Fifty Years in the Church of Rome

by Charles Paschal Telesphore Chiniquy

“The marguillier, who was carrying the ‘good god,’ with the cure, naturally hoped to have the privilege of keeping the middle of the road and escaping the danger of getting his horses wounded, and his sleigh broken. He cried to the other traveler, in a high tone of authority: “Traveler! let me have the road. Turn your horses into the snow! Make haste, I am in a hurry. I carry the good god!”

“Unfortunately the traveler was a heretic, who cared much more for his horses than for the “good god.” He answered:

“Le Diable emporte ton Bon Dieu avant que je ne casse le cou de mon cheval!” “The devil take your god before I consent to break the neck of my horse. If your god has not taught you the rules of law and of common sense, I will give you a free lecture on that matter,” and jumping out of his sleigh, he took the reins of the front horse of the marguillier to help him to walk on the side of the road, and keep the half of it for himself.

“But the marguillier, who was naturally a very impatient and fearless man, had drank too much with my curate, before he left the parsonage, to keep cool, as he ought to have done. He also jumped out of his sleigh, ran to the stranger, took his cravat in his left hand and raised his right one to strike him in the face.

“Unfortunately for him, the heretic seemed to have foreseen all this. He had left his overcoat in the sleigh and was more ready for the conflict than his assailant. He was also a real giant in size and strength. As quick as lightning his right and left fists fell like iron masses on the face of the poor marguillier, and threw him on his back in the soft snow, where he almost disappeared.

“Till then the curate had been a silent spectator; but the sight and the cries of his friend, whom the stranger was pommelling without mercy, made him lose his patience. Taking the little silk bag which contained the ‘good god’ from about his neck, where it was tied, he put it on the seat of the sleigh, and said: ‘Dear good god! Please remain neutral; I must help my marguillier! Take no part in this conflict, and I will punish that infamous Protestant as he deserves.’

“But the unfortunate marguillier was entirely put hors de combat before the curate could go to his help. His face was horribly cut—three teeth were broken—the lower jaw dislocated, and the eyes were so terribly damaged that it took several days before he could see anything.

“When the heretic saw the priest coming to renew the battle, he threw down his other coat to be freer in his movements. The curate had not been so wise. Relying too much on his herculean strength, covered with his heavy overcoat, on which was his white surplice, he threw himself on the stranger, like a big rock which falls from the mountain and rolls upon the oak below.

“Both of these combatants were real giants, and the first blows must have been terrible on both sides. But the ‘infamous heretic’ probably had not drank so much as my curate before leaving home, or perhaps he was more expert in the exchange of these bloody jokes. The battle was long and the blood flowed pretty freely on both sides. The cries of the combatants might have been heard at a long distance, were it not for the roaring noise of the wind, which at that instant was blowing a hurricane.

“The storm, the cries, the blows, the blood, the surplice and the overcoat of the priest torn to rags, the shirt of the stranger reddened with gore, made such a terrible spectacle, that in the end the horses of the marguillier, though well-trained animals, took fright and threw themselves into the snow, turned their backs to the storm and made for home. They dragged the fragments of the upset sleigh a pretty long distance, and arrived at the door of their stable with only some diminutive parts of the harness.