Fifty Years in the Church of Rome

by Charles Paschal Telesphore Chiniquy

The name of the priest was Loranger. He had a swarthy countenance, and in person was lean and tall. His preaching had no attraction, and he was far from being popular among the intelligent part of the people of St. Thomas.

Dr. Tachez, whose high capacity afterwards brought him to the head of the Canadian Government, was the leading man of St. Thomas. Being united by the bonds of a sincere friendship with his nephew, L. Cazeault, who was afterward placed at the head of the University of Laval, in Quebec, I had many opportunities of going to the house of Mr. Tachez, where my young friend was boarding.

In those days, Dr. Tachez had no need of the influence of the priests, and he frequently gave vent to his supreme contempt for them. Once a week there was a meeting in his house of the principal citizens of St. Thomas, where the highest questions of history and religion were freely and warmly discussed; but the premises as well as the conclusion of these discussions were invariably adverse to the priests and religion of Rome, and too often to every form of Christianity.

Though these meetings had not entirely the character or exclusiveness of secret societies, they were secret to a great extent. My friend Cazeault was punctual in telling me the days and hours of the meeting, and I used to go with him to an adjoining room, from which we could hear everything without being suspected. From what I heard and saw in these meetings, I most certainly would have been ruined, had not the Word of God, with which my mother had filled my young mind and heart, been my shield and strength. I was often struck with terror and filled with disgust at what I heard at those meetings. But what a strange and deplorable thing! My conscience was condemning me every time I listened to these impious discussions, while there was a strong craving in me to hear them that I could not resist.

There was then in St. Thomas a personage who was unique in his character. He never mixed with the society of the village, but was, nevertheless, the object of much respectful attention and inquiry from every one. He was one of the former monks of Canada, known under the name of Capucin or Recollets, whom the conquest of Canada by Great Britain had forced to leave their monastery.

He was a clockmaker, and lived honorably by his trade. His little white house, in the very midst of the village, was the perfection of neatness.

Brother Mark, as he was called, was a remarkably well-built man; high stature, large and splendid shoulders, and the most beautiful hands I ever saw. His long black robe, tied around his waist by a white sash, was remarkable for its cleanliness. His life was really a solitary one, always alone with his own sister, who kept his house.

Every day that the weather was propitious, Brother Mark spent a couple of hours in fishing, and as I was myself exceedingly fond of that exercise, I used to meet him often along the banks of the beautiful rivers of St. Thomas.

His presence was always a good omen to me; for he was more expert than I in finding the best places for fishing. As soon as he found a place where the fish was abundant, he would make signs to me, or call me at the top of his voice that I might share in his good luck. I appreciated his delicate attention to me, and repaid him with the marks of a sincere gratitude. The good monk had entirely conquered my young heart, and I cherished a sincere regard for him. He often invited me to his solitary but neat little home, and I never visited him without receiving some proofs of a sincere kindness. His good sister rivalled him in overwhelming me with such marks of attention and love as I could only expect from a dear mother.

There was a mixture of timidity and dignity in the manners of brother Mark which I have found in no one else. He was fond of children: and nothing could be more graceful than his smile every time that he could see that I appreciated his kindness, and that I gave him any proof of my gratitude. But that smile, and any other expression of joy, were very transient. On a sudden he would change, and it was obvious that a mysterious cloud was passing over his heart.