 50th
psalm of David,—or the Te Deum, or some other beautiful
hymn, or the Pange Langua, which I knew by heart. But no
words can express my sadness when, as it was very often the
case, I met some friends forcing me to shake hands with them,
and began one of those idle and common-place talks, so common
everywhere.
With the utmost efforts, I had then to put a smiling mask on
my face, in order to conceal the expression of faith which are
infallibly seen, in spite of one's self, if one is in the very act of
adoration.
How, then, I earnestly cursed the day when my country had
fallen under the yoke of Protestants, whose presence in Quebec
prevented me from following the dictates of my conscience!
How many times did I pray my wafer god, whom I was personally
pressing on my heart, to grant us an opportunity to break
those fetters, and destroy forever the power of Protestant England
over us! Then we should be free again, to give our Saviour
all the public honors which were to due his majesty. Then we
should put in force the laws by which no heretic had any right
to settle and live in Canada.
Not long after that conversation with the bishop, I found
myself in a circumstance which added much to my trouble and
confusion of conscience on that matter.
There was then, in Quebec, a merchant who had honorably
raised himself from a state of poverty, to the first rank among
the wealthy merchants of Canada. Though, a few years after,
he was ruined by a series of most terrible disasters, his name is
still honored in Canada, as one of the most industrious and honest
merchants of our young country. His name was James
Buteau. He had built a magnificient house and furnished it in
a princely style.
In order to eelebrate his "house warming" in a becoming
style, he invited a hundred guests from the elite of the city,
among whom were all the priests of the parishes. But in order
not to frighten their prudery, though the party was to be more
of the nature of a ball than anything else, Mr. Buteau had given
it the modest name of an Oyster Soiree.
Just as the good curate Tetu, with his cheerful vicars was
starting, a messenger met us at the door, to say that Mr. Parent,
the youngest vicar, had called to carry the "Good God" to a
dying woman.
Mr. Parent was born, and had passed his whole life in
Quebec, in whose seminary he had gone through a complete and
brilliant course of study. I think there was scarcely a funny
song in the French language which he could not sing. With a
cheerful nature, he was the delight of the Quebec society, by
almost every member of which he was personally known.
His hair was constantly perfumed with the richest pomade,
and the most precious eaux de cologne surrounded him with an
atmosphere of the sweetest odors. With all these qualities and
privileges, it is no wonder that he was the confessor "a la mode"
of the young ladies of Quebec.
The bright luminaries which hover around Jupiter are not
more exact in converging toward the brilliant star, than those
pious young ladies were in gathering around the confessional
box of Mr. Parent every week or fortnight.
The unexpected announcement of a call to the deathbed of
one of his poorest penitents, was not quite the most desirable
thing for our dear young friend, at such an hour. But he knew
too well his duty to grumble. He said to us: "Go before me
and tell Mrs. Buteau that I will be in time to get my share of
the oysters."
By chance, the sick house was on the way and not far from
Mr. Buteau's splendid mansion. He left us to run to the altar and
take the "Good God" with him. We started for the soiree, but not
without sympathizing with our dear Mr. Parent, who would lose
the most interesting part, for the administration of the viaticum.
The extreme unction, with the giving of indulgences, in articulo
mortis, and the exhortation to the dying, and the people gathered
from the neighborhood to witness those solemn rites, could
not take much less than three quarters, or even an hour of his
time. But, to my great surprise, we had not yet been ten minutes
in the magnificent parlor of our host, when I saw Mr. Parent,
who like a newborn butterfly, flying from flower to flower, was
running from lady to lady, joking, laughing, surpassing himself
with his inimitable, lovely and refined manners. I said to myself,
how is it possible that he has so quickly got rid of his unpalatable
task with his dying penitent! and I wanted an opportunity
of being alone with him, to satisfy my curiosity on that point.
But it was pretty late in the evening, when I had a chance to say
to him; "We all feared lest your dying patient might deprive us
of the pleasure of your company the greater part of the soiree!"
"Oh! Oh!" answered he, with a hearty laugh, "that intelligent
woman had the good common sense to die just two minutes
before I entered her house. I suppose that her guardian angel,
knowing all about this incomparable party, had dispatched the
good soul to heaven a little sooner than she expected, in my
behalf." I could not but smile at his answer, which was given
in a manner to make a stone laugh. "But," said I, "what have
you done with the `Good God' you carried with you?"
"Ah! ah! the Good God," he replied in a jocose and subdued
tone. "Well, well! the `Good God'? He stands very
still in my vest pocket. And if he enjoys this princely festivity
as well as we all do, he will surely thank me for having brought
him here, even en survenant. But do not say a word of his
presence here; it would spoil everything."
That priest, who was only one year younger than myself,
was one of my dearest friends. Though his words rather smelt
of the unbeliever and blasphemer, I prefered to attribute them
to the sweet champagne he had drunk than to a real want of
faith.
But I must confess that, though I had laughed very heartily
at first, his last utterance pained me so much that, from that
moment to the end of the soiree, I felt uneasy and confounded.
My firm belief that my Saviour Jesus Christ was there in
person, kept a prisoner in my young friend's vest pocket, going
to and fro from one young lady to the other, witnessing the
constant laughing, hearing the idle words, the light and funny
songs, made my whole soul shudder, and my heart sunk within
me. By times I wished I could fall on my knees to adore my
Saviour, whom I believed to be there. However, a mysterious
voice was whispering in my ear: "Are you not a fool to believe
that you can make a God with a wafer; and that Jesus Christ
your Saviour and your God, can be kept a prisoner, in spite of
himself, in the vest pocket of a man? Do you not see that your
friend Parent, who has much more brains and intelligence than
you, does not believe a word of that dogma of transubstantiation?
Have you forgotten the unbeliever's smile which you
saw on the lips of the bishop himself only a few days ago?
Was not that laugh the infallible proof that he also does not
believe a particle of that ridiculous dogma?"
With superhuman effort I tried, and succeeded partly, to
stifle that voice. But that struggle could not last long within
my soul without leaving its exterior marks on my face. Evidently
a sad cloud was over my eyes, for several of my most
respectable friends, with Mr. and Mrs. Buteau, kindly asked if I
were sick.
At last I felt so confused at the repetition of the same
suggestion by so many, that I felt that I was only making a fool
of myself by remaining any longer in their midst. Angry with
myself for my want of moral strength in this hour of trial, I
respectfully asked pardon from my kind host for leaving their
party before the end, on account of a sudden indisposition.
The next day there was only one voice in Quebec, saying
that young Parent had been the lion of that brilliant soiree, and
that the poor young priest Chiniquy had been its fool.
