What Saith
the Scripture?
http://www.WhatSaithTheScripture.com/
presents
Fifty Years in the Church of Rome
BY
CHARLES CHINIQUY
Preface
Charles Chiniquy: The LORD's Faithful Witness to
the Harlotry of Rome
by Tom Stewart
A testimony of the love of God "to save them to the uttermost
that come unto God by [Christ Jesus]" (Hebrews 7:25), and a faithful
warning to the Church of Jesus Christ concerning the treacheries of the Harlot
Church of Rome, is the life of Charles Chiniquy. As a French Canadian youth,
Chiniquy was given the gift of his love for the Word of God by his
unconventionally Roman Catholic parents, even though Scripture in the common
tongue had been expressly forbidden by the Council of Trent. Without his
knowledge, the seeds of Protestantism had been effectively sown in him, as
desired by the blessed translating efforts of both John Wycliffe and William
Tyndale. "But he that received Seed into the good ground is he that
heareth the Word, and understandeth it; which also beareth fruit, and bringeth
forth, some an hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty" (Matthew 13:23).
Why all the commotion about Protestants historically encouraging the reading of
the Word of God, when both Catholics and Protestants may freely read-- but
generally ignore-- the Scriptures today? "Faith cometh by hearing, and
hearing by the Word of God" (Romans
10:17). Because the Word of God does not benefit
anyone unless it is believed. "For unto us was the Gospel preached, as
well as unto them: but the Word preached did not profit them, not being mixed
with faith in them that heard it" (Hebrews 4:2). Worse, too many are oblivious to their false sense of security
in a Deceptive Faith that has not the works of Love. "For in Jesus Christ
neither circumcision availeth any thing, nor uncircumcision; but faith which
worketh by Love" (Galatians 5:6). [Please read our article, "Is Faith the Only Condition for Eternal
Salvation? Or, The Biblical Doctrine of Justification by Faith" --
http://Whatsaiththescripture.com/Fellowship/Is.Faith.the.Only.Conditio.html --, for an important clarification of this often misinterpreted
concept.]
Chiniquy aspired to the priesthood of Rome, but his joy of being ordained a
priest of Rome became "as if a thunderbolt had fallen upon me when I
pronounced the awful oath which is required from every priest: 'I will never
interpret the Holy Scriptures except according to the unanimous consent of the
Holy Fathers' " (excerpt from Chiniquy's "Fifty Years in the Church
of Rome"). How unlike Rome's oath is the Scripture, "20 But ye have an Unction [Greek,
chrisma] from the Holy One, and ye know all things. 27 But the Anointing [Greek, chrisma, or
unction] which ye have received of Him abideth in you, and ye need not that
any man teach you: but as the same Anointing teacheth you of all things,
and is Truth, and is no lie, and even as it hath taught you, ye shall abide in
Him" (1John 2:20,27)!
As a proponent of total abstinence from alcoholic beverages, he was vehemently
opposed by his drunken fellow priests. "For a bishop must be blameless, as
the steward of God; not selfwilled, not soon angry, not given to wine, no
striker, not given to filthy lucre" (Titus 1:7). He was horrified at the liberties taken by the priests of Rome,
especially with their female confessors, who were required to confess their most
intimate faults to the ears of a man, in the name of Auricular Confession.
"For it is a shame even to speak of those things which are done of them in
secret" (Ephesians 5:12). He led an effort to bring Catholicism to the United States by
bringing in a large colony of French Canadian Catholics to the state of
Illinois. Attacked by jealous priests, Chiniquy was compelled to require the
services of Abraham Lincoln, who ably defeated the Jesuits in open court
battle; however, as Chiniquy warned, the Jesuits would not forgive or forget
their wound. Chiniquy later demonstrated that Lincoln's assassination in 1865
by John Wilkes Booth was carefully orchestrated by a conspiracy of
Jesuit-Catholic accomplices. "Lest Satan should get an advantage of us: for
we are not ignorant of his devices" (2Corinthians
2:11).
Suffice it to say that Chiniquy's breaking into the full freedom and liberty of
the Gospel was aided by the whale vomiting its unwanted meal. Rome ultimately
excommunicated Chiniquy, but not before he gave his resignation. The bishop
"answered angrily: 'Mr. Chiniquy, I am your superior, I do not want to
argue with you. You are inferior: your business is to obey me. Give me at once
an act of submission, in which you will simply say that you and your people
will submit yourselves to my authority, and promise to do anything I will bid
you.' I calmly answered: 'What you ask me is not an act of submission, it is an
act of adoration. I do absolutely refuse to give it.' 'If it be so, sir,' he
answered, 'you can no longer be a Roman Catholic priest.' I raised my hands to
heaven, and cried with a loud voice: 'May God Almighty be for ever
blessed'" (excerpt from Chiniquy's "Fifty Years in the Church of
Rome"). "So then it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth,
but of God that sheweth mercy" (Romans 9:16).
Chiniquy returned to his room to contemplate the enormity of his situation.
Taking his New Testament, he glanced providentially at these words, "Ye
are bought with a price; be not ye the servants of men" (1Corinthians 7:23). Gospel
Salvation now became very plain to this former priest. "Strange to say!
Those words came to my mind, more as a light than an articulated sound. They
suddenly but most beautifully and powerfully gave me, as much as a man can know
it, the knowledge of the great mystery of a perfect salvation through Christ
alone. They at once brought a great and delightful calm to my soul. I said to
myself: 'Jesus has bought me, then I am His; for when I have bought a thing it
is mine, absolutely mine! Jesus has bought me! I, then, belong to Him! He alone
has a right over me. I do not belong to the bishops, to the popes, not even to
the church, as I have been told till now. I belong to Jesus and to Him alone!
His Word must be my guide, and my light by day and by night. Jesus has bought
me,' I said again to myself; 'then He has saved me! and if so, I am saved,
perfectly saved, for ever saved! for Jesus cannot save me by half. Jesus is my
God; the works of God are perfect. My salvation must, then, be a perfect
salvation. But how has He saved me? What price has He paid for my poor guilty
soul?' The answer came as quickly as lightning: 'He bought you with His blood
shed on the cross! He saved you by dying on Calvary!'" (Chiniquy's
emancipating thoughts from his "Fifty Years in the Church of Rome").
.
.
.
DEDICATION
Venerable Ministers of the Gospel! Rome is the great danger ahead
for the Church of Christ, and you do not understand it enough.
The atmosphere of light, honesty, truth, and holiness in which you are born,
and which you have breathed since your infancy, makes it almost impossible for
you to realize the dark mysteries of idolatry, immorality, degrading slavery,
hatred of the Word of God, concealed behind the walls of that Modern Babylon.
You are too honest to suspect them; and your precious time is too much taken by
the sacred duties of your ministry, to study the long labyrinth of
argumentations which form the bulk of the greater number of controversial
books. Besides that, the majority of the books of controversy against Rome are
of such a dry character that, though many begin to read them, very few have the
courage to go to the end. The consequence is an ignorance of Romanism which
becomes and more deplorable and fatal every day.
It is that ignorance which paves the way to the triumph of Rome, in a near
future, if there is not a complete change in your views on that subject.
It is that ignorance which paralyses the arm of the Church of Christ, and makes
the glorious word "Protestant" senseless, almost a dead and
ridiculous word. For who does really protest against Rome today? where are
those who sound the trumpet of alarm?
When Rome is striking you to the heart by cursing your schools and wrenching
the Bible from the hands of your children; when she is not only battering your
doors, but scaling your walls and storming your citadels, how few dare to go to
the breach and repulse the audacious and sacrilegious foe?
Why so? Because modern Protestants have not only forgotten what Rome was, what
she is, and what she will for ever be; the most irreconcilable and powerful
enemy of the Gospel of Christ; but they consider her almost as a branch of the
church whose corner stone is Christ.
Faithful ministers of the Gospel! I present you this book that you may know
that the monster Church of Rome, who shed the blood of your forefathers is
still at work today, at your very door, to enchain your people to the feet
of her idols. Read it, and, for the first time, you will see the inside life of
Popery with the exactness of photography. From the supreme art with which the
mind of the young and timid child is fettered, enchained, and paralyzed, to the
unspeakable degradation of the priest under the iron heel of the bishop,
everything will be revealed to you as it has never been before.
The superstitions, the ridiculous and humiliating practices, the secret and
mental agonies of the monks, the nuns and the priests, will be shown to you as
they were never shown before. In this book, the sophisms and errors of Romanism
are discussed and refuted with a clearness, simplicity, and evidence, which my
twenty-five years of priesthood only could teach me. It is not in boasting that
I say this. There can be no boasting in me for having been so many years an
abject slave of the Pope. The book I offer you is an arsenal filled with the
best weapons you ever had to fight, and, with the help of God, to conquer the
foe.
The learned and zealous champion of Protestantism in Great Britain, Rev. Dr.
Badenoch, who has revised the manuscript, wrote to a friend: "I do not
think there is a Protestant work more thrilling in interest and more important
at the present time. It is not only full of incidents, but also of arguments on
the side of truth with all classes of Romaninsts, from the bishops to the
parish priest. I know of no work which gives so graphically the springs of
Roman Catholic life, and, at the same time, meets the plausible objections to
Protestantism in Roman Catholic circles. I wish, with all my heart, that this
work would be published in Great Britain."
The venerable, learned, and so well known Rev. Dr. Kemp, Principal of the Young
Ladies' College, of Ottawa, Canada, only a few days before his premature death
wrote: "Mr. Chiniquy has submitted every chapter of his `Fifty Years in
the Church of Rome' to me: I have read it with care and with the deepest
interest; and I commend it to the public favour in the highest terms. It is the
only book I know that gives anything like a full and authentic account of the
inner workings of Popery on this continent, and so effectively unmasks its
pretense to sanctity. Besides the most interesting biographical incidents, it
contains incisive refutations of the most plausible assumptions and deadly
errors of the Romish Church. It is well fitted to awaken Protestants to the
insidious designs of the arch-enemy of their faith and liberties, and to arouse
them to a decisive opposition. It is written in a kindly and Christian spirit,
does not indulge in denunciations, and, while speaking in truth, it does so in
love. Its style is lively and its English good, with only a delicate flavour of
the author's native French."
.
TO THE BISHOPS, PRIESTS, AND PEOPLE OF
ROME
this book is also dedicated.
In the name of your immortal souls, I ask you, Roman Catholics, to read this
book.
By the mercy of God, you will fine, in its pages, how you are cruelly deceived
by your vain and lying traditions.
You will see that is not through your ceremonies, masses, confessions,
purgatory, indulgences, fastings, ect., you are saved. You have nothing to do
but to believe, repent, and love.
Salvation is a gift! Eternal life is a
gift! Forgiveness of sin is a gift! Christ is a gift!
.
IMPORTANT!
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Table of Contents
. . . |
The Bible and the Priest of Rome |
|
. . . |
My First Schooldays at St. Thomas- The
Monk and Celibacy |
|
. . . |
The Confession of Children |
|
. . . |
The Shepherd Whipped by His Sheep |
|
. . . |
The Priest, Purgatory, and the Poor
Widow's Cow |
|
. . . |
Festivities in a Parsonage |
|
. . . |
Preparation for the First Communion-
Initiation to Idolatry |
|
. . . |
The First Communion |
|
. . . |
Intellectual Education in the Roman
Catholic College |
|
. . . |
Moral and Religious Instruction in
the Roman Catholic Colleges |
|
. . . |
Protestant Children in the Convents
and Nunneries of Rome |
|
. . . |
Rome and Education- Why does the Church
of Rome hate the Common Schools of the United States, and want to destroy
them?- Why does she object to the reading of the Bible in the Schools? |
|
. . . |
Theology of the Church of Rome: its
Anti-Christian Character |
|
. . . |
The Vow of Celibacy |
|
. . . |
The Impurities of the Theology of
Rome |
|
. . . |
The Priests of Rome and the Holy
Fathers; or, how I Swore to give up the Word of God to follow the Word of Men |
|
. . . |
The Roman Catholic Priesthood, or
Ancient and Modern Idolatry |
|
. . . |
Nine Consequences of the Dogma of
Transubstantiation- The Old Paganism under a Christian Name |
|
. . . |
Vicarage, and Life at St. Charles,
Rivierre Boyer |
|
. . . |
Papineau and the Patriots in 1833-
The Burning of "Le Canadien" by the Curate of St. Charles |
|
. . . |
Grand Dinner of the Priests- The
Maniac Sister of Rev. Mr. Perras |
|
. . . |
I am appointed Vicar of the Curate
of Charlesbourgh- The Piety, Lives and Deaths of Fathers Bedard and Perras |
|
. . . |
The Cholera Morbus of 1834-
Admirable Courage and Self-Denial of the Priests of Rome during the Epidemic |
|
. . . |
I am named a Vicar of St. Roch,
Quebec City- The Rev. Mr. Tetu- Tertullian- General Cargo- The Seal Skins |
|
. . . |
Simony- Strange and Sacrilegious
Traffic in the S0-called Body and Blood of Christ- Enormous Sums of Money
made by the Sale of Masses- The Society of Three Masses abolished, and the
Society of One Mass established |
|
. . . |
Continuation of the Trade in Masses |
|
. . . |
Quebec Marine Hospital- The First
Time I carried the "Bon Dieu" (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 |
|
. . . |
Dr. Douglas- My first Lesson on
Temperance- Study of Anatomy- Working of Alcohol in the Human Frame- The
Murderess of Her Own Child- I for ever give up the use of Intoxicating Drinks |
|
. . . |
Conversions of Protestants to the
Church of Rome- Rev. Anthony Parent, Superior of the Seminary of Quebec; His
peculiar way of finding access to the Protestants and bringing them to the
Catholic Church- How he spies the Protestants through the Confessional- I
persuade Ninety-three Families to become Catholics |
|
. . . |
The Murders and Thefts in Quebec
from 1835 to 1836- The Night Excursion with Two Thieves- The Restitution- The
Dawn of Light |
|
. . . |
Chambers and his Accomplices
Condemned to Death- Asked me to Prepare them for their Terrible Fate- A Week
in their Dungeon- Their Sentence of Death changed into Deportation to Botany
Bay- Their Departure of Exile- I meet one of them a Sincere Convert, very
rich, in a high and honourable position in Australia, in 1878 |
|
. . . |
The Miracles of Rome- Attack of
Typhoid Fever- Apparition of St. Anne and St. Philomene- My Sudden Cure- The
Curate of St. Anne du Nord, Mons. Ranvoize, almost a disguised Protestant |
|
. . . |
My Nomination as Curate of Beauport-
Degradation and Ruin of that Place through Drunkenness- My Opposition to my
Nomination useless- Preparation to Establish a Temperance Society- I write to
Father Mathew for advice |
|
. . . |
The Hand of God in the Establishment
of a Temperance Society in Beauport and Vicinity |
|
. . . |
Foundation of Temperance Societies in
the Neighbouring Parishes- Providential Arrival of Monsignor De Forbin
Janson, Bishop of Nancy- He Publicly Defends Me against the Bishop of Quebec
and for ever Breaks the Opposition of the Clergy |
|
. . . |
The God of Rome Eaten by Rats |
|
. . . |
Visit of a Protestant Stranger- He
Throws an Arrow into my Priestly Soul never to be taken out |
|
. . . |
Erection of the Column of Temperance-
School Buildings- A noble and touching act of the People of Beauport |
|
. . . |
Sent to succeed Rev. Mr. Varin,
Curate of Kamouraska- Stern Opposition of that Curate and the surrounding
Priests and People- Hours of Desolation in Kamouraska- The Good Master allays
the Tempest and bids the Waves be still |
|
. . . |
Organization of Temperance Societies
in Kamouraska and surrounding Country- The Girl in the Garb of a Man in the
Service of the Curates of Quebec and Eboulements- Frightened by the Scandals
seen everywhere- Give up my Parish of Kamouraska to join the "Oblates of
Mary Immaculate of Longueuil" |
|
. . . |
Perversion of Dr. Newman to the
Church of Rome in the light of his own Explanations, Common Sense and the
Word of God |
|
. . . |
Noviciate in the Monastery of the Oblates
of Mary Immaculate of Longueuil- Some of the Thousand Acts of Folly and
Idolatry which form the Life of a Monk- The Deplorable Fall of one of the
Fathers- Fall of the Grand Vicar Quiblier- Sick in the Hotel Dieu of
Montreal- Sister Urtubise: what she says of Maria Monk- The Two Missionaries
to the Lumber Men- Fall and Punishment of a Father Oblate- What one of the
best Father Oblates thinks of the Monks and the Monastery |
|
. . . |
I accept the hospitality of the Rev.
Mr. Brassard of Longueuil- I give my Reasons for Leaving the Oblates to
Bishop Bourget- He presents me with a splendid Crucifix blessed by his
Holiness for me, and accepts my Services in the Cause of Temperance in the Diocese
of Montreal |
|
. . . |
Preparations for the Last Conflict-
Wise Counsel, Tears, and Distress of Father Mathew- Longueuil the First to
Accept the Great Reform of Temperance- The whole District of Montreal, St.
Hyacinthe and Three Rivers Conquered- The City of Montreal with the
Sulpicians take the Pledge- Gold Medal- Officially named Apostle of
Temperance in Canada- Gift of £500 from Parliament |
|
. . . |
My Sermon on the Virgin Mary-
Compliments of Bishop Prince- Stormy Night- First Serious Doubts about the
Church of Rome- Faithful Discussion with the Bishop- The Holy Fathers opposed
to the Modern Worship of the Virgin- The Branches of the Vine |
|
. . . |
The Holy Fathers- New Mental
Troubles at not finding the Doctines of my Church in their Writings-
Purgatory and the Sucking Pig of the Poor Man of Varennes |
|
. . . |
Letter from the Rev. Bishop
Vandeveld, of Chicago- Vast Project of the Bishop of the United States to
take Possession of the Rich Valley of the Mississippi and the Prairies of the
West to Rule that Great Republic- They want to put me at the Heart of the Work-
My Lectures on Temperance at Detroit- Intemperance of the Bishops and Priests
of that City |
|
. . . |
My Visit to Chicago in 1857- Bishop
Vandeveld- His Predecessor Poisoned- Magnificent Prairies of the West- Return
to Canada- Bad feelings of Bishop Bourget- I decline sending a Rich Woman to
the Nunnery to enrich the Bishop- A Plot to destroy me |
|
. . . |
The Plot to destroy me- The Interdict-
The Retreat at the Jesuit's College- The Lost Girl, employed by the Bishop,
Retracts- The Bishop Confounded, sees his Injustice, makes Amends-
Testimonial Letters- The Chalice- The Benediction before I leave Canada |
|
. . . |
Address presented me at Longueuil- I
arrive at Chicago- I select the spot for my Colony- I build the first Chapel-
Jealousy and Opposition of the Priests of Bourbounais and Chicago- Great
Success of the Colony |
|
. . . |
Intrigues, Impostures, and Criminal
Life of the Priests in Bourbounais- Indignation of the Bishop- The People
ignominiously turn out the Criminal Priest from their Parish- Frightful
Scandal- Faith in the Church of Rome seriously shaken |
|
. . . |
Correspondence with the Bishop |
|
. . . |
The Immaculate Conception of the
Virgin Mary |
|
. . . |
The Abominations of Auricular
Confession |
|
. . . |
The Ecclesiastical Retreat- Conduct
of the Priests- The Bishop forbids me to distribute the Bible |
|
. . . |
Public Acts of Simony- Thefts and
Brigandage of Bishop O'Regan- General Cry of Indignation- I determine to
Resist him to his Face- He employs Mr. Spink again to send me to Gaol, and he
Fails- Drags me as a Prisoner to Urbana in the Spring of 1856, and Fails
again- Abraham Lincoln defends me- My dear Bible becomes more than ever my
Light and my Counsellor |
|
. . . |
Bishop O'Regan sells the Parsonage
of the French Canadians of Chicago, pockets the Money, and turns them out when
they ocme to complain- He determines to turn me out of my Colony and send me
to Kahokia- He forgets it the next day and publishes that he has interdicted
me- My People send a Deputation to the Bishop- His Answers- The Sham
Excommunication by Three Drunken Priests |
|
. . . |
Address from my People, asking me to
Remain- I am again dragged as a Prisoner by the Sheriff to Urbana- Abraham
Lincoln's Anxiety about the issue of the Prosecution- My Distress- The
Rescue- Miss Philomene Moffat sent by God to save me- Lebel's Confession and
Distress- My Innocence acknowledged- Noble Words and Conduct of Abraham
Lincoln- The Oath of Miss Philomene Moffat |
|
. . . |
A Moment of Interruption in the
Thread of my "Fifty Years in the Church of Rome," to see how my
said Previsions about my defender, Abraham Lincoln, were to be realized- Rome
the implacable Enemy of the United States |
|
. . . |
The Fundamental Principles of the
Constitution of the United States drawn from the Gospel of Christ- My First
Visit to Abraham Lincoln to warn him of the Plots I knew against his Life-
The Priests circulate the News that Lincoln was born in the Church of Rome-
Letter of the Pope to Jeff Davis- My last Visit to the President- His
admirable Reference to Moses- His willingness to die for his Nation's Sake |
|
. . . |
Abraham Lincoln a true Man of God, and
a true Disciple of the Gospel- The Assassination by Booth- The Tool of the
Priests- John Surratt's House- The Rendezvous and Dwelling Place of the
Priests- John Surratt Secreted by the Priests after the Murder of Lincoln-
The Assassination of Lincoln known and published in the Town Three Hours
before its occurrence |
|
. . . |
Deputation of Two Priests sent by
the People and the Bishops of Canada to persuade us to submit to the will of the
Bishop- The Deputies acknowledge publicly that the Bishop is wrong and that
we are right- For peace' sake I consent to withdraw from the Contest on
certain conditions accepted by the Deputies- One of those Deputies turns
false to his Promise, and betrays us, to be put at the head of my Colony- My
last Interview with him and Mr. Brassard |
|
. . . |
Mr. Desaulnier is named
Vicar-General of Chicago to crush us- Our People more united than ever to
defend their Rights- Letters of the Bishops of Montreal against me, and my
Answer- Mr. Brassard forced, against his conscience, to condemn us- My answer
to Mr. Brassard- He writes to beg my Pardon |
|
. . . |
I write to the Pope Pius IX, and to
Napoleon, Emperor of France, and send them the Legal and Public Documents
proving the bad conduct of Bishop O'Regan- Grand-Vicar Dunn sent to tell me
of my Victory at Rome, and the end of our Trouble- I go to Dubuque to offer
my Submission to the Bishop- The Peace Sealed and publicly Proclaimed by
Grand-Vicar Dunn the 28th March, 1858 |
|
. . . |
Excellent Testimonial from my
Bishop- My Retreat- Grand-Vicar Saurin and his Assistant, Rev. M. Granger- Grand-Vicar
Dunn writes me about the new Storm prepared by the Jesuits- Vision- Christ
offers Himself as a Gift- I am Forgiven, Rich, Happy, and Saved- Back to my
People |
|
. . . |
The Solemn Responsibilities of my new
Position- We give up the name of Roman Catholic to call ourselves Christian
Catholics- Dismay of the Roman Catholic Bishops- My Lord Duggan, co-adjutor
of St. Louis, hurries to Chicago- He comes to St. Anne to persuade the People
to submit to his Authority- He is ignominiously turned out, and runs away in
the midst of the Cries of the People |
|
. . . |
Bird's-eye View of the Principal
Events from my Conversion to this day- My Narrow Escapes- The End of the
Voyage through the Desert to the Promised Land |
.
.
.
CHAPTER 1 Back to Top
My
father, Charles Chiniquy [pronounced, "Chi-ni-quay"], born in Quebec,
had studied in the Theological Seminary of that city, to prepare himself for
the priesthood. But a few days before making his vows, having been the witness
of a great iniquity in the high quarters of the church, he changed his mind,
studied law, and became a notary.
Married to Reine Perrault, daughter of Mitchel Perrault, in 1803 he settled at
first in Kamoraska, where I was born on the 30th July, 1809.
About four or five years later my parents emigrated to Murray Bay. That place
was then in its infancy, and no school had yet been established. My mother was,
therefore, my first teacher.
Before leaving the Seminary of Quebec my father had received from one of the
Superiors, as a token of his esteem, a beautiful French and Latin Bible. That
Bible was the first book, after the A B C, in which I was taught to read. My
mother selected the chapters which she considered the most interesting for me;
and I read them every day with the greatest attention and pleasure. I was even
so much pleased with several chapters, that I read them over and over again
till I knew them by heart.
When eight or nine years of age, I had learned by heart the history of the
creation and fall of man; the deluge; the sacrifice of Isaac; the history of
Moses; the plagues of Egypt; the sublime hymn of Moses after crossing the Red
Sea; the history of Samson; the most interesting events of the life of David;
several Psalms; all the speeches and parables of Christ; and the whole history
of the sufferings and death of our Saviour as narrated by John.
I had two brothers, Louis and Achille; the first about four, the second about
eight years younger than myself. When they were sleeping or playing together,
how many delicious hours I have spent by my mother's side, in reading to her
the sublime pages of the divine book.
Sometimes she interrupted me to see if I understood what I read; and when my
answers made her sure that I understood it, she used to kiss me and press me on
her bosom as an expression of her joy.
One day, while I was reading the history of the sufferings of the Saviour, my
young heart was so much impressed that I could hardly enunciate the words, and
my voice trembled. My mother, perceiving my emotion, tried to say something on
the love of Jesus for us, but she could not utter a word her voice was
suffocated by her sobs. She leaned her head on my forehead, and I felt two
streams of tears falling from her eyes on my cheeks. I could not contain myself
any longer. I wept also; and my tears were mixed with hers. The holy book fell
from my hands, and I threw myself into my dear mother's arms.
No human words can express what was felt in her soul and in mine in that most
blessed hour! No! I will never forget that solemn hour, when my mother's heart
was perfectly blended with mine at the feet of our dying Saviour. There was a
real perfume from heaven in those my mother's tears which were flowing on me.
It seemed then, as it does seem to me today, that there was a celestial harmony
in the sound of her voice and in her sobs. Though more than half a century has
passed since that solemn hour when Jesus, for the first time, revealed to me
something of His suffering and of His love, my heart leaps with joy every time
I think of it.
We were some distance from the church, and the roads, in the rainy days, were
very bad. On the Sabbath days the neighbouring farmers, unable to go to church,
were accustomed to gather at our house in the evening. Then my parents used to
put me up on a large table in the midst of the assembly, and I delivered to
those good people the most beautiful parts of the Old and New Testaments. The
breathless attention, the applause of our guests, and may I tell it often the
tears of joy which my mother tried in vain to conceal, supported my strength
and gave me the courage I wanted, to speak when so young before so many people.
When my parents saw that I was growing tired, my mother, who had a fine voice,
sang some of the beautiful French hymns with which her memory was filled.
Several times, when the fine weather allowed me to go to church with my
parents, the farmers would take me into their caleches (buggies) at the door of
the temple, and request me to give them some chapter of the Gospel. With a most
perfect attention they listened to the voice of the child, whom the Good Master
had chosen to give them the bread which comes from heaven. More than once, I
remember, that when the bell called us to the church, they expressed their
regret that they could not hear more.
On one of the beautiful spring days of 1818 my father was writing in his
office, and my mother was working with her needle, singing one of her favourite
hymns, and I was at the door, playing and talking to a fine robin which I had
so perfectly trained that he followed me wherever I went. All of a sudden I saw
the priest coming near the gate. The sight of him sent a thrill of uneasiness
through my whole frame. It was his first visit to our home.
The priest was a person below the common stature, and had an unpleasant
appearance his shoulders were large and he was very corpulent; his hair was
long and uncombed, and his double chin seemed to groan under the weight of his
flabby cheeks.
I hastily ran to the door and whispered to my parents, "M. le Cur'e arrive
("Mr. Curate is coming"). The last sound was hardly out of my lips
when the Rev. Mr. Courtois was at the door, and my father, shaking hands with
him, gave him a welcome.
That priest was born in France, where he had a narrow escape, having been
condemned to death under the bloody administration of Robespierre. He had found
a refuge, with many other French priests, in England, whence he came to Quebec,
and the bishop of that place had given him the charge of the parish of Murray
Bay.
His conversation was animated and interesting for the first quarter of an hour.
It was a real pleasure to hear him. But of a sudden his countenance changed as
if a dark cloud had come over his mind, and he stopped talking. My parents had
kept themselves on a respectful reserve with the priest. They seemed to have no
other mind than to listen to him. The silence which followed was exceedingly
unpleasant for all the parties. It looked like the heavy hour which precedes a
storm. At length the priest, addressing my faith, said, "Mr. Chiniquy, is
it true that you and your child read the Bible?"
"Yes, sir," was the quick reply, "my little boy and I read the
Bible, and what is still better, he has learned by heart a great number of its
most interesting chapters. If you will allow it, Mr. Curate, he will give you
some of them."
"I did not come for that purpose," abruptly replied the priest;
"but do you not know that you are forbidden by the holy Council of Trent
to read the Bible in French."
"It makes very little difference to me whether I read the Bible in French,
Greek, or Latin," answered my father, "for I understand these
languages equally well."
"But are you ignorant of the fact that you cannot allow your child to read
the Bible?" replied the priest.
"My wife directs her own child in the reading of the Bible, and I cannot
see that we commit any sin by continuing to do in future what we have done till
now in that matter."
"Mr. Chiniquy," rejoined the priest, "you have gone through a
whole course of theology; you know the duties of a curate; you know it is my
painful duty to come here, get the Bible from you and burn it."
My grandfather was a fearless Spanish sailor (our original name was
Etchiniquia), and there was too much Spanish blood and pride in my father to
hear such a sentence with patience in his own house. Quick as lightning he was
on his feet. I pressed myself, trembling, near my mother, who trembled also.
At first I feared lest some very unfortunate and violent scene should occur;
for my father's anger in that moment was really terrible.
But there was another thing which affected me. I feared lest the priest should
lay his hands on my dear Bible, which was just before him on the table; for it
was mine, as it had been given me the last year as a Christmas gift.
Fortunately, my father had subdued himself after the first moment of his anger.
He was pacing the room with a double-quick step; his lips were pale and
trembling, and he was muttering between his teeth words which were
unintelligible to any one of us.
The priest was closely watching all my father's movements; his hands were convulsively
pressing his heavy cane, and his face was giving the sure evidence of a too
well-grounded terror. It was clear that the ambassador of Rome did not find
himself infallibly sure of his position on the ground he had so foolishly
chosen to take; since his last words he had remained as silent as a tomb.
At last, after having paced the room for a considerable time, my father
suddenly stopped before the priest, and said, "Sir, is that all you have
to say here."
"Yes, sir," said the trembling priest.
"Well, sir," added my father, "you know the door by which you
entered my house: please take the same door and go away quickly."
The priest went out immediately. I felt an inexpressible joy when I saw that my
Bible was safe. I ran to my father's neck, kissed and thanked him for his
victory. And to pay him, in my childish way, I jumped upon the large table and
recited, in my best style, the fight between David and Goliath. Of course, in
my mind, my father was David and the priest of Rome was the giant whom the
little stone from the brook had stricken down.
Thou knowest, O God, that it is to that Bible, read on my mother's knees, I
owe, by thy infinite mercy, the knowledge of the truth to-day; that Bible had
sent, to my young heart and intelligence, rays of light which all the sophisms
and dark errors of Rome could never completely extinguish.
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 2 Back to Top
In
the month of June, 1818, my parents sent me to an excellent school at St.
Thomas. One of my mother's sisters resided there, who was the wife of an
industrious miller called Stephen Eschenbach. They had no children, and they
received me as their own son.
The beautiful village of St. Thomas had already, at that time, a considerable
population. The tow fine rivers which unite their rapid waters in its very
midst before they fall into the magnificent basin from which they flow into the
St. Lawrence, supplied the water-power for several mills and factories.
There was in the village a considerable trade in grain, flour and lumber. The
fisheries were very profitable, and the game was abundant. Life was really
pleasant and easy.
The families Tachez, Cazeault, Fournier, Dubord, Frechette, Tetu, Dupuis,
Couillard, Duberges, which were among the most ancient and notable of Canada,
were at the head of the intellectual and material movement of the place, and
they were a real honour to the French Canadian name.
I met there with one of my ancestors on my mother's side whose name was F.
Amour des Plaines. He was an old and brave soldier, and would sometimes show us
the numerous wounds he had received in the battles in which he had fought for
his country. Though nearly eighty years old, he sang to us the songs of the
good old times with all the vivacity of a young man.
The school of Mr. Allen Jones, to which I had been sent, was worthy of its
wide-spread reputation. I had never known any teacher who deserved more, or who
enjoyed in a higher degree the respect and confidence of his pupils.
He was born in England, and belonged to one of the most respectable families
there. He had received the best education which England could give to her sons.
After having gone through a perfect course of study at home, he had gone to
Paris, where he had also completed an academical course. He was perfectly
master of the French and English languages. And it was not without good reasons
that he was surrounded by a great number of scholars from every corner of
Canada. The children of the best families of St. Thomas were, with me,
attending the school of Mr. Jones. But as he was a Protestant, the priest was
much opposed to him, and every effort was made by that priest to induce my
relatives to take me away from that school and send me to the one under his
care.
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 afterwards
placed at the head of the University of Laval, in Quebec, I had more
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 conclusions 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 meetings, 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 in 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 clock-maker, and lived honourably 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 sister,
who kept his house.
Every day that the weather was propitious, Brother Mark spent a couple of hours
in fishing, and I myself was 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
were 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 rivaled
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 on 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.
The pope had released the monks of the monastery to which he belonged, from
their vows of poverty and obedience. The consequence was that they could become
independent, and even rich by their own industry. It was in their power to rise
to a respectable position in the world by their honourable efforts. The pope
had given them the permission they wanted, that they might earn an honest
living. But what a strange and incredible folly to ask the permission of a pope
to be allowed to live honourably on the fruits of one's own industry!
These poor monks, having been released from their vows of obedience, were no
longer the slaves of a man; but were now permitted to go to heaven on the sole
condition that they would obey the laws of God and the laws of their country!
But into what a frightful abyss of degradation men must have fallen, to believe
that they required a license from Rome for such a purpose. This is,
nevertheless, the simple and naked truth. That excess of folly, and that
supreme impiety and degradation are among the fundamental dogmas of Rome. The
infallible pope assures the world that there is no possible salvation for any
one who does not sincerely believe what he teaches in this matter.
But the pope who had so graciously relieved the Canadian monks from their vows
of obedience and poverty, had been inflexible in reference to their vows of
celibacy. From this there was no relief.
The honest desires of the good monk to live according to the laws of God, with
a wife whom heaven might have given him, had become an impossibility the pope
vetoed it.
The unfortunate monk was bound to believe that he would be for ever damned if
he dared to accept as a gospel truth the Word of God which says:-
"Propter fornicationem autem, unusquisque uxorem suam habeat, unaquaque
virum suum habeat. (Vulgate Bible of Rome.) Nevertheless to avoid fornication
let every man have his own wife, and let every woman have her own
husband." (I Cor. vii. 2.) That shining light which the world contains and
which gives life to man, was entirely shut out from Brother Mark. He was not
allowed to know that God himself had said, "It is not good that man should
be alone, I will make him an help-meet for him" (Gen. ii. 18.) Brother
Mark was endowed with such a loving heart! He could not be known without being
loved; and he must have suffered much in that celibacy which his faith in the
pope had imposed upon him.
Far away from the regions of light, truth and life, that soul, tied to the feet
of the implacable modern Divinity, which the Romanists worship under the same
name of Sovereign Pontiff, was trying in vain to annihilate and destroy the
instincts and affections which God himself had implanted in him.
One day, as I was amusing myself, with a few other young friends, near the
house of Brother Mark, suddenly we saw something covered with blood thrown from
a window, and falling at a short distance from us. At the same instant we heard
loud cries, evidently coming from the monk's house: "O my God! Have mercy
upon me! Save me! I am lost!"
The sister of Brother Mark rushed out of doors and cried to some men who were
passing by: "Come to our help! My poor brother is dying! For God's sake
make haste, he is losing all his blood!"
I ran to the door, but the lady shut it abruptly and turned me out, saying,
"We do not want children here."
I had a sincere affection for the good brother. He had invariably been so kind
to me! I insisted, and respectfully requested to be allowed to enter. Though
young and weak, it seemed that my friendly feelings towards the suffering
brother would add to my strength, and enable me to be of some service. But my
request was sternly rejected, and I had to go back to the street, among the
crowd which was fast gathering. The singular mystery in which they were trying
to wrap the poor monk, filled me with trouble and anxiety.
But that trouble was soon changed into an unspeakable confusion when I heard
the convulsive laughing of the low people, and the shameful jokes of the crowd,
after the doctor had told the nature of the wound which was causing the
unfortunate man to bleed almost to death. I was struck with such horror that I
fled away; I did not want to know any more of that tragedy. I had already known
too much!
Poor Brother Mark had ceased to be a man he had become an eunuch!
O cruel and godless church of Rome! How many souls hast thou deceived and
tortured! How many hearts hast thou broken with that celibacy which Satan alone
could invent! This unfortunate victim of a most degrading religion, did not,
however, die from his rash action: he soon recovered his usual health.
Having, meanwhile, ceased to visit him; some months later I was fishing along
the river in a very solitary place. The fish were abundant and I was completely
absorbed in catching them, when, on a sudden, I felt on my shoulder the gentle
pressure of a hand. It was Brother Mark's.
I thought I would faint through the opposite sentiments of surprise, of pain
and joy, which at the same time crossed my mind.
With an affectionate and trembling voice he said to me, "My dear child,
why do you not any more come to see me?"
I did not dare to look at him after he had addressed me those words. I liked
him on account of his acts of kindness to me. But the fatal hour when, in the street
before the door, I had suffered so much on his account that fatal hour was on
my heart as a mountain which I could not put away I could not answer him.
He then asked me again with the tone of a criminal who sues for mercy:
"Why is it, my dear child, that you do not come any longer to see me? you
know that I love you."
"Dear Brother Mark," I answered, "I will never forget your
kindness to me. I will for ever be grateful to you! I wish that it would be in
my power to continue, as formerly, to go and see you. But I cannot, and you
ought to know the reason why I cannot."
I had pronounced these words with downcast eyes. I was a child, with the
timidity and happy ignorance of a child. But the action of that unfortunate man
had struck me with such a horror that I could not entertain the idea of
visiting him any more.
He spent two or three minutes without saying a word, and without moving. But I
heard his sobs and his cries, and his cries were those of despair and anguish,
the like of which I have never heard since.
I could not contain myself any longer, I was suffocating with suppressed
emotion, and I would have fallen insensible to the ground if two streams of
tears had not burst from my eyes. Those tears did me good they did him good
also they told him that I was still his friend.
He took me in his arms and pressed me to his bosom his tears were mixed with
mine. But I could not speak the emotions of my heart were too much for my age.
I sat on a damp and cold stone in order not to faint. He fell on his knees by
my side.
Ah! if I were a painter I would make a most striking tableau of that scene. His
eyes, swollen and red with weeping, were raised to heaven, his hand lifted up
in the attitude of supplication: he was crying out with an accent which seemed
as though it would break my heart -
.
"Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! que je suis malheureux!"
My God! My God! what a wretched man am I!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The twenty-five years that I have been a priest of Rome, have revealed to me the
fact that the cries of desolation I heard that day, were but the echo of the
cries of desolation which go out from almost every nunnery, every parsonage and
every house where human beings are bound by the ties of Romish Celibacy.
God knows that I am a faithful witness of what my eyes have seen and my ears
have heard, when I say to the multitudes which the Church of Rome has bewitched
with her enchantments: Wherever there are nuns, monks and priests who live in
forced violation of the ways which God had appointed for man to walk in, there
are torrents of tears, there are desolated hearts, there are cries of anguish
and despair which say in the words of brother Mark:
.
"Oh! que je suis malheureux!"
Oh! how miserable and wretched I am!
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 3 Back to Top
No
words can express to those who have never had any experience in the matter, the
consternation, anxiety and shame of a poor Romish child, when he hears, for the
first time, his priest saying from the pulpit, in a grave and solemn tone,
"This week, you will send your children to confession. Make them
understand that this action is one of the most important of their lives, and
that for every one of them, it will decide their eternal happiness or misery.
Fathers and mothers, if, through your fault, or his own, your child is guilty
of a bad confession if he conceals his sins and commences lying to the priest,
who holds the place of God Himself, this sin is often irreparable. The devil
will take possession of his heart: he will become accustomed to lie to his
father confessor, or rather to Jesus Christ, of whom he is a representative.
His life will be a series of sacrileges; his death and eternity those of the
reprobate. Teach him, therefore, to examine thoroughly his actions, words and
thoughts, in order to confess without disguise."
I was in the church of St. Thomas when these words fell upon me like a
thunderbolt.
I had often heard my mother say, when at home and my aunt since I had come to
St. Thomas, that upon the first confession depended my eternal happiness or
misery. That week was, therefore, to decide about my eternity.
Pale and dismayed, I left the church, and returned to the house of my
relatives. I took my place at the table, but could not eat, so much was I troubled.
I went to my room for the purpose of commencing my examination of conscience
and to recall all my sinful actions, words, and thoughts. Although I was
scarcely over ten years of age, this task was really overwhelming for me. I
knelt down to pray to the Virgin Mary for help; but I was so much taken up with
the fear of forgetting something, and of making a bad confession, that I
muttered my prayers without the least attention to what I said. It became still
worse when I commenced counting my sins. My memory became confused, my head
grew dizzy; my heart beat with a rapidity which exhausted me, and my brow was
covered with perspiration. After a considerable length of time spent in those
painful efforts, I felt bordering on despair, from the fear that it was
impossible for me to remember everything. The night following was almost a
sleepless one; and when sleep did come, it could scarcely be called a sleep,
but a suffocating delirium. In a frightful dream, I felt as if I had been cast
into hell, for not having confessed all my sins to the priest. In the morning,
I awoke, fatigued and prostrated by the phantoms of that terrible night. In
similar troubles of mind were passed the three days which preceded my first
confession. I had constantly before me the countenance of that stern priest who
had never smiled upon me. He was present in my thoughts during the day, and in
my dreams during the night, as the minister of an angry God, justly irritated
against me on account of my sins. Forgiveness had indeed been promised to me,
on condition of a good confession; but my place had also been shown to me in
hell, if any confession was not as near perfection as possible. Now, my
troubled conscience told me that there were ninety-nine chances against one,
that my confession would be bad, whether by my own fault I forgot some sins, or
I was without that contrition of which I had heard so much, but the nature and
effects of which were a perfect chaos in my mind.
Thus it was that the cruel and perfidious Church of Rome took away from my
young heart the good and merciful Jesus, whose love and compassion had caused
me to shed tears of joy when I was beside my mother. The Saviour whom that
church made me to worship, through fear, was not the Saviour who called little
children unto Him, to bless them and take them in His arms. Her impious hands
were soon to torture and defile my childish heart, and place me at the feet of
a pale and severe looking man worthy representative of a pitiless God. I was
made to tremble with terror at the footstool of an implacable divinity, while
the gospel asked from me only tears of love and joy, shed at the feet of the
incomparable Friend of sinners. At length came the day of confession; or rather
of judgment and condemnation. I presented myself to the priest.
Mr. Loranger was no longer priest of St. Thomas. He had been succeeded by Mr.
Beaubien, who did not favour our school any more than his predecessor. He had
even taken upon himself to preach a sermon against the heretical school, by
which we had been excessively wounded. His want of love for us, however, I must
say, was fully reciprocated.
Mr. Beaubien had, then, the defect of lisping and stammering. This we often
turned into ridicule, and one of my favourite amusements was to imitate him,
which brought bursts of laughter from us all.
It had been necessary for me to examine myself upon the number of times I had
mocked him. This circumstance was not calculated to make my confession easier,
or more agreeable.
At last the dreaded moment came. I knelt at the side of my confessor. My whole
frame trembled. I repeated the prayer preparatory to confession, scarcely
knowing what I said, so much was I troubled by fear.
By the instructions which had been given us before confession, we had been made
to believe that the priest was the true representative yes, almost the
personification of Jesus Christ. The consequence was, that I believed my
greatest sin had been that of mocking the priest. Having always been told that
it was best to confess the greatest sin first, I commenced thus: "Father,
I accuse myself of having mocked a priest."
Scarcely had I uttered these words, "mocked a priest," when this
pretended representative of the humble Saviour, turning towards me, and looking
in my face in order to know me better, asked abruptly, "What priest did
you mock, my boy?" I would rather have chosen to cut out my tongue than to
tell him to his face who it was. I therefore kept silent for a while. By my
silence made him very nervous and almost angry. With a haughty tone of voice he
said, "What priest did you take the liberty of thus mocking?"
I saw that I had to answer. Happily his haughtiness had made me firmer and
bolder. I said, "Sir, you are the priest whom I mocked."
"But how many times did you take upon you to mock me, my boy?"
"I tried to find out," I answered, "but I never could."
"You must tell me how many times; for to mock one's own priest is a great
sin."
"It is impossible for me to give you the number of times," answered
I.
"Well, my child, I will help your memory by asking you questions. Tell me
the truth. Do you think you have mocked me ten times?"
"A great many times more, sir."
"Fifty times?"
"Many more still."
"A hundred times?"
"Say five hundred times, and perhaps more," answered I.
"Why, my boy, do you spend all your time in mocking me?"
"Not all; but unfortunately I do it very often."
"Well may you say unfortunately; for so to mock your priest, who holds the
place of our Lord Jesus Christ, is a great misfortune, and a great sin for you.
But tell me, my little boy, what reason have you for mocking me thus?"
In my examinations of conscience I had not foreseen that I should be obliged to
give the reasons for mocking the priest; and I was really thunderstruck by his
questions. I dared not answer, and I remained for a long time dumb, from the
shame that overpowered me. But with a harassing perseverance the priest
insisted upon my telling why I had mocked him; telling me that I should be
damned if I did not tell the whole truth. So I decided to speak, and said,
"I mocked you for several things."
"What made you first mock me?" continued the priest.
"I laughed at you because you lisped. Among our pupils of our school, it
often happens that we imitate your preaching to excite laughter."
"Have you often done that?"
"Almost every day,especially in our holidays, and since you preached
against us."
"For what other reasons did you laugh at me, my little boy?"
For a long time I was silent. Every time I opened my mouth to speak courage
failed me. However, the priest continuing to urge me, I said at last, "It
is rumoured in town that you love girls; that you visit the Misses Richards
every evening, and this often makes us laugh."
The poor priest was evidently overwhelmed by my answer, and ceased questioning
me on this subject. Changing the conversation, he said:
"What are your other sins?"
I began to confess them in the order in which they came to my memory. But the
feeling of shame which overpowered me in repeating all my sins to this man was
a thousand times greater than that of having offended God. In reality this
feeling of human shame which absorbed my thought nay, my whole being left no
room for any religious feeling at all.
When I had confessed all the sins I could remember, the priest began to ask me
the strangest questions on matters about which my pen must be silent. I
replied, "Father, I do not understand what you ask me."
"I question you on the sixth commandment (seventh in the Bible). Confess
all. You will go to hell, if through your fault you omit anything."
Thereupon he dragged my thoughts to regions which, thank God, had hitherto been
unknown to me.
I answered him: "I do not understand you," or "I have never done
these things."
Then, skillfully shifting to some secondary matter, he would soon slyly and
cunningly come back to his favourite subject, namely, sins of licentiousness.
His questions were so unclean that I blushed, and felt sick with disgust and
shame. More than once I had been, to my regret, in the company of bad boys; but
not one of them had offended my moral nature so much as this priest had done.
Not one of them had ever approached the shadow of the things from which that
man tore the veil, and which he placed before the eye of my soul. In vain did I
tell him that I was not guilty of such things; that I did not even understand
what he asked me; he would not let me off. Like the vulture bent upon tearing
the poor bird that falls into his claws, that cruel priest seemed determined to
defile and ruin my heart.
At last he asked me a question in a form of expression so bad that I was really
pained. I felt as if I had received a shock from an electric battery; a feeling
of horror made me shudder. I was so filled with indignation that speaking loud
enough to be heard by many, I told him: "Sir, I am very wicked; I have
seen, heard and done many things which I regret; but I never was guilty of what
you mention to me. My ears have never heard anything so wicked as what they
have heard from your lips. Please do not ask me any more of those questions; do
not teach me any more evil than I already know."
The remainder of my confession was short. The firmness of my voice had
evidently frightened the priest, and made him blush. He stopped short and began
to give me some good advice, which might have been useful to me if the deep
wounds which his questions had inflicted upon my soul had not so absorbed my
thoughts as to prevent me from giving attention to what he said.
He gave me a short penance and dismissed me.
I left the confessional irritated and confused. From the shame of what I had
just heard from the mouth of that priest I dared not life my eyes from the
ground. I went into a retired corner of the church to do my penance; that is,
to recite the prayers he had indicated to me. I remained for a long time in
church. I had need of a calm after the terrible trial through which I had just
passed. But vainly sought I for rest. The shameful questions which had been
asked me, the new world of iniquity into which I had been introduced, the impure
phantoms by which my childish heart had been defiled, confused and troubled my
mind so strangely that I began to weep bitterly.
Why those tears? Why that desolation? Wept I over my sins? Alas! I confess it
was shame, my sins did not call forth these tears. And yet how many sins had I
already committed, for which Jesus shed His precious blood. But I confess my
sins were not the cause of my desolation. I was rather thinking of my mother,
who had taken such good care of me, and who had so well succeeded in keeping
away from my thoughts those impure forms of sin, the thoughts of which had just
now defiled my heart. I said to myself, "Ah! if my mother had heard those
questions; if she could see the evil thoughts which overwhelm me at this moment
if she knew to what school she sent me when she advised me in her last letter
to go to confession, how her tears would mingle with mine!" It seemed to
me that my mother would love me not more that she would see written upon my
brow the pollution with which that priest had profaned my soul.
Perhaps the feeling of pride was what made me weep. Or perhaps I wept because
of a remnant of that feeling of original dignity whose traces had still been
left in me. I felt so downcast by the disappointment of being removed farther from
the Saviour by that confessional which had promised to bring me nearer to Him.
God only knows what was the depth of my sorrow at feeling myself more defiled
and more guilty after than before my confession.
I left the church only when forced to do so by the shades of night, and came to
my uncle's house with that feeling of uneasiness caused by the consciousness of
having done a bad action, and by the fear of being discovered.
Though this uncle, as well as most of the principal citizens of the village of
St. Thomas, had the name of being a Roman Catholic, he yet did not believe a
word of the doctrines of the Roman Church. He laughed at the priests, their
masses, their purgatory, and especially their confession. He did not conceal
that, when young, he had been scandalized by the words and actions of a priest
in the confessional. He spoke to me jestingly. This increased my trouble and my
grief. "Now," said he, "you will be a good boy. But if you have
heard as many new things as I did the first time I went to confess, you are a
very learned boy;" and he burst into laughter.
I blushed and remained silent. My aunt, who was a devoted Roman Catholic, said
to me, "Your heart is relieved, is it not, since you confessed all your
sins?" I gave her an evasive answer, but I could not conceal the sadness
that overcame me. I thought I was the only one from whom the priest had asked
those polluting questions. But great was my surprise, on the following day,
when going to school I learned that my fellow pupils had not been happier than
I had been. The only difference was, that instead of being grieved, they
laughed at it. "Did the priest ask you such and such questions?" they
would demand, laughing boisterously. I refused to reply, and said, "Are
you not ashamed to speak of these things?"
"Ah! ah! how very scrupulous you are," continued they. "If it is
not a sin for the priest to speak to us on these matters, how can it be a sin
for us?" I stopped, confounded, not knowing what to say.
I soon perceived that even the young schoolgirls had not been less polluted and
scandalized by the questions of the priest than the boys. Although keeping at a
distance, such as to prevent us from hearing all they said, I could understand
enough to convince me that they had been asked about the same questions. Some
of them appeared indignant, while others laughed heartily.
I should be misunderstood where it supposed that I mean to convey the idea that
this priest was more to blame than others, or that he did more than fulfill the
duties of his ministry in asking these questions. Such, however, was my opinion
at the time, and I detested that man with all my heart until I knew better. I
had been unjust towards him, for this priest had only done his duty. He was
only obeying the pope and his theologians. His being a priest of Rome was,
therefore, less in crime than his misfortune. He was, as I have been myself,
bound hand and foot at the feet of the greatest enemy that the holiness and
truth of God have ever had on earth the pope.
The misfortune of Mr. Beaubien, like that of all the priests of Rome, was that
of having bound himself by terrible oaths not to think for himself, or to use
the light of his own reason.
Many Roman Catholics, even many Protestants, refuse to believe this. It is,
notwithstanding, a sad truth. The priest of Rome is an automaton a machine
which acts, thinks and speaks in matters of morals and of faith, only according
to the order and the will of the pope and of his theologians.
Had Mr. Beaubien been left to himself, he was naturally too much of a gentleman
to ask such questions. But no doubt he had read Liguori, Dens, Debreyne,
authors approved by the pope, and he was obliged to take darkness for light,
and vice for virtue.
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 4 Back to Top
Shortly
after the trial of auricular confession, my young friend, Louis Cazeault,
accosted me on a beautiful morning and said, "Do you know what happened
last night?"
"No," I answered. "What was the wonder?"
"You know that our priest spends almost all his evenings at Mr. Richard's
house. Everybody thinks that he goes there for the sake of the two daughters.
Well, in order to cure him of that disease, my uncle, Dr. Tache, and six
others, masked, whipped him without mercy and he was coming back at eleven
o'clock at night. It is already known by everyone in the village, and they
split their sides with laughing."
My first feeling on hearing that news was one of joy. Ever since my first
confession I felt angry every time I thought of that priest. His questions had
so wounded me that I could not forgive him. I had enough self-control, however,
to conceal my pleasure, and I answered my friend:
"You are telling me a wicked story; I can't believe a word of it."
"Well," said young Cazeault, "come at eight o'clock this evening
to my uncle's. A secret meeting is to take place then. No doubt they will speak
of the pill given to the priest last night. We shall place ourselves in our
little room as usual and shall hear everything, our presence not being suspected.
You may be sure that it will be interesting."
"I will go," I answered, "but I do not believe a word of that
story."
I went to school at the usual hour. Most of the pupils had preceded me. Divided
into groups of eight or ten, they were engaged in a most lively conversation.
Bursts of convulsive laughter were heard from every corner. I could very well
see that something uncommon had taken place in the village.
I approached several of these groups, and all received me with the question:
"Do you know that the priest was whipped last night as he was coming from
the Misses Richards'?"
"That is a story invented for fun," said I. "You were not there
to see him, were you? You therefore know nothing about it; for it anybody had
whipped the priest he would not surely boast of it."
"But we heard his screams," answered many voices.
"What! was he then screaming out?" I asked.
"He shouted out at the top of his voice, `Help, help! Murder!'"
"But you were surely mistaken about the voice," said I. "It was
not the priest who shouted, it was somebody else. I could never believe that
anybody would whip a priest in such a crowded village."
"But," said several, "we ran to his help and we recognized the
priest's voice. He is the only one who lisps in the village."
"And we saw him with our own eyes," said several.
The school bell put an end to this conversation. As soon as school was out I
returned to the house of my relatives, not wishing to learn any more about this
matter. Although I did not like this priest, yet I was much mortified by some
remarks which the older pupils made about him.
But it was difficult not to hear any more. On my arrival home I found my uncle
and aunt engaged in a very warm debate on the subject. My uncle wished to
conceal the fact that he was among those who had whipped him. But he gave the
details so precisely, he was so merry over the adventure, that it was easy to
see that he had a hand in the plot. My aunt was indignant, and used the most
energetic expressions to show her disapprobation.
That bitter debate annoyed me so that I did not stay long to hear it all. I
withdrew to my study.
During the remainder of the day I changed my resolution many times about my
going to the secret meeting in the evening. At one moment I would decide firmly
not to go. My conscience told me that, as usual, things would be uttered which
it was not good for me to her. I had refused to go to the two last meetings,
and a silent voice, as it were, told me I had done well. Then a moment after I
was tormented by the desire to know precisely what had taken place the evening
before. The flagellation of a priest in the midst of a large village was a fact
too worthy of note to fail to excite the curiosity of a child. Besides, my
aversion to the priest, though I concealed it as well as I could, made me wish
to know whether everything was true on the subject of the chastisement. But in
the struggle between good and evil which took place in my mind during that day,
the evil was finally to triumph. A quarter of an hour before the meeting my
friend came to me and said:
"Make haste, the members of the association are coming."
At this call all my good resolutions vanished. I hushed the voice of my
conscience, and a few minutes later I was placed in an angle of that little
room, where for more than two hours I learned so many strange and scandalous
things about the lives of the priests of Canada.
Dr. Tache presided. He opened the meeting in a low tone of voice. At the
beginning of his discourse I had some difficulty to understand what he said. He
spoke as one who feared to be overheard when disclosing a secret to a friend.
But after a few preliminary sentences he forgot the rule of prudence which he
had imposed upon himself, and spoke with energy and power.
Mr. Etienne Tache was naturally eloquent. He seemed to speak on no question
except under the influence of the deepest conviction of its truth. His speech
was passionate, and the tone of his voice clear and agreeable. His short and
cutting sentences did not reach the ear only: they penetrated even the secret
folds of the soul. He spoke in substance as follows:
"Gentlemen, I am happy to see you here more numerously than ever. The
grave events of last night have, no doubt, decided many of you to attend
debates which some began to forsake, but the importance of which, it seems to
me, increases day by day.
"The question debated in our last meeting `The Priests' is one of life and
death, not only for our young and beautiful Canada, but in a moral point of
view it is a question of life and death for our families, and for every one of
us in particular.
"There is, I know, only one opinion among us on the subject of priests;
and I am glad that this opinion is not only that of all educated men in Canada,
but also of learned France nay, of the whole world. The reign of the priest is
the reign of ignorance, of corruption, and of the most barefaced immorality,
under the mask of the most refined hypocrisy. The reign of the priest is the
death of our schools; it is the degradation of our wives, the prostitution of
our daughters; it is the reign of tyranny the loss of liberty.
"We have only one good school, I will not say in St. Thomas, but in all
our county. This school in our midst is a great honour to our village. Now see
the energy with which all the priests who come here work for the closing of
that school. They use every means to destroy that focus of light which we have
started with so much difficulty, and which we support by so many sacrifices.
"With the priest of Rome our children do not belong to us: he is their
master. Let me explain. The priest honours us with the belief that the bodies,
the flesh and bones of our children, are ours, and that our duty in consequence
is to clothe and feed them. But the nobler and more sacred part, namely, the
intellect, the heart, the soul, the priest claims as his own patrimony, his own
property. The priest has the audacity to tell us that to him alone it belongs
to enlighten those intelligences, to form those hearts, to fashion those souls
as it may best suit him. He has the impudence to tell us that we are too silly
or perverse to know our duties in this respect. We have not the right of
choosing our school teachers. We have not the right to send a single ray of
light into those intellects, or to give to those souls who hunger and thirst
after truth a single crumb of that food prepared with so much wisdom and
success by enlightened men of all ages.
"By the confessional the priests poison the springs of life in our
children. They initiate them into such mysteries of iniquity as would terrify
old galley slaves. By their questions they reveal to them secrets of a
corruption such as carries its germs of death into the very marrow of their
bones, and that from the earliest years of their infancy. Before I was fifteen
years old I had learned more real blackguardism from the mouth of my confessor
than I have learned ever since, in my studies and in my life as a physician for
twenty years.
"A few days ago I questioned my little nephew, Louis Cazeault, upon what
he had learned in his confession. He answered me ingenuously, and repeated
things to me which I would be ashamed to utter in your presence, and which you,
fathers of families, could not listen to without blushing. And just think, that
not only of little boys are those questions asked, but also of our dear little
girls. Are we not the most degraded of men if we do not set ourselves to work
in order to break the iron yoke under which the priest keeps our dear country,
and by means of which he keeps us, with our wives and children, at his feet
like vile slaves.
"While speaking to you of the deleterious effects of the confessional upon
our children, shall I forget its effects upon our wives and upon ourselves?
Need I tell you that, for most women, the confessional is a rendezvous of
coquetry and of love? Do you not feel as I do myself, that by means of the
confessional the priest is more the master of the hearts of our wives than
ourselves? Is not the priest the private and public confidant of our wives? Do
not our wives go invariably to the feet of the priest, opening to him what is
most sacred and intimate in the secrets of our lives as husbands and as
fathers? The husband belongs no more to his wife as her guide through the dark
and difficult paths of life: it is the priest! We are no more their friends and
natural advisers. Their anxieties and their cares they do not confide to us.
They do not expect from us the remedies for the miseries of this life. Towards
the priest they turn their thoughts and desires. He has their entire and
exclusive confidence. In a word, it is the priest who is the real husband of
our wives! It is he who has the possession of their respect and of their hearts
to a degree to which no one of us need ever aspire!
"Were the priest an angel, were he not made of flesh and bones just as we
are, were not his organization absolutely the same as our own, then might we be
indifferent to what might take place between him and our wives, whom he has at
his feet, in his hands even more, in his heart. But what does my experience
tell me, not only as a physician, but also as a citizen of St. Thomas? What
does yours tell you? Our experience tells us that the priest, instead of being
stronger, is weaker than we generally are with respect to women.
His sham vows of perfect chastity, far from rendering him more invulnerable to
the arrows of Cupid, expose him to be made more easily the victim of that god,
so small in form, but so dreadful a giant by the irresistible power of his
weapons and the extent of his conquests.
"As a matter of fact, of the last four priest who came to St. Thomas, have
not three seduced many of the wives and daughters of our most respectable
families? And what security have we that the priest who is now with us does not
walk in the same path? Is not the whole parish filled with indignation at the
long nightly visits made by him to two girls whose dissolute morals are a
secret to nobody? And when the priest does not respect himself, would we not be
silly in continuing to give him that respect of which he himself knows he is
unworthy?
"At out last meeting the opinions were divided at the beginning of the
discussion. Many thought it would be well to speak to the bishop about the
scandal caused by those nightly visits. But the majority judged that such steps
would be useless, since the bishop would do one of two things, namely, he would
either pay no attention to our just complaints, as has often been the case, or
he would remove this priest, filling his place with one who would do no better.
That majority, which became a unanimity, acceded to my thought of taking
justice into our own hands. The priest is our servant. We pay him a large
tithe. We have therefore claims upon him. He has abused us, and does so every
day by his public neglect of the most elementary laws of morality. In visiting
every night that house whose degradation is known to everybody, he gives to
youth an example of perversity the effects of which no one can estimate.
"It had been unanimously decided that he should be whipped. Without my
telling you by whom it was done, you may be assured that Mr. Beaubien's
flagellation of last night will never be forgotten by him!
"Heaven grant that this brotherly correction be a lesson to teach all the
priests of Canada that their golden reign is over, that the eyes of the people
are opened, and that their domination is drawing to an end!"
This discourse was listened to with deep silence, and Dr. Tache saw by the
applause that followed that his speech had been the expression of every one.
Next followed a gentleman named Dubord, who in substance spoke as follows:
"Mr. President, I was not among those who gave the priest the expression
of public feeling with the energetic tongue of the whip. I wish I had been,
however; I would heartily have co-operated in giving that lesson to the priest
of Canada. Let me give my reason.
"My daughter who is twelve years old, went to confession as did the others
a few weeks ago. It was against my will. I know by my own experience that of
all actions confession is the most degrading in a person's life. I can imagine
nothing so well calculated to destroy for every one's self-respect as the
modern invention of the confessional. Now, what is a person without
self-respect especially a woman? Without this all is lost to her for ever.
"In the confessional everything is corruption of the lowest grade.
"In the confessional, a girl's thoughts are polluted, her tongue is
polluted, her heart is polluted yes, and forever polluted! Do I need to tell
you this? You know it as well as I do. Though you are now all too intelligent
to degrade yourselves at the feet of a priest, though it is long since you have
been guilty of that meanness, not one of you have forgotten the lessons of
corruption received, when young, in the confessional. Those lessons were
engraved on your memory, your thoughts, your heart, and your souls like the
scar left by the red-hot iron upon the brow of the slave, to remain a perpetual
witness of his shame and servitude. The confessional is a place where one gets
accustomed to hear, and repeat without a scruple, things which would cause even
a prostitute to blush!
"Why are Roman Catholic nations inferior to nations belonging to
Protestantism? Only in the confessional can the solution of that problem be found.
And why are Roman Catholic nations degraded in proportion to their submission
to the priest? It is because the oftener the individuals composing those
nations go to confession, the more rapidly they sink in the scale of
intelligence and morality. A terrible example of this I had in my own house.
"As I said a moment ago, I was against my daughter going to confession;
but her poor mother, who is under the control of the priest, earnestly wanted
her to go. Not to have a disagreeable scene in my house, I had to yield to the
tears of my wife.
"On the day following that of her confession they believed I was absent;
but I was in my office, with the door sufficiently open to allow me to hear
what was said. My wife and daughter had the following conversation:
"`What makes you so thoughtful and sad, my dear Lucy, since you went to
confession? It seems to me you should feel happier since you had the privilege
of confession your sins.'
"Lucy made no answer.
"After a silence of two or three minutes her mother said:
"`Why do you weep, dear child? Are you ill?'
"Still no answer from the child.
"You may well suppose that I was all attention. I had my suspicions about
the dreadful ordeal which had taken place. My heart throbbed with uneasiness
and anger.
"After a short time my wife spoke to her child with sufficient firmness to
force her to answer. In a trembling voice and half suppressed with sobs my dear
little daughter answered:
"`Ah! mamma, if you knew what the priest asked me, and what he said to me
in the confessional, you would be as sad as I am.'
"`But what did he say to you? He is a holy man. You surely did not
understand him if you think he said anything to pain you.'
"`Dear mother,' as she threw herself into her mother's arms, `do not ask
me to confess what the priest said! He told to me things so shameful that I
cannot repeat them. But that which pains me most is the impossibility of
banishing from my thoughts the hateful things which he has taught me. His
impure words are like the leeches put upon the chest of my friend Louise they
could not be removed without tearing the flesh. What must have been his opinion
of me to ask such questions!'
"My child said no more, and began to sob again.
"After a short silence my wife rejoined:
"`I'll go to the priest. I'll tell him to beware how he speaks in the
confessional. I have noticed myself that he goes too far with his questions. I,
however thought that he was more prudent with children. After the lesson that
I'll give him, be sure that you will have only to tell your sins, and that you
will be no more troubled by his endless questions. I ask of you, however, never
to speak of this to anybody, especially never let your poor father know
anything about it; for he has little enough religion already, and this would
leave him without any at all.'
"I could contain myself no longer. I rose and abruptly entered the
parlour. My daughter threw herself, weeping, into my arms. My wife screamed
with terror, and almost fell into a swoon. I said to my child:
"If you love me, put your hand on my heart and promise me that you'll
never go to confession again. Fear God, my child; walk in His presence, for His
eye seeth you everywhere. Remember that day and night He is ready to forgive
us. Never place yourself again at the feet of a priest to be defiled and
degraded by him!
"This my daughter promised me.
"When my wife had recovered from her surprise I said to her:
"Madam, for a long time the priest has been everything, and your husband
nothing to you. There is a hidden and terrible power that governs your thoughts
and affections as it governs your deeds-- it is the power of the priest. This
you have often denied; but providence has decided to-day that this power should
be for ever broken for you and for me. I want to be the ruler in my own house;
and from this moment the power of the priest over you must cease, unless you
prefer to leave my house for ever. The priest has reigned here too long! But
now that I know he has stained and defiled the soul of my daughter, his empire
must fall! Whenever you go and take your heart and secrets to the feet of the
priest, be so kind as not to come back to the same house with me."
Three other discourses followed that of Mr. Dubord, all of which were pregnant
with details and facts going to prove that the confessional was the principal
cause of the deplorable demoralisation of St. Thomas.
If, in addition to all that, I could have mentioned before that association
what I already know of the corrupting influences of that institution given to
the world by centuries of darkness, certainly the determination of its members
to make use of every means to abolish the usage would have been strengthened.
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 5 Back to Top
The
day following that of the meeting at which Mr. Tache had given his reasons for
boasting that he had whipped the priest, I wrote to my mother: "For God's
sake, come for me; I can stay here no longer. If you knew what my eyes have
seen and my ears have heard for some time past, you would not delay your coming
a single day."
Indeed, such was the impression left upon me by that flagellation, and by the
speeches which I had heard, that had it not been for the crossing of the St.
Lawrence, I would have started for Murray Bay on the day after the secret
meeting at which I had heard things that so terribly frightened me. How I
regretted the happy and peaceful days spent with my mother in reading the
beautiful chapters of the Bible, so well chosen by her to instruct and interest
me! What a difference there was between our conversations after these readings,
and the conversations I heard at St. Thomas!
Happily my parents' desire to see me again was as great as mine to go back to
them. So that a few weeks later my mother came for me. She pressed me to her heart,
and brought me back to the arms of my father.
I arrived at home on the 17th of July, 1821, and spent the afternoon and
evening till late by my father's side. With what pleasure did he see me working
difficult problems in algebra, and even in geometry! for under my teacher, Mr.
Jones, I had really made rapid progress in those branches. More than once I
noticed tears of joy in my father's eyes when, taking my slate, he saw that my
calculations were correct. He also examined me in grammar. "What an admirable
teacher this Mr. Jones must be," he would say, "to have advanced a
child so much in the short space of fourteen months!"
How sweet to me, but how short, were those hours of happiness passed between my
good mother and my father! We had family worship. I read the fifteenth chapter
of Luke, the return of the prodigal son. My mother then sang a hymn of joy and
gratitude, and I went to bed with my heart full of happiness to take the
sweetest sleep of my life. But, O God! what an awful awakening Thou hadst prepared
for me!
About four o'clock in the morning heartrending screams fell upon my ear. I
recognized my mother's voice.
"What is the matter, dear mother?"
"Oh, my dear child, you have no more a father! He is dead!"
In saying these words she lost consciousness and fell on the floor!
While a friend who had passed the night with us gave her proper care, I
hastened to my father's bed. I pressed him to my heart, I kissed him, I covered
him with my tears, I moved his head, I pressed his hands, I tried to lift him
up on his pillow: I could not believe that he was dead! It seemed to me that
even if dead he would come back to life that God could not thus take my father
away from me at the very moment when I had come back to him after so long an
absence! I knelt to pray to God for the life of my father. But my tears and
cries were useless. He was dead! He was already cold as ice!
Two days after he was buried. My mother was so overwhelmed with grief that she
could not follow the funeral procession. I remained with her as her only
earthly support. Poor mother! How many tears thou hast shed! What sobs came
from thine afflicted heart in those days of supreme grief!
Though I was very young, I could understand the greatness of our loss, and I
mingled my tears with those of my mother.
What pen can portray what takes place in the heart of a woman when God takes
suddenly her husband away in the prime of his life, and leaves her alone,
plunged in misery, with three small children, two of whom are even too young to
know their loss! How long are the hours of the day for the poor widow who is
left alone, and without means, among strangers! How painful the sleepless night
to the heart which has lost everything! How empty a house is left by the
eternal absence of him who was its master, support, and father! Every object in
the house and every step she takes remind her of her loss and sinks the sword
deeper which pierces her heart. Oh, how bitter are the tears which flow from
her eyes when her youngest child, who as yet does not understand the mystery of
death, throws himself into her arms and says: "Mamma, where is papa? Why
does he not come back? I am lonely!"
My poor mother passed through those heartrending trials. I heard her sobs
during the long hours of the day, and also during the longer hours of the
night. Many times I have seen her fall upon her knees to implore God to be
merciful to her and to her three unhappy orphans. I could do nothing then to
comfort her, but love her, pray and weep with her!
Only a few days had elapsed after the burial of my father when I saw Mr.
Courtois, the parish priest, coming to our house (he who had tried to take away
our Bible from us). He had the reputation of being rich, and as we were poor
and unhappy since my father's death, my first thought was that he had come to
comfort and to help us. I could see that my mother had the same hopes. She
welcomed him as an angel from heaven. The least gleam of hope is so sweet to
one who is unhappy!
From his very first words, however, I could see that our hopes were not to be
realized. He tried to be sympathetic, and even said something about the
confidence that we should have in God, especially in times of trial; but his
words were cold and dry.
Turning to me, he said:
"Do you continue to read the Bible, my little boy?"
"Yes, sir," answered I, with a voice trembling with anxiety, for I
feared that he would make another effort to take away that treasure, and I had
no longer a father to defend it.
Then, addressing my mother, he said:
"Madam, I told you that it was not right for you or your child to read
that book."
My mother cast down her eyes, and answered only by the tears which ran down her
cheeks.
That question was followed by a long silence, and the priest then continued:
"Madam, there is something due for the prayers which have been sung, and
the services which you requested to be offered for the repose of your husband's
soul. I will be very much obliged to you if you pay me that little debt."
"Mr. Courtis," answered my mother, "my husband left me nothing
but debts. I have only the work of my own hands to procure a living for my
three children, the eldest of whom is before you. For these little orphans'
sake, if not for mine, do not take from us the little that is left."
"But, madam, you do not reflect. Your husband died suddenly and without
any preparation; he is therefore in the flames of purgatory. If you want him to
be delivered, you must necessarily unite your personal sacrifices to the
prayers of the Church and the masses which we offer."
"As I said, my husband has left me absolutely without means, and it is
impossible for me to give you any money," replied my mother.
"But, madam, your husband was for a long time the only notary of Mal Bay.
He surely must have made much money. I can scarcely think that he has left you
without any means to help him now that his desolation and sufferings are far
greater than yours."
"My husband did indeed coin much money, but he spent still more. Thanks to
God, we have not been in want while he lived. But lately he got this house
built, and what is still due on it makes me fear that I will lose it. He also
bought a piece of land not long ago, only half of which is paid and I will,
therefore, probably not be able to keep it. Hence I may soon, with my poor orphans,
be deprived of everything that is left us. In the meantime I hope, sir, that
you are not a man to take away from us our last piece of bread."
"But, madam, the masses offered for the rest of your husband's soul must
be paid for," answered the priest.
My mother covered her face with her handkerchief and wept.
As for me, I did not mingle my tears with hers this time. My feelings were not
those of grief, but of anger and unspeakable horror. My eyes were fixed on the
face of that man who tortured my mother's heart. I looked with tearless eyes
upon the man who added to my mother's anguish, and made her weep more bitterly
than ever. My hands were clenched, as if ready to strike. All my muscles
trembled; my teeth chattered as if from intense cold. My greatest sorrow was my
weakness in the presence of that big man, and my not being able to send him
away from our house, and driving him far away from my mother.
I felt inclined to say to him: "Are you not ashamed, you who are so rich,
to come to take away the last piece of bread from our mouths?" But my
physical and moral strength were not sufficient to accomplish the task before
me, and I was filled with regret and disappointment.
After a long silence, my mother raised her eyes, reddened with tears, towards the
priest and said:
"Sir, you see that cow in the meadow, not far from our house? Her milk and
the butter made from it form the principal part of my children's food. I hope
you will not take her away from us. If, however, such a sacrifice must be made
to deliver my poor husband's soul from purgatory, take her as payment of the
masses to be offered to extinguish those devouring flames."
The priest instantly arose, saying, "Very well, madam," and went out.
Our eyes anxiously followed him; but instead of walking towards the little gate
which was in front of the house, he directed his steps towards the meadow, and
drove the cow before him in the direction of his home.
At that sight I screamed with despair: "Oh, my mother! he is taking our
cow away! What will become of us?"
Lord Nairn had given us that splendid cow when it was three months old. Her
mother had been brought from Scotland, and belonged to one of the best breeds
of that country. I fed her with my own hands, and had often shared my bread
with her. I loved her as a child always loves an animal which he has brought up
himself. She seemed to understand and love me also. From whatever distance she
could see me, she would run to me to receive my caresses, and whatever else I
might have to give her. My mother herself milked her; and her rich milk was
such delicious and substantial food for us.
My mother also cried out with grief as she saw the priest taking away the only
means heaven had left her to feed her children.
Throwing myself into her arms, I asked her: "Why have you given away our
cow? What will become of us? We shall surely die of hunger?"
"Dear child," she answered. "I did not think the priest would be
so cruel as to take away the last resource which God had left us. Ah! if I had
believed him to be so unmerciful I would never have spoken to him as I did. As
you say, my dear child, what will become of us? But have you not often read to
me in your Bible that God is the Father of the widow and the orphan? We shall
pray to that God who is willing to be your father and mine: He will listen to
us, and see our tears. Let us kneel down and ask Him to be merciful to us, and
to give us back the support which the priest deprived us."
We both knelt down. She took my right hand with her left, and, lifting the
other hand towards heaven, she offered a prayer to the God of mercies for her
poor children such as I have never since heard. Her words were often choked by
her sobs. But when she could not speak with her voice, she spoke with her
burning eyes raised to heaven, and with her hand uplifted. I also prayed to God
with her, and repeated her words, which were broken by my sobs.
When her prayer was ended she remained for a long time pale and trembling. Cold
sweat was flowing on her face, and she fell on the floor. I thought she was
going to die. I ran for cold water, which I gave her, saying: "Dear
mother! Oh, do not leave me alone upon earth!" After drinking a few drops
she felt better, and taking my hand, she put it to her trembling lips; then drawing
me near her, and pressing me to her bosom, she said: "Dear child, if ever
you become a priest, I ask of you never to be so hard-hearted towards poor
widows as are the priests of today." When she said these words, I felt her
burning tears falling upon my cheek.
The memory of these tears has never left me. I felt them constantly during the
twenty-five years I spent in preaching the inconceivable superstitions of Rome.
I was not better, naturally, than many of the other priests. I believed, as
they did, the impious fables of purgatory; and as well as they (I confess it to
my shame), if I refused to take, or if I gave back the money of the poor, I
accepted the money which the rich gave me for the masses I said to extinguish
the flames of that fabulous place. But the remembrance of my mother's words and
tears has kept me from being so cruel and unmerciful towards the poor widows as
Romish priests are, for the most part, obliged to be.
When my heart, depraved by the false and impious doctrines of Rome, was tempted
to take money from widows and orphans, under pretense of my long prayers, I
then heard the voice of my mother, from the depth of her sepulchre, saying,
"My dear child, do not be cruel towards poor widows and orphans, as are
the priests of today." If, during the days of my priesthood at Quebec, at
Beauport, and Kamarouska, I have given almost all that I had to feed and clothe
the poor, especially the widows and orphans, it was not owing to my being
better than others, but it was because my mother had spoken to me with words
never to be forgotten. The Lord, I believe, had put into my mother's mouth
those words, so simple but so full of eloquence and beauty, as one of His great
mercies towards me. Those tears the hand of Rome has never been able to wipe
off: those words of my mother the sophisms of Popery could not make me forget.
How long, O Lord, shall that insolent enemy of the gospel, the Church of Rome,
be permitted to fatten herself upon the tears of the widow and of the orphan by
means of that cruel and impious invention of paganism purgatory? Wilt Thou not
be merciful unto so many nations which are still the victims of that great
imposture? Oh, do remove the veil which covers the eyes of the priests and
people of Rome, as Thou hast removed it from mine! Make them to understand that
their hopes of purification must not rest on these fabulous fires, but only on
the blood of the Lamb shed on Calvary to save the world.
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CHAPTER 6 Back to Top
God
had heard the poor widow's prayer. A few days after the priest had taken our
cow she received a letter from each of her two sisters, Genevieve and
Catherine.
The former, who was married to Etienne Eschenbach, of St. Thomas, told her to
sell all she had and come, with her children, to live with her.
"We have no family," she said, "and God has given us the good
things of this life in abundance. We shall be happy to share them with you and
your children."
The latter, married in Kamouraska to the Hon. Amaable Dionne wrote: "We
have learned the sad news of your husband's death. We have lately lost our only
son. We wish to fill the vacant place with Charles, your eldest. Send him to
us. We shall bring him up as our own child, and before long he will be your
support. In the meantime, sell by auction all you have, and go to St. Thomas
with your two younger children. There Genevieve and myself will supply your
wants."
In a few days all our furniture was sold. Unfortunately, though I had carefully
concealed my cherished Bible, it disappeared. I could never discover what
became of it. Had mother herself, frightened by the threats of the priest,
relinquished that treasure? or had some of our relatives, believing it to be
their duty, destroyed it? I do not know. I deeply felt that loss, which was then
irreparable to me.
On the following day, in the midst of bitter tears and sobs, I bade farewell to
my poor mother and young brothers. They went to St. Thomas on board a schooner,
and I crossed in a sloop to Kamouraska.
My uncle and aunt Dionne welcomed me with every mark of the most sincere
affection. Having soon made known to them that I wished to become a priest, I
begun to study Latin under the direction of Rev. Mr. Morin, vicar of
Kamouraska. That priest was esteemed to be a learned man. He was about forty or
fifty years old, and had been priest of a parish in the district of Montreal.
But, as is the case with the majority of priests, his vows of celibacy had not
proved a sufficient guarantee against the charms of one of his beautiful
parishioners. This had caused a great scandal. He consequently lost his
position, and the bishop had sent him to Kamouraska, where his past conduct was
not so generally known. He was very good to me, and I soon loved him with
sincere affection.
One day, about the beginning of the year 1882, he called me aside and said:
"Mr. Varin (the parish priest) is in the habit of giving a great festival
on his birthday. Now, the principal citizens of the village wish on that
occasion to present him with a bouquet. I am appointed to write an address, and
to choose some one to deliver it before the priest. You are the one whom I have
chosen. What do you think of it?"
"But I am very young," I replied.
"Your youth will only give more interest to what we wish to say and
do," said the priest.
"Well, I have no objection to do so, provided the piece be not too long,
and that I have it sufficiently soon to learn it well."
It was already prepared. The time of delivering it soon came. The best society
of Kamouraska, composed of about fifteen gentlemen and as many ladies, were
assembled in the beautiful parlours of the parsonage. Mr. Varin was in their
midst. Suddenly Squire Paschal Tache, the seigneur of the parish, and his lady
entered the room, holding me by each hand, and placed me in the midst of the
guests. My head was crowned with flowers, for I was to represent the angel of
the parish, whom the people had chosen to give to their pastor the expression
of public admiration and gratitude. When the address was finished, I presented
to the priest the beautiful bouquet of symbolical flowers prepared by the
ladies for the occasion.
Mr. Varin was a small but well-built man. His thin lips were ever ready to
smile graciously. The remarkable whiteness of his skin was still heightened by
the red colour of his cheeks. Intelligence and goodness beamed from his
expressive black eyes. Nothing could be more amiable and gracious than his
conversation during the first quarter of an hour passed in his company. He was
passionately fond of these little fetes, and the charm of his manners could not
be surpassed as the host of the evening.
He was moved to tears before hearing half of the address, and the eyes of many
were moistened when the pastor, with a voice trembling and full of emotion,
expressed his joy and gratitude at being so highly appreciated by his
parishioners.
As soon as the happy pastor had expressed his thanks, the ladies sang two or
three beautiful songs. The door of the dining-room was then opened, and we
could see a long table laden with the most delicious meats and wines that
Canada could offer.
I had never before been present at a priest's dinner. The honourable position
given me at that little fete permitted me to see it in all its details, and
nothing could equal the curiosity with which I sought to hear and see all that
was said and done by thuds guests.
Besides Mr. Varin and his vicar, there were three other priests, who were
artistically placed in the midst of the most beautiful ladies of the company.
The ladies, after honouring us with their presence for an hour or so, left the
table and retired to the drawing-room. Scarcely had the last lady disappeared
when Mr. Varin rose and said:
"Gentlemen, let us drink to the health of these amiable ladies, whose
presence has thrown so many charms over the first part of our little
fete."
Following the example of Mr. Varin each guest filled and emptied his long wine
glass in honour of the ladies.
Squire Tache then proposed "The health of the most venerable and beloved
priest of Canada, the Rev. Mr. Varin." Again the glasses were filled and
emptied, except mine; for I had been placed at he side of my uncle Dionne, who,
sternly looking at me as soon as I had emptied my first glass, said: "If
you drink another I will send you from the table. A little boy like you should
not drink, but only touch the glass with his lips."
It would have been difficult to count the healths which were drank after the
ladies had left us. After each health a song or a story was called for, several
of which were followed by applause, shouts of joy, and convulsive laughter.
When my turn to propose a health came, I wished to be excused, but they would
not exempt me. So I had to say about whose health I was most interested. I
rose, and turning to Mr. Varin, I said, "Let us drink to the health of our
Holy Father, the Pope."
Nobody had yet thought of our Holy Father the Pope, and the name, mentioned
under such circumstances by a child, appeared so droll to the priests and their
merry guests that they burst into laughter, stamped their feet, and shouted,
"Bravo! bravo! To the health of the Pope!" Everyone stood up, and at
the invitation of Mr. Varin, the glasses were filled and emptied as usual.
So many healths could not be drunk without their natural effect intoxication.
The first that was overcome was a priest, Noel by name. He was a tall man, and
a great drinker. I had noticed more than once, that instead of taking his wine
glass he drank from a large tumbler. The first symptoms of his intoxication,
instead of drawing sympathy from his friends, only increased their noisy bursts
of laughter. He endeavored to take a bottle to fill his glass, but his hand
shook, and the bottle, falling on the floor, was broken to pieces. Wishing to
keep up his merriment he began to sing a Bacchic song, but could not finish. He
dropped his head on the table, quite overcome, and trying to rise, he fell
heavily upon his chair. While all this took place the other priests and all the
guests looked at him, laughing loudly. At last, making a desperate effort, he
rose, but after taking two or three steps, fell headlong on the floor. His two
neighbours went to help him, but they were not in a condition to help him.
Twice they rolled with him under the table. At length another, less affected by
the fumes of wine, took him by the feet and dragged him into an adjoining room,
where they left him.
This first scene seemed strange enough to me, for I had never before seen a
priest intoxicated. But what astonished me most was the laughter of the other
priests over that spectacle. Another scene, however, soon followed, which made
me sadder. My young companion and friend, Achilles Tache, had not been warned,
as I had, only to touch the wine with his lips. More than once he had emptied
his glass. He also rolled upon the floor before the eyes of his father, who was
too full of wine to help him. He cried aloud, "I am choking!" I tried
to lift him up, but was not strong enough. I ran for his mother. She came,
accompanied by another lady, but the vicar had carried him into another room,
where he fell asleep after having thrown off the wine he had taken.
Poor Achilles! he was learning, in the house of his own priest, to take the
first step of that life of debauchery and drunkenness which twelve or fifteen
years later was to rob him of his manor, take from him his wife and children,
and to make him fall a victim to the bloody hand of a murderer upon the
solitary shores of Kamouraska!
This first and sad experience which I made of the real and intimate life of the
Roman Catholic priest was so deeply engraved on my memory that I still remember
with shame the bacchic song which that priest Morin had taught me, and which I
sang on that occasion. It commenced with these Latin words: -
.
Ego, in arte Bacchi,
Multum profeci:
Decies pintum vini
Hodie bibi.
I also remember one sung by Mr. Varin. Here it is: -
Savez-vous pourquoi, mes amis, (bis)
Nous sommes tous si rejouis? (bis)
Amis n'endoutez pas,
C'est qu'un repas
N'est bon.
Qu' apprete sans facon,
Mangeons a la gamelle.
Vive le son, vive le son,
Mangeons a la gamelle,
Vive le son du flacon!
When
the priests and their friends had sung, laughed, and drank for more than an
hour, Mr. Vain rose and said, "The ladies must not be left along all the
evening. Will not our joy and happiness be doubled if they are pleased to share
them with us."
This proposition was received with applause, and we passed into the
drawing-room, where the ladies awaited us.
Several pieces of music, well executed, gave new life to this part of the
entertainment. This resource, however, was soon exhausted. Besides, some of the
ladies could well see that their husbands were half drunk, and they felt
ashamed. Madam Tache could not conceal the grief she felt, caused by what had
happened to her dear Achilles. Had she some presentiment, as may persons have,
of the tears which she was to shed one day on his account? Was the vision of a
mutilated and bloody corpse the corpse of her own drunken son fallen dead,
under the blow of an assassin's dagger, before her eyes?
Mr. Varin feared nothing more than an interruption in those hours of lively
pleasure, of which his life was full, and which took place in his parsonage.
"Well, well, ladies and gentlemen, let us entertain no dark thoughts of
this evening, the happiest of my life. Let us play blind man's bluff."
"Let us play blind man's bluff!" was repeated by everybody.
On hearing this noise, the gentlemen who were half asleep by the fumes of wine
seemed to awaken as if from a long dream. Young gentlemen clapped their hands;
ladies, young and old, congratulated one another on the happy idea.
"But whose eyes shall be covered first?" asked the priest.
"Yours, Mr. Varin," cried all the ladies. "We look to you for
the good example, and we shall follow it."
"The power and unanimity of the jury by which I am condemned cannot be
resisted. I feel that there is no appeal. I must submit."
Immediately one of the ladies placed her nicely-perfumed handkerchief over the
eyes of her priest, took him by the hand, led him to an angle of the room, and
having pushed him gently with her delicate hand, said, "Mr. Blindman! Let
everyone flee! Woe to him who is caught!"
There is nothing more curious and comical than to see a man walk when he is
under the influence of wine, especially if he wishes nobody to notice it. How
stiff and straight he keeps his legs! How varied and complicated, in order to
keep his equilibrium, are his motions to right and left! Such was the position
of priest Varin. He was not very drunk. Though he had taken a large quantity of
wine he did not fall. He carried with wonderful courage the weight with which
he was laden. The wine which he had drank would have intoxicated three ordinary
men; but such was his capacity for drinking that he could still walk without
falling. However, his condition was sadly betrayed by each step he took and by
each word he spoke. Nothing, therefore, was more comical than the first steps
of the poor priest in his efforts to lay hold of somebody in order to pass his
band to him.
He would take one forward and two backward steps, and would then stagger to the
right and to the left. Everybody laughed to tears. One after another they would
all either pinch him or touch him gently on his hand, arm, or shoulder, and,
passing rapidly off, would exclaim, "Run away!" The priest went to
the right and then to the left, threw his arms suddenly now here and then
there. His legs evidently bent under their burden; he panted, perspired,
coughed, and everyone began to fear that the trial might be carried too far, and
beyond propriety. But suddenly, by a happy turn he caught the arm of a lady who
in teasing him had come too near. In vain the lady tries to escape. She
struggles, turns round, but the priest's hand holds her firmly.
While holding his victim with his right hand he wishes to touch her head with
his left, in order to know and name the pretty bird he has caught. But at that
moment his legs gave way. He falls, and drags with him his beautiful
parishioner. She turns upon him in order to escape, but he soon turns on her in
order to hold her better.
All this, though the affair of a moment, was long enough to cause the ladies to
blush and cover their faces. Never in all my life did I see anything so
shameful as that scene. This ended the game.
Everyone felt ashamed. I make a mistake when I say everyone, because the men
were almost all too intoxicated to blush. The priests also were either too
drunk or too much accustomed to see such scenes to be ashamed.
On the following day every one of those priests celebrated mass, and ate what
they called the body and blood, the soul and divinity of Jesus Christ, just as
if they had spent the previous evening in prayer and meditation on the laws of
God! Mr. Varin was the arch-priest of the important part of the diocese of Quebec
from La Riviere Ouelle to Gaspe.
Thus, O perfidious Church of Rome, thou deceivest the nations who follow thee,
and ruinest even the priests whom thou makest thy slaves.
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CHAPTER 7 Back to Top
Nothing
can exceed the care with which Roman Catholic priests prepare children for
their first communion. Two and three months are set apart every year for that
purpose. All that time the children between ten and twelve years of age are
obliged to go to Church almost every day, not only to learn by heart their
catechism, but to hear the explanations of all its teachings.
The priest who instructed us was the Rev. Mr. Morin, whom I have already
mentioned. He was exceedingly kind to children, and we respected and loved him
sincerely. His instructions to us were somewhat long; but we liked to hear him,
for he always had some new and interesting stories to give us.
The catechism taught as a preparation for our first communion was the
foundation of the idolatries and superstitions which the Church of Rome gives
as the religion of Christ. It is by means of that catechetical instruction that
she obtains for the Pope and his representatives that profound respect, I might
say adoration, which is the secret of her power and influence. With this
catechism Rome corrupts the most sacred truths of the Gospel. It is there that
Jesus is removed from the hearts for which He paid so great a price, and that
Mary is put in His place. But the great iniquity of substituting Mary for Jesus
is so skilfully concealed, it is given with colours so poetic and beautiful,
and so well adapted to captivate human nature, that it is almost impossible for
a poor child to escape the snare.
One day the priest said to me, "Stand up, my child, in order to answer the
many important questions which I have to ask you."
I stood up.
"My child," he said, "when you had been guilty of some fault at
home who was the first to punish you your father or your mother?"
After a few moments of hesitation I answered, "My father."
"You have answered correctly, my child," said the priest. "As a
matter of fact, the father is almost always more impatient with his children,
and more ready to punish them, than the mother."
"Now, my child, tell us who punished you most severely your father or your
mother?"
"My father," I said, without hesitation.
"Still true, my child. The superior goodness of a kind mother is perceived
even in the act of correction. Her blows are lighter than those of the father.
Further, when you had deserved to be chastised, did not one sometimes come
between you and your father's rod, taking it away from him and pacifying
him?"
"Yes," I said; "mother did that very often, and saved me from
severe punishment more than once."
"That is so, my child, not only for you, but for all your companions here.
Have not your good mothers, my children, often saved you from your father's
corrections even when you deserved it? Answer me."
"Yes, sir," they all answered.
"One question more. When your father was coming to whip you, did you not
throw yourself into the arms of some one to escape?" "Yes, sir; when
guilty of something, more than once, I threw myself into my mother's arms as
soon as I saw my father coming to whip me. She begged pardon for me, and pleaded
so well that I often escaped punishment."
"You have answered well," said the priest. Then turning to the
children, he continued:
"You have a Father and a Mother in heaven, dear children. Your Father is
Jesus, and your Mother is Mary. Do not forget that a mother's heart is always
more tender and more prone to mercy than that of a father.
"Often you offend your Father by your sins; you make Him angry against
you. What takes place in heaven then? Your Father in heaven takes His rod to
punish you. He threatens to crush you down with His roaring thunder; He opens
the gates of hell to cast you into it, and you would have been damned long ago
had it not been for the loving Mother whom you have in heaven, who has disarmed
your angry and irritated Father. When Jesus would punish you as you deserve,
the good Virgin Mary hastens to Him and pacifies Him. She places herself
between Him and you, and prevents Him from smiting you. She speaks in your
favour, she asks for your pardon and she obtains it.
"Also, as young Chiniquy has told you, he often threw himself into the
arms of his mother to escape punishment. She took his part, and pleaded so well
that his father yielded and put away the rod. Thus, my children, when your
conscience tells you that you are guilty, that Jesus is angry against you and
that you have good reason to fear hell, hasten to Mary! Throw yourselves into
the arms of that good mother; have recourse to her sovereign power over Jesus,
and be assured that you will be saved through her!"
It is thus that the Pope and the priests of Rome have entirely disfigured and
changed the holy religion of the Gospel! In the Church of Rome it is not Jesus,
but Mary, who represents the infinite love and mercy of God for the sinner. The
sinner is not advised or directed to place his hope in Jesus, but in Mary, for
his escape from deserved chastisement! It is not Jesus, but Mary, who saves the
sinner! Jesus is always bent on punishing sinners; Mary is always merciful to
them!
The Church of Rome has thus fallen into idolatry: she rather trusts in Mary
than in Jesus. She constantly invites sinners to turn their thoughts, their
hopes, their affections, not to Jesus, but to Mary!
By means of that impious doctrine Rome deceives the intellects, seduces the
hearts, and destroys the souls of the young for ever. Under the pretext of
honouring the Virgin Mary, she insults her by outraging and misrepresenting her
adorable Son.
Rome has brought back the idolatry of old paganism under a new name. She has
replaced upon her altars the Jupiter Tonans of the Greeks and Romans, only she
places upon his shoulders the mantle and she writes on the forehead of her idol
the name of Jesus, in order the better to deceive the world!
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CHAPTER 8 Back to Top
For
the Roman Catholic child, how beautiful and yet how sad is the day of his first
communion! How many joys and anxieties by turn rise in his soul when for the
first time he is about to eat what he has been taught to believe to be his God!
How many efforts has he to make, in order to destroy the manifest teachings of
his own rational faculties! I confess with deep regret that I had almost
destroyed my reason, in order to prepare myself for my first communion. Yes, I
was almost exhausted when the day came that I had to eat what the priest has
assured us was the true body, the true blood, soul and divinity of Jesus
Christ. I was about to eat Him, not in a symbolical or commemorative, but in a
literal way. I was to eat His flesh, His bones, His hands, His feet, His head,
His whole body! I had to believe this or be cast for ever into hell, while, all
the time, my eyes, my hands, my mouth, my tongue, my reason told me that what I
was eating was only bread!
Has there ever been, or will there ever be, a priest or a layman to believe
what the Church of Rome teaches on this dreadful mystery of the Real Presence?
Shall I say that I believed in the real presence of Jesus Christ in the
communion? I believed in it as all those who are good Roman Catholics believe.
I believed as a perfect idiot or a corpse believes. Whatever is essential to a
reasonable act of faith had been destroyed in me on that point, as it is
destroyed in every priest and layman in the Church of Rome. My reason as well
as my external senses had been, as much as possible, sacrificed at the feet of
that terrible modern god, the Pope! I had been guilty of the incredibility
foolish act, of which all good Roman Catholics are guilty I had said to my
intellectual faculties, and to all my senses, "Hush, you are liars! I had
believed to this day that you had been given to me by God in order to enable me
to walk in the dark paths of life, but, behold! the holy Pope teaches me that
you are only instruments of the devil to deceive me!"
What is a man who resigns his intellectual liberty, and who cares not to
believe in the testimony of his senses? Is he not acting the part of one who
has no gift or power of intelligence? A good Roman Catholic must reach that
point! That was my own condition on the day of my first communion.
When Jesus said, "If I had not come and spoken unto them they had not had
sin; but now they have no cloke for their sin....If I had not done among them
the works which none other man did, they had not had sin; but now have they
both seen and hated both Me and My Father" (John xv.22,24). He showed that
the sin of the Jews consisted in not having believed in what their eyes had
seen and their ears had heard. But behold, the Pope says to Roman Catholics
that they must not believe in what their hands undoubtedly handle and their
eyes most clearly see! The Pope sets aside the testimony most approved by
Jesus. The very witnesses invoked by the Son of God are ignominiously turned
out of court by the Pope as false witnesses!
As the moment of taking the communion drew near, two feelings were at war in my
mind, each struggling for victory. I rejoiced in the thought that I would soon
have full possession of Jesus Christ, but at the same time I was troubled and
humbled by the absurdity which I had to believe before receiving that
sacrament. Though scarcely twelve years old, I had sufficiently accustomed
myself to reflect on the profound darkness which covered that dogma. I had been
also greatly in the habit of trusting my eyes, and I thought that I could
easily distinguish between a small piece of bread and a full-grown man!
Besides, I extremely abhorred the idea of eating human flesh and drinking human
blood, even when they assured me that they were the flesh and blood of Jesus
Christ Himself. But what troubled me most was the idea of that God, who was
represented to me as being so great, so glorious, so holy, being eaten by me
like a piece of common bread! Terrible then was the struggle in my young heart,
were joy and dread, trust and fear, faith and unbelief by turns had the upper
hand.
While that secret struggle, known only to God and to myself, was going on, I
had often to wipe off the cold perspiration which came on my brow. With all the
strength of my soul I prayed to God and the Holy Virgin to be merciful unto me,
to help, and give me sufficient strength and light to pass over these hours of
anguish.
The Church of Rome is evidently the most skillful human machine the world has
ever seen. Those who guide her in the dark paths which she follows are often
men of deep thought. They understand how difficult it would be to get calm,
honest and thinking minds to receive that monstrous dogma of the real corporal
presence of Jesus Christ in the communion. They well foresaw the struggle which
would take place even in the minds of children at the supreme moment when they
would have to sacrifice their reason on the altar of Rome. In order to prevent
those struggles, always so dangerous to the Church, nothing has been neglected
to distract the mind and draw the attention to other subjects than that of the
communion itself.
First, at the request of the parish priest, helped by the vanity of the parents
themselves, the children are dressed as elegantly as possible. They young
communicant is clothed in every way best calculated to flatter his own vanity
also. The church building is pompously decorated. The charms of choice vocal
and instrumental music form a part of the fete. The most odorous incense burns
around the altar and ascends in a sweetsmelling cloud towards heaven. The whole
parish is invited, and people come from every direction to enjoy a most
beautiful spectacle. Priests from the neighbouring churches are called, in
order to add to the solemnity of the day. The officiating priest is dressed in
the most costly attire. This is the day on which silver and gold altar cloths
are displayed before the eyes of the wondering spectators. Often a lighted wax
taper is placed in the hand of each young communicant, which itself would be
sufficient to draw his whole attention; for a single false motion would be
sufficient to set fire to the clothes of his neighbour, or his own, a
misfortune which has happened more than once in my presence.
Now, in the midst of that new and wonderful spectacle of singing Latin Psalms,
not a word of which he understands; in view of gold and silver ornaments, which
glitter everywhere before his dazzled eyes; busy with the holding of the
lighted taper, which keeps him constantly in fear of being burned alive can the
young communicant think for a moment of what he is about to do?
Poor child! his mind, ears, eyes, nostrils are so much taken up with those new,
striking and wonderful things that, while his imagination is wandering from one
object to another, the moment of communion arrives, without leaving him time to
think of what he is about to do! He opens his mouth, and the priest puts upon
his tongue a flat thin cake of unleavened bread, which either firmly sticks to
his palate or otherwise melts in his mouth, soon to go down into his stomach
just like the food he takes three times a day!
The first feeling of the child, then, is that of surprise at the thought that
the Creator of heaven and earth, the upholder of the universe, the Saviour of
the world, could so easily pass down his throat!
Now, follow those children to their homes after that great and monstrous
comedy. See their gait! Listen to their conversation and their bursts of
laughter! Study their manners, their coming in, their going out, their glances
of satisfaction on their fine clothes, and the vanity which they manifest in
return for the congratulations they receive on their fine dresses. Notice the
lightness of their actions and conversation immediately after their communion,
and tell me if you find anything indicating that they believed in the terrible
dogma they have been taught.
No, they have not believed in it, neither will they ever do so with the
firmness of faith which is accomplished by intelligence. The poor child thinks
he believes, and he sincerely tries to do so. He believes in it as much as it
is possible to believe in a most monstrous and ridiculous story, opposed to the
simplest notions of truth and common sense. He believes as Roman Catholics
believe. He believes as an idiot believes!!
That first communion has made of him, for the rest of his life, a real machine
in the hands of the Pope. It is the first but most powerful link of that long
chain of slavery which the priest and the Church pass around his neck. The Pope
holds the end of that chain, and with it he will make his victim go right or
left at his pleasure, in the same way that we govern the lower animals. If
those children have made a good first communion they will be submissive to the
Pope, according to the energetic word of Loyola. They will be in the hands of
the traveler they will have no will, no thought of their own!
And if God does not work a miracle to bring them out from that bondage which is
a thousand times worse than the Egyptian, they will remain in that state during
the rest of their lives.
My soul has known the weight of those chains. It has felt the ignominy of that
slavery! But the great Conqueror of souls has cast down a merciful eye upon me.
He has broken my chains, and with His holy Word He has made me free.
May His name be for ever blessed.
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CHAPTER 9 Back to Top
I
finished, at the College of Nicolet, in the month of August, 1829, my classical
course of study which I had begun in 1822. I could easily have learned in three
or four years what was taught in these seven years.
It took us three years to study the Latin grammar, when twelve months would
have sufficed for all we learned of it. It is true that during that time we
were taught some of the rudiments of the French grammar, with the elements of
arithmetic and geography. But all this was so superficial, that our teachers
often seemed more desirous to pass away our time than to enlarge our
understandings.
I can say the same thing of the Belles Letters and of rhetoric, which we
studied two years. A year of earnest study would have sufficed to learn what
was taught us during these twenty-four months. As for the two years devoted to
the study of logic, and of the subjects classed under the name of philosophy,
it would not have been too long a time if those questions of philosophy had
been honestly given us. But the student in the college of the Church of Rome is
condemned to the torments of Tantalus. He has, indeed, the refreshing waters of
Science put to his lips, but he is constantly prevented from tasting them. To
enlarge and seriously cultivate the intelligence in a Roman Catholic college is
a thing absolutely out of the question. More than that, all the efforts of the
principals in their colleges and convents tend to prove to the pupil that his
intelligence is his greatest and most dangerous enemy that it is like an
untamable animal, which must constantly be kept in chains. Every day the
scholar is told that his reason was not given him that he might be guided by
it, but only that he may know the hand of the man by whom he must be guided.
And that hand is none other than the Pope's. All the resources of language, all
the most ingenious sophisms, all the passages of both the Fathers and the Holy
Scriptures bearing on this question are arranged and perverted with inconceivable
art to demonstrate to the pupil that his reason has no power to teach him
anything else than that it must be subjected to the Supreme Pontiff of Rome,
who is the only foundation of truth and light given by God to guide the
intelligence and to enlighten and save the world.
Rome, in her colleges and convents, brings up, or raises up, the youth from
their earliest years; but to what height does she permit the young man or woman
to be raised? Never higher than the feet of the Pope!! As soon as his
intelligence, guided by the Jesuit, has ascended to the feet of the Pope, it
must remain there, prostrate itself and fall asleep.
The Pope! That is the great object towards which all the intelligence of the
Roman Catholics must be converged. It is the sun of the world, the foundation
and the only support of Christian knowledge and civilization.
What a privilege it is to be lazy, stupid, and sluggish in a college of Rome!
How soon such an one gets to the summit of science, and becomes master of all
knowledge. One needs only to kiss the feet of the Pope, and fall into a perfect
slumber there! The Pope thinks for him! It is he (the Pope) who will tell him
what he can and should think, and what he can and should believe!
I had arrived at that degree of perfection at the end of my studies, and J.B.
Barthe, Esq., M.P.P., being editor of one of the principal papers of Montreal
in 1844, could write in his paper when my "Manual of Temperance" was
published: "Mr. Chiniquy has crowned his apostleship of temperance by that
work, with that ardent and holy ambition of character of which he gave us so
many tokens in his collegiate life, where we have been so many years the
witness of his piety, when he was the model of his fellow-students, who had
called him the Louis de Gonzague of Nicolet."
These words of the Montreal Member of Parliament mean only that, wishing to be
saved as St. Louis de Gonzague, I had blindly tied myself to the feet of my
superiors.
I had, as much as possible, extinguished all the enlightenments of my own mind
to follow the reason and the will of my superiors. These compliments mean that
I was walking like a blind man whom his guide holds by the hand.
Though my intelligence often revolted against the fables with which I was
nurtured, I yet forced myself to accept them as gospel truths; and though I
often rebelled against the ridiculous sophisms which were babbled to me as the
only principles of truth and Christian philosophy, yet as often did I impose
silence on my reason, and force it to submit to the falsehoods which I was
obliged to take for God's truth! But, as I have just confessed it,
notwithstanding my goodwill to submit to my superiors, there were times of
terrible struggle in my soul, when all the powers of my mind seemed to revolt
against the degrading fetters which I was forced to forge for myself.
I shall never forget the day when, in the following terms, I expressed to my
Professor of Philosophy, the Rev. Charles Harper, doubts which I had conceived
concerning the absolute necessity of the inferior to submit his reason to his
superior. "When I shall have completely bound myself to obey my superior,
if he abuses his authority over me to deceive me by false doctrines, or if he
commands me to do things which I consider wrong and dishonest, shall I not be
lost if I obey him?"
He answered: "You will never have to give an account to God for the
actions that you do by the order of your legitimate superiors. If they were to
deceive you, being themselves deceived, they alone would be responsible for the
error which you would have committed. Your sin would not be imputed to you as
long as you follow the golden rule which is the base of all Christian
philosophy and perfection humility and obedience!"
Little satisfied with that answer, when the lesson was over I expressed my
reluctance to accept such principles to several of my fellow-students. Among
them was Joseph Turcot, who died some years ago when, I think, he was Minister
of Public Works in Canada.
He answered me: "The more I study what they call their principles of
Christian philosophy and logic, the more I think that they intend to make asses
of every one of us!"
On the following day I opened my heart to the venerable man who was our
principal the Rev. Mr. Leprohon. I used to venerate him as a saint and to love
him as a father. I frankly told him that I felt very reluctant in submitting
myself to the crude principles which seemed to lead us into the most abject
slavery, the slavery of our reason and intelligence. I wrote down his answer,
which I give here:
"My dear Chiniquy, how did Adam and Eve lose themselves in the Garden of
Eden, and how did they bring upon us all the deluge of evils by which we are
overwhelmed? Is it not because they raised their miserable reason above that of
God? They had the promise of eternal life if they had submitted their reason to
that of their Supreme Master.They were lost on account of their rebelling
against the authority, the reason of God. Thus it is today. All the evils, the
errors, the crimes by which the world is over flooded come from the same revolt
of the human will and reason against the will and reason of God. God reigns yet
over a part of the world, the world of the elect, through the Pope, who
controls the teachings of our infallible and holy Church. In submitting
ourselves to God, who speaks to us through the Pope, we are saved. We walk in
the paths of truth and holiness. But we would err, and infallibly perish, as
soon as we put our reason above that of our superior, the Pope, speaking to us
in person, or through some of our superiors who have received from him the
authority to guide us."
"But," said I, "if my reason tells me that the Pope, or some of
those other superiors who are put by him over me, are mistaken, and that they
command me something wrong, would I not be guilty before God if I obey
them?"
"You suppose a thing utterly impossible," answered Mr. Leprohon,
"for the Pope and the bishops who are united to him have the promise of
never failing in the faith. They cannot lead you into any errors, nor command
you to believe or do something contrary to the teachings of the Gospel, God
would not ask of you any account of an error committed when you are obeying
your legitimate superior."
I had to content myself with that answer, which I put down word for word in my
note-book. But in spite of my respectful silence, the Rev. Mr. Leprohon saw
that I was yet uneasy and sad. In order to convince me of the orthodoxy of his
doctrines, he instantly put into my hands the two works of De Maistre, "Le
Pape" and "Les Soirees de St. Petersburgh," where I found the
same doctrines supported. My superior was honest in his convictions. He
sincerely believed in the sound philosophy and Christianity of his principles,
for he had found them in these books approved by the "infallible
Popes."
I will mention another occurrence to show the inconceivable intellectual
degradation to which we had been dragged at the end of seven years of
collegiate studies. About the year 1829 the curate of St. Anne de la Parade
wrote to our principal, Rev. Mr. Leprohon, to ask the assistance of the prayers
of all the students of the College of Nicolet in order to obtain the
discontinuance of the following calamity: "For more than three weeks one
of the most respectable farmers was in danger of losing all his horses from the
effects of a sorcery! From morning, and during most of the night, repeated
blows of whips and sticks were heard falling upon these poor horses, which were
trembling, foaming and struggling! We can see nothing! The hand of the wizard
remains invisible. Pray for us, that we may discover the monster, and that he
may be punished as he deserves."
Such were the contents of the priest's letter; and as my superior sincerely
believed in that fable I also believed it, as well as all the students of the
college who had a true piety. On that shore of abject and degrading
superstitions I had to land after sailing seven years in the bark called a
college of the Church of Rome!
The intellectual part of the studies in a college of Rome, and it is the same
in a convent, is therefore entirely worthless. Worse than that, the
intelligence is dwarfed under the chains by which it is bound. If the
intelligence does sometimes advance, it is in spite of the fetters placed upon
it; it is only like some few noble ships which, through the extraordinary skill
of their pilots, go ahead against wind and tide.
I know that the priests of Rome can show a certain number of intelligent men in
every branch of science who have studied in their colleges. But these
remarkable men had from the beginning secretly broken for themselves the chains
with which their superiors had tried to bind them. For peace' sake they had
outwardly followed the rules of the house, but they had secretly trampled under
the feet of their noble souls the ignoble fetters which had been prepared for
their understanding. True children of God and light, they had found the secret
of remaining free even when in the dark cells of a dungeon!
Give me the names of the remarkable and intelligent men who have studied in a
college of Rome, and have become real lights in the firmament of science, and I
will prove that nine-tenths of them have been persecuted, excommunicated,
tortured, some even put to death for having to think for themselves.
Galileo was a Roman Catholic, and he is surely one of the greatest men whom
science claims as her most gifted sons. But was he not sent to a dungeon? Was
he not publicly flogged by the hands of the executioner? Had he not to ask
pardon from God and man for having dared to think differently from the Pope
about the motion of the earth around the sun!
Copernicus was surely one of the greatest lights of his time, but was he not
censured and excommunicated for his admirable scientific discoveries?
France does not know any greater genius among her most gifted sons than Pascal.
He was a Catholic. But he lived and died excommunicated.
The Church of Rome boasts of Bossuet, the Bishop of Meaux, as one of the
greatest men she ever had. Yes; but has not Veuillot, the editor of the
Univers, who knows his man well, confessed and declared before the world that
Bossuet was a disguised Protestant?
Where can we find a more amiable or learned writer than Montalembert, who has
so faithfully and bravely fought the battle of the Church of Rome in France
during more than a quarter of a century? But has he not publicly declared on
his death-bed that that Church was an apostate and idolatrous Church from the
day that she proclaimed the dogma of the Infallibility of the Pope? Has he not
virtually died an excommunicated man for having said with his last breath that
the Pope was nothing else than a false god?
Those pupils of Roman Catholic colleges of whom sometimes the priests so
imprudently boast, have gone out from the hands of their Jesuit teachers to
proclaim their supreme contempt for the Roman Catholic priesthood and Papacy.
They have been near enough to the priest to know him. They have seen with their
own eyes that the priest of Rome is the most dangerous, the most implacable
enemy of intelligence, progress and liberty; and if their arm be not paralyzed
by cowardice, selfishness, or hypocrisy, those pupils of the colleges of Rome
will be the first to denounce the priesthood of Rome and demolish her citadels.
Voltaire studied in a Roman Catholic college, and it was probably when at their
school he nerved himself for the terrible battle he has fought against Rome.
That Church will never recover from the blow which Voltaire has struck at her
in France.
Cavour, in Italy, had studied in a Roman Catholic college also, and under that
very roof it is more than probable that his noble intelligence had sworn to
break the ignominious fetters with which Rome had enslaved his fair country.
The most eloquent of the orators of Spain, Castelar, studied in a Roman
Catholic college; but hear with what eloquence he denounces the tyranny,
hypocrisy, selfishness and ignorance of the priests.
Papineau studied under the priests of Rome in their college at Montreal. From
his earliest years that Eagle of Canada could see and know the priests of Rome
as they are; he has weighed them in the balance; he has measured them; he has
fathomed the dark recesses of their anti-social principles; he has felt his
shoulders wounded and bleeding under the ignominious chains with which they
dragged our dear Canada in the mire for nearly two centuries. Papineau was a
pupil of the priests; and I have heard several priests boasting of that as a
glorious thing. But the echoes of Canada are still repeating the thundering
words with which Papineau denounced the priests as the most deadly enemies of
the education and liberty of Canada! He was one of the first men of Canada to
understand that there was no progress, no liberty possible for our beloved
country so long as the priests would have the education of our people in their
hands. The whole life of Papineau was a struggle to wrest Canada from their
grasp. Everyone knows how he constantly branded them, without pity, during his
life, and the whole world has been the witness of the supreme contempt with
which he has refused their services, and turned them out at the solemn hour of
his death!
When, in 1792, France wanted to be free, she understood that the priests of
Rome were the greatest enemies of her liberties. She turned them out from her
soil or hung them to her gibbets. If today that noble country of our ancestors
is stumbling and struggling in her tears and her blood if she has fallen at the
feet of her enemies if her valiant arm has been paralyzed, her sword broken,
and her strong heart saddened above measure, is it not because she had most
imprudently put herself again under the yoke of Rome?
Canada's children will continue to flee from the country of their birth so long
as the priest of Rome holds the influence which is blasting everything that
falls within his grasp, on this continent as well as in Europe; and the United
States will soon see their most sacred institutions fall, one after the other,
if the Americans continue to send their sons and daughters to the Jesuit colleges
and nunneries.
When, in the warmest days of summer, you see a large swamp of stagnant and
putrid water, you are sure that deadly miasma will spread around, that diseases
of the most malignant character, poverty, sufferings of every kind, and death
will soon devastate the unfortunate country; so, when you see Roman Catholic
colleges and nunneries raising their haughty steeples over some commanding
hills or in the midst of some beautiful valleys, you may confidently expect
that the self-respect and the many virtues of the people will soon disappear
intelligence, progress, prosperity will soon wane away, to be replaced by
superstition, idleness, drunkenness, Sabbath-breaking, ignorance, poverty and
degradation of every kind. The colleges and nunneries are the high citadels
from which the Pope darts his surest missiles against the rights and liberties
of nations. The colleges and nunneries are the arsenals where the most deadly
weapons are night and day prepared to fight and destroy the soldiers of liberty
all over the world.
The colleges and nunneries of the priests are the secret places where the
enemies of progress, equality and liberty are holding their councils and
fomenting that great conspiracy the object of which is to enslave the world at
the feet of the Pope.
The colleges and nunneries of Rome are the schools where the rising generations
are taught that it is an impiety to follow the dictates of their own
conscience, hear the voice of their intelligence, read the Word of God, and
worship their Creator according to the rules laid down in the Gospel.
It is in the colleges and nunneries of Rome that men learn that they are
created to obey the Pope in everything-- that the Bible must be burnt, and that
liberty must be destroyed at any cost all over the world.
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CHAPTER 10 Back to Top
In
order to understand what kind of moral education students in Roman Catholic
colleges receive, one must only be told that from the beginning to the end they
are surrounded by an atmosphere in which nothing but Paganism is breathed. The
models of eloquence which we learned by heart were almost exclusively taken
from Pagan literature. In the same manner Pagan models of wisdom, of honour, of
chastity were offered to our admiration. Our minds were constantly fixed on the
masterpieces which Paganism has left. The doors of our understanding were left
open only to receive the rays of light which Paganism has shed on the world.
Homer, Socrates, Lycurgus, Virgil, Horace, Cicero, Tacitus, Caesar, Xenophon,
Demosthenes, Alexander, Lucretia, Regulus, Brutus, Jupiter, Venus, Minerva,
Mars, Diana, ect., ect., crowded each other in our thoughts, to occupy them and
be their models, examples and masters for ever.
It may be said that the same Pagan writers, orators and heroes are studied,
read and admired in Protestant colleges. But there the infallible antidote, the
Bible, is given to the students. Just as nothing remains of the darkness of
night after the splendid morning sun has arisen on the horizon, so nothing of
the fallacies, superstitions and sophisms of Paganism can trouble or obscure
the mind on which that light from heaven, the Word of God, comes every day with
its millions of shining rays. How insignificant is the Poetry of Homer when
compared with the sublime songs of Moses! How pale is the eloquence of
Demosthenes, Cicero, Virgil, ect., when read after Job, David or Solomon! How
quickly crumble down the theories which those haughty heathens of old wanted to
raise over the intelligence of men when the thundering voice from Sinai is
heard; when the incomparable songs of David, Solomon, Isaiah or Jeremiah are
ravishing the soul which is listening to their celestial strains! It is a fact
that Pagan eloquence and philosophy can be but very tasteless to men accustomed
to be fed with the bread which comes down from heaven, whose souls are filled
with the eloquence of God, and whose intelligence is fed with the philosophy of
heaven.
But, alas! for me and my fellow-students in the college of Rome! No sun ever
appeared on the horizon to dispel the night in which our intelligence was
wrapped. The dark clouds with which Paganism had surrounded us were suffocating
us, and no breath from heaven was allowed to come and dispel them. Moses with
his incomparable legislation, David and Solomon with their divine poems, Job
with his celestial philosophy, Jeremiah, Isaiah and Daniel with their sublime
songs, Jesus Christ Himself with His soul-saving Gospel, as well as His
apostles Peter, John, Jude, James and Paul these were all put in the Index!
They had not the liberty to speak to us, and we were forbidden, absolutely
forbidden, to read and hear them!
It is true that the Church of Rome, as an offset to that, gave us her
principles, precepts, fables and legends that we might be attached to her, and
that she might remain the mistress of our hearts. But these doctrines,
practices, principles and fables seemed to us so evidently borrowed from
Paganism they were so cold, so naked, so stripped of all true poetry, that if
the Paganism of the ancients was not left absolute master of our affections, it
still claimed a large part of our souls. To create in us a love for the Church
of Rome our superiors depended greatly on the works of Chateaubriand. The
"Genie du Christianisme" was the book of books to dispel all our
doubts, and attach us to the Pope's religion. But this author, whose style is
sometimes really beautiful, destroyed, by the weakness of his logic, the
Christianity which he wanted to build up. We could easily see that Chateaubriand
was not sincere, and his exaggerations were to many of us a sure indication
that he did not believe in what he said. The works of De Maistre, the most
important history-falsificator of France, were also put into our hands as a
sure guide in philosophical and historical studies. The "Memoirs du Conte
Valmont," with some authors of the same stamp, were much relied upon by
our superiors to prove to us that the dogmas, precepts and practices of the
Roman Catholic religion were brought from heaven.
It was certainly our desire as well as our interest to believe them. But how
our faith was shaken, and how we felt troubled when Livy, Tacitus, Cicero,
Virgil, Homer, ect., gave us the evidence that the greater part of these things
had their root and their origin in Paganism.
For instance, our superiors had convinced us that scapulars, medals, holy
water, ect., would be of great service to us in battling with the most
dangerous temptations, as well as in avoiding the most common dangers of life.
Consequently, we all had scapulars and medals, which we kept with the greatest
respect, and even kissed morning and evening with affection, as if they were
powerful instruments of the mercy of God to us. How great, then, was our
confusion and disappointment when we discovered in the Greek and Latin
historians that those scapulars and medals and statuettes were nothing but a
remnant of Paganism, and that the worshipers of Jupiter, Minerva, Diana and
Venus believed themselves also free, as we did, from all calamity when they
carried them in honour of these divinities! The further we advanced in the
study of Pagan antiquity, the more we were forced to believe that our religion,
instead of being born at the foot of Calvary, was only a pale and awkward
imitation of Paganism. The modern Pontifex Maximus (the Pope of Rome), who, as
we were assured, was the successor of St. Peter, the Vicar of Jesus Christ,
resembled the "Pontifex Maximus" of the great republic and empire of
Rome as much as two drops of water resemble each other. Had not our Pope
preserved not only the name, but also the attributes, the pageantry, the pride,
and even the garb of that high pagan priest? Was not the worship of the saints
absolutely the same as the worship of the demigods of olden time? Was not our
purgatory minutely described by Virgil? Were not our prayers to the Virgin and
to the saints repeated, almost in the same words, by the worshipers who
repeated them every day before the images which adorned our churches? Was not
our holy water in use among the idolaters, and for the same purpose for which
it was used among us?
We know by history the year in which the magnificent temple consecrated to all
the gods, bearing the name of Pantheon, had been built at Rome. We were
acquainted with the names of several of the sculptors who had carved the
statues of the gods in that heathen temple, at whose feet the idolaters bowed
respectfully, and words cannot express he shame we felt on learning that the
Roman Catholics of our day, under the very eyes and with the sanction of the
Pope, still prostrated themselves before the same idols, in the same temple,
and to obtain the same favours!
When we asked each other the question, "What is the difference between the
religion of heathen Rome and that of the Rome of today?" more than one
student would answer: "The only difference is in the name. The idolatrous
temples are the same: the idols have not left their places. Today, as formerly,
the same incense burns in their honour? Nations are still prostrated at their
feet to give them the same homage and to ask of them the same favours; but
instead of calling this statue Jupiter, we call it Peter; and instead of
calling that one Minerva or Venus, it is called St. Mary. It is the old
idolatry coming to us under Christian names."
I earnestly desired to be an honest and sincere Roman Catholic. These
impressions and thoughts distracted me greatly, inasmuch as I could find
nothing in reason to diminish their force. Unfortunately many of the books
placed in our hands by our superiors to confirm our faith, form our moral
character, and sustain our piety and our confidence in the dogmas of the Church
of Rome, had a frightful resemblance to the histories I had read of the gods
and goddesses. The miracles attributed to the Virgin Mary often appeared to be
only a reproduction of the tricks and deceits by which the priests of Jupiter,
Venus, Minerva, ect., used to obtain their ends and grant the requests of their
worshipers. Some of those miracles of the Virgin Mary equaled, if they did not
surpass, in absurdity and immorality what mythology taught us among the most
hideous accounts of the heathen gods and goddesses.
I could cite hundreds of such miracles which shocked my faith and caused me to
blush in secret at the conclusion to which I was forced to come, in comparing
the worship of ancient and modern Rome. I will only quote three of these modern
miracles, which are found in one of the books the best approved by the Pope,
entitled "The Glories of Mary."
First miracle. The great favour bestowed by the Holy Virgin upon a nun named
Beatrix, of the Convent of Frontebraldo, show how merciful she is to sinners.
This fact is related by Cesanus, and by Father Rho. This unfortunate nun,
having been possessed by a criminal passion for a young man, determined to
leave her convent and elope with him. She was the doorkeeper of the convent,
and having placed the keys of the monastery at the feet of a statue of the Holy
Virgin she boldly went out, and then led a life of prostitution during fifteen
years in a far off place.
"One day, accidentally meeting the purveyor of her convent, and thinking
she would not be recognized by him, she asked him news of Sister Beatrix.
"`I know her well,' answered this man; `she is a holy nun, and is mistress
of the novices.'
"At these words Beatrix was confused; but to understand what it meant she
changed her clothing, and going to the convent, enquired after Sister Beatrix.
"The Holy Virgin instantly appeared to her in the form of the statue at
whose feet she had placed the keys at her departure. The Divine Mother spoke to
her in this wise: `Know, Beatrix, that in order to preserve your honour I have
taken your place and done your duty since you have left your convent. My
daughter, return to God and be penitent, for my Son is still waiting for you.
Try, by the holiness of your life, to preserve the good reputation which I have
earned you.' Having thus spoken, the Holy Virgin disappeared. Beatrix reentered
the monastery, donned her religious dress, and, grateful for the mercies of
Mary, she led the life of a saint." ("Glories of Mary," chap.
vi., sec. 2.)
Second miracle. Rev. Father Rierenberg relates that there existed in a city
called Aragona a beautiful and noble girl by the name of Alexandra, whom two
young men loved passionately. One day, maddened by the jealousy each one had of
the other, they fought together, and both were killed. Their parents were so
infuriated at the young girl, the author of these calamities, that they killed
her, cut her head off, and threw her into a well. A few days after St. Dominic,
passing by the place, was inspired to approach the well and to cry out,
"Alexandra, come here!" The head of the deceased immediately placed
itself upon the edge of the well, and entreated St. Dominic to hear its
confession. Having heard it, the Saint gave her the communion in the presence
of a great multitude of people, and then he commanded her to tell them why she
had received so great a favour.
She answered that, though she was in a state of mortal sin when she was
decapitated, yet as she had a habit of reciting the holy rosary, the Virgin had
preserved her life.
The head, full of life, remained on the edge of the well two days before the
eyes of a great many people, and then the soul went to purgatory. But fifteen
days after this the soul of Alexandra appeared to St. Dominic, bright and
beautiful as a star, and told him that one of the surest means of removing
souls from purgatory was the recitation of the rosary in their favour.
("Glories of Mary," chap. viii., sec. 2)
Third miracle. "A servant of Mary one day went into one of her churches to
pray, without telling her husband about it. Owing to a terrible storm she was
prevented from returning home that night. Harassed by the fear that her husband
would be angry, she implored Mary's help. But on returning home she found her
husband full of kindness. After asking her husband a few questions on the
subject she discovered that during that very night the Divine Mother had taken
her form and features and had taken her place in all the affairs of the
household! She informed her husband of the great miracle, and they both became
very much devoted to the Holy Virgin." (Glories of Mary," Examples of
Protection, 40.)
Persons who have never studied in a Roman Catholic college will hardly believe
that such fables were told us as an appeal for us to become Christians. But,
God knows, I tell the truth. Is not a profanation of a holy word to say that
Christianity is the religion taught the students in Rome's colleges?
After reading the monstrous metamorphoses of the gods of Olympus, the student
feels a profound pity for the nations who have lived so long in the darkness of
Paganism. He cannot understand how so many millions of men were, for such a
long time, deceived by such crude fables. With joy his thoughts are turned to
the God of Calvary, there to receive light and life. He feels, as it were, a
burning desire to nourish himself with the words of life, fallen from the lips
of the "great victim." But here comes the priest of the college, who
places himself between the student and Christ, and instead of allowing him to
be nourished with the Bread of Life he offers him fables, husks with which to
appease his hunger. Instead of allowing him to slake his thirst from the waters
which flow from the fountains of eternal life, he offers him a corrupt
beverage!
God alone knows what I have suffered during my studies to find myself
absolutely deprived of the privilege of eating this bread of life His Holy
Word!
During the last years of my studies my superiors often confided to me the
charge of the library. Once it happened that, as the students were taking a
holiday, I remained alone in the college, and shutting myself up in the library
I began to examine all the books. I was not a little surprised to discover that
the books which were the most proper to instruct us stood on the catalogue of
the library marked among the forbidden books. I felt an inexpressible shame on
seeing with my own eyes that none but the most indifferent books were placed in
our hands that we were permitted to read authors of the third rank only (if
this expression is suitable to such whose only merit consisted in flattering
the Popes, and in concealing or excusing their crimes). Several students more
advanced than myself, had already made the observation to me, but I did not
believe them. Self-love gave me the hope that I was as well educated as one
could be at my age. Until then I had spurned the idea that, with the rest of
the students, I was the victim of an incredible system of moral and
intellectual blindness.
Among the forbidden books of the college I found a splendid Bible. It seemed to
be of the same edition as the one whose perusal had made the hours pass away so
pleasantly when I was at home with my mother. I seized it with the transports
of a miser finding a lost treasure. I lifted it to my lips, and kissed it
respectfully. I pressed it against my heart, as one embraces a friend from whom
he has long been separated. This Bible brought back to my memory the most
delightful hours of my life. I read in its divine pages till the scholars
returned.
The next day Rev. Mr. Leprohon, our director, called me to his room during the
recreation, and said: "You seem to be troubled, and very sad today. I
noticed that you remained alone while the other scholars were enjoying
themselves so well. Have you any cause of grief? or are you sick?"
I could not sufficiently express my love and respect for this venerable man. He
was at the same time my friend and benefactor. For four years he and Rev. Mr.
Brassard had been paying my board; for, owing to a misunderstanding between
myself and my uncle Dionne, he had ceased to maintain me at college. By reading
the Bible the previous day I had disobeyed my benefactor, Mr. Leprohon; for
when he entrusted me with the care of the library he made me promise not to
read the books in the forbidden catalogue.
It was painful to me to sadden him by acknowledging that I had broken my word
of honour, but it pained me far more to deceive him by concealing the truth. I
therefore answered him: "You are right in supposing that I am uneasy and
sad. I confess there is one thing which perplexes me greatly among the rules
that govern us. I never dared to speak to you about it: but as you wish to know
the cause of my sadness, I will tell you. You have placed in our hands, not
only to read, but to learn by heart, books which are, as you know, partly
inspired by hell, and you forbid us to read the only book whose every word is
sent from heaven! You permit us to read books dictated by the spirit of
darkness and sin, and you make it a crime for us to read the only book written
under the dictation of the Spirit of light and holiness. This conduct on your
part, and on the part of all the superiors of the college, disturbs and
scandalizes me! Shall I tell you, your dread of the Bible shakes my faith, and
causes me to fear that we are going astray in our Church."
Mr. Leprohon answered me: "I have been the director of this college for
more than twenty years, and I have never heard from the lips of any of the
students such remarks and complaints as you are making to me today. Have you no
fear of being the victim of a deception of the devil, in meddling with a
question so strange and so new for a scholar whose only aim should be to obey
his superiors?"
"It may be" said I, "that I am the first to speak to you in this
manner, for it is very probable that I am the only student in this college who
has read the Holy Bible in his youthful days. I have already told you there was
a Bible in my father's house, which disappeared only after his death, though I
never could know what became of it. I can assure you that the perusal of that
admirable book has done me a good that is still felt. It is, therefore, because
I know by a personal experience that there is no book in the world so good, and
so proper to read, that I am extremely grieved, and even scandalized, by the
dread you have of it. I acknowledge to you I spent the afternoon of yesterday
in the library reading the Bible. I found things in it which made me weep for
joy and happiness things that did more good to my soul and heart than all you
have given me to read for six years. And I am so sad today because you approve
of me when I read the words of the devil, and condemn me when I read the Word
of God."
My superior answered: "Since you have read the Bible, you must know that
there are things in it on matters of such a delicate nature that it is improper
for a young man, and more so for a young lady, to read them."
"I understand," answered I; "but these delicate matters, of
which you do not want God to speak a word to us, you know very well that Satan
speaks to us about them day and night. Now, when Satan speaks about and
attracts our thoughts towards an evil and criminal thing, it is always in order
that we may like it and be lost. But when the God of purity speaks to us of
evil things (of which it is pretty much impossible for men to be ignorant), He
does it that we may hate and abhor them, and He gives us grace to avoid them.
Well, then, since you cannot prevent the devil from whispering to us things so
delicate and dangerous to seduce us, how dare you hinder God from speaking of
the same things to shield us from their allurements? Besides, when my God
desires to speak to me Himself on any question whatever, where is your right to
obstruct His word on its way to my heart?"
Though Mr Leprohon's intelligence was as much wrapped up in the darkness of the
Church of Rome as it could be, his heart had remained honest and true; and
while I respected and loved him as my father, though differing from him in
opinion, I knew he loved me as if I had been his own child. He was
thunderstruck by my answer. He turned pale, and I saw tears about to flow from
his eyes. He sighed deeply, and looked at me some time reflectingly, without
answering. At last he said: "My dear Chiniquy, your answer and your
arguments have a force that frightens me, and if I had no other but my own
personal ideas to disprove them, I acknowledge I do not know how I would do it.
But I have something better than my own weak thoughts. I have the thoughts of
the Church, and of our Holy father the Pope. They forbid us to put the Bible in
the hands of our students. This should suffice to put an end to your troubles.
To obey his legitimate superiors in all things and everywhere is the rule a
Christian scholar like you should follow; and if you have broken it yesterday,
I hope it will be the last time that the child whom I love better than myself
will cause me such pain."
On saying this he threw his arms around me, clasped me to his heart, and bathed
my face in tears. I wept also. Yes, I wept abundantly.
But God knoweth, that through the regret of having grieved my benefactor and
father caused me to shed tears at that moment, yet I wept much more on
perceiving that I would no more be permitted to read His Holy Word.
If, therefore, I am asked what moral and religious education we received at
college, I will ask in return, What religious education can we receive in an
institution where seven years are spent without once being permitted to read
the Gospel of God? The gods of the heathen spoke to us daily by their apostles
and disciples Homer, Virgil, Pindar, Horace! and the God of the Christians had
not permission to say a single word to us in that college!
Our religion, therefore, could be nothing by Paganism disguised under a
Christian name. Christianity in a college or convent of Rome is such a strange
mixture of heathenism and superstition, both ridiculous and childish, and of
shocking fables, that the majority of those who have not entirely smothered the
voice of reason cannot accept it. A few do, as I did, all in their power, and
succeed to a certain extent, in believing only what the superior tell them to
believe. They close their eyes and permit themselves to be led exactly as if
they were blind, and a friendly hand were offering to guide them. But the
greater number of students in Roman Catholic colleges cannot accept the bastard
Christianity which Rome presents to them. Of course, during the studies they
follow its rules, for the sake of peace; but they have hardly left college
before they proceed to join and increase the ranks of the army of skeptics and
infidels which overruns France, Spain, Italy and Canada which overruns, in
fact, all the countries where Rome has the education of the people in her
hands.
I must say, though with a sad heart, that moral and religious education in
Roman Catholic colleges is worse and void, for from them has been excluded the
only true standard of morals and religion, The Word of God!
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CHAPTER 11 Back to Top
We
read in the history of Paganism that parents were often, in those dark ages,
slaying their children upon the altars of their gods, to appease their wrath or
obtain their favours. But we now see a strange thing. It is that of Christian
parents forcing their children into the temples and to the very feet of the
idols of Rome, under the fallacious notion of having them educated! While the
Pagan parent destroyed only the temporal life of his child, the Christian
parent, for the most part, destroys his eternal life. The Pagan was consistent:
he believed in the almighty power and holiness of his gods; he sincerely
thought that they ruled the world, and that they blessed both the victims and
those who offered them. But where is the consistency of the Protestant who
drags his child and offers him as a sacrifice on the altars of the Pope! Does
he believe in his holiness or in his supreme and infallible power of governing
the intelligence? Then why does he not go and throw himself at his feet and
increase the number of his disciples? The Protestants who are guilty of this
great wrong are wont to say, as an excuse, that the superiors of colleges and
convents have assured them that their religious convictions would be respected,
and that nothing should be said or done to take away or even shake the religion
of their children.
Our first parents were not more cruelly deceived by the seductive words of the
serpent than the Protestants are this day by the deceitful promises of the
priests and nuns of Rome.
I had been myself the witness of the promise given by our superior to a judge
of the State of New York, when, a few days later that same superior, the Rev.
Mr. Leprohon, said to me: "You know some English, and this young man knows
French enough to enable you to understand each other. Try to become his friend
and to bring him over to our holy religion. His father is a most influential
man in the United States, and that, his only son, is the heir of an immense
fortune. Great results for the future of the Church in the neighbouring
republic might follow his conversion."
I replied: "Have you forgotten the promise you have made to his father,
never to say or do anything to shake or take away the religion of that young
man?"
My superior smiled at my simplicity, and said: "When you shall have
studied theology you will know that Protestantism is not a religion, but that
it is the negation of religion. Protesting cannot be the basis of any doctrine.
Thus, when I promised Judge Pike that the religious convictions of his child
should be respected, and that I would not do anything to change his faith, I
promised the easiest thing in the world, since I promised not to meddle with a
thing which has no existence."
Convinced, or rather blinded by the reasoning of my superior, which is the
reasoning of every superior of a college or nunnery, I set myself to work from
that moment to make a good Roman Catholic of that young friend; and I would
probably have succeeded had not a serious illness forced him, a few months
after, to go home, where he died.
Protestants who may read these lines will, perhaps, be indignant against the
deceit and knavery of the superior of the college of Nicolet. But I will say to
those Protestants, It is not on that man, but on yourselves, that you must pour
your contempt. The Rev. Mr. Leprohon was honest. He acted conformably to
principles which he thought good and legitimate, and for which he would have
cheerfully given the last drop of his blood. He sincerely believed that your
Protestantism is a mere negation of all religion, worthy of the contempt of
every true Christian. It was not the priest of Rome who was contemptible,
dishonest and a traitor to his principles, but it was the Protestant who was
false to his Gospel and to his own conscience by having his child educated by
the servants of the Pope. Moreover, can we not truthfully say that the
Protestant who wishes to have his children bred and educated by a Jesuit or a
nun is a man of no religion? and that nothing is more ridiculous than to hear
such a man begging respect for his religious principles! A man's ardent desire
to have his religious convictions respected is best known by his respecting
them himself.
The Protestant who drags his children to the feet of the priests of Rome is
either a disguised infidel or a hypocrite. It is simply ridiculous for such a
man to speak of his religious convictions or beg respect for them. His very
humble position a the feet of a Jesuit or a nun, begging respect for his faith,
is a sure testimony that he has none to lose. If he had any he would not be
there, an humble and abject suppliant. He would take care to be where there
could be no danger to his dear child's immortal soul.
When I was in the Church of Rome, we often spoke of the necessity of making
superhuman efforts to attract young Protestants into our colleges and
nunneries, as the shortest and only means of ruling the world before long. And
as the mother has in her hands, still more than the father, the destinies of
the family and of the world, we were determined to sacrifice everything in
order to build nunneries all over the land, where the young girls, the future
mothers of our country, would be moulded in our hands and educated according to
our views.
Nobody can deny that this is supreme wisdom. Who will not admire the enormous
sacrifices made by Romanists in order to surround the nunneries with so many
attractions that it is difficult to refuse them preference above all other
female scholastic establishments? One feels so well in the shade of these
magnificent trees during the hot days of summer! It is so pleasant to live near
this beautiful sheet of water, or the rapid current of that charming river, or
to have constantly before one's eye the sublime spectacle of the sea! What a
sweet perfume the flowers of that parterre diffuse around that pretty and
peaceful convent! And, besides, who can withstand the almost angelic charms of
the Lady Superior! How it does one good to be in the midst of those holy nuns,
whose modesty, affable appearance and lovely smile present such a beautiful
spectacle, that one would think of being at heaven's gate rather than in a
world of desolation and sin!
O foolish man! Thou art always the same ever ready to be seduced by glittering
appearances ever ready to suppress the voice of thy conscience at the first
view of a deductive object!
One day I had embarked in the boat of a fisherman on the coast of one of those
beautiful islands which the hand of God has placed at the mouth of the Gulf of
St. Lawrence. In a few minutes the white sail, full-blown by the morning
breeze, had carried us nearly a mile from the shore. There we dropped our
anchor, and soon our lines, carried by the current, offered the deceitful bait
to the fishes. But not one would come. One would have thought that the
sprightly inhabitants of these limpid waters had acted in concert to despise
us. In vain did we move our lines to and fro to attract the attention of the fishes;
not one would come! We were tired. We lamented the prospect of losing our time,
and of being laughed at by our friends on the shore who were waiting the result
of our fishing to dine. Nearly one hour was spent in his manner, when the
captain said, "Indeed, I will make the fishes come."
Opening a box, he took out handfuls of little pieces of finely-cut fishes and
threw them broadcast on the water.
I was looking at him with curiosity, and I received with a feeling of unbelief
the promise of seeing, in a few moments, more mackerel than I could pick up.
These particles of fish, falling upon the water, scattered themselves in a
thousand different ways. The rays of the sun, sporting among these numberless
fragments, and thousands of scales, gave them a singular whiteness and
brilliancy. They appeared like a thousand diamonds, full of movement and life,
that sported and rolled themselves, running at each other, while rocking upon
the waves.
As these innumerable little objects withdrew from us they looked like the milky
way in the firmament. The rays of the sun continued to be reflected upon the
scales of the fishes in the water, and to transform them into as many pearls,
whose whiteness and splendor made an agreeable contrast with the deep green
colour of the sea.
While looking at that spectacle, which was so new to me, I felt my line jerked
out of my hands, and soon had the pleasure of seeing a magnificent mackerel
lying at my feet. My companions were as fortunate as I was. The bait so
generously thrown away had perfectly succeeded in bringing us not only
hundreds, but thousands of fishes, and we caught as many of them as the boat
could carry.
The Jesuits and the nuns are the Pope's cleverest fishermen, and the
Protestants are the mackerel caught upon their baited hooks. Never fisherman
knew better to prepare the perfidious bait than the nuns and Jesuits, and never
were stupid fishes more easily caught than Protestants in general.
The priests of Rome themselves boast that more than half of the pupils of the
nuns are the children of Protestants, and that seven-tenths of those Protestant
children, sooner or later, become the firmest disciples and the true pillars of
Popery in the United States. It is with that public and undeniable fact before
them that the Jesuits have prophesied that before twenty-five years the Pope
will rule that great republic; and if there is not a prompt change their
prophecy will probably be accomplished.
"But," say many Protestants, "where can we get safer securities
that the morals of our girls will be sheltered than in those convents? The
faces of those good nuns, their angelic smiles, even their lips, from which
seems to flow a perfume from heaven are not these the unfailing signs that
nothing will taint the hearts of our dear children when they are under the care
of those holy nuns?" Angelic smiles! Lips from which flow a perfume from
heaven! Expressions of peace and holiness of the good nuns! Delusive
allurements! Cruel deceptions! Mockery of comedy! Yes, all these angelic smiles,
all these expressions of joy and happiness, are but allurements to deceive
honest but too trusting men!
I believed myself for a long time that there was something true in all the
display of peace and happiness which I saw reflected in the faces of a good number
of nuns. But how soon my delusions passed away when I read with my own eyes, in
a book of the secret rules of the convent, that one of their rules is always,
especially in the presence of strangers, to have an appearance of joy and
happiness, even when the soul is overwhelmed with grief and sorrow! The motives
given to the nuns, for thus wearing a continual mask, is to secure the esteem
and respect of the people, and to win more securely the young ladies to the
convent!
All know the sad end of life of one of the most celebrated female comedians of
the American Theatre. She had acted her part in the evening with a perfect
success. She appeared so handsome, and so happy on the stage! Her voice was
such a perfect harmony; her singing was so merry and lively with mirth! Two
hours later she was a corpse! She had poisoned herself on leaving the theatre!
For some time her heart was broken with grief which she could not bear.
Thus it is with the nun in her cell! forced to play a sacrilegious comedy to
deceive the world and to bring new recruits to the monastery. And the
Protestants, the disciples of the Gospel, the children of light, suffer
themselves to be deceived by this impious comedy.
The poor nun's heart is often full of sorrow, and her soul is drowned in a sea
of desolation; but she is obliged, under oath, always to appear gay!
Unfortunate victim of the most cruel deception that has ever been invented,
that poor daughter of Eve, deprived of all the happiness that heaven has given,
tortured night and day by honest aspirations which she is told are unpardonable
sins, she has not only to suppress in herself the few buds of happiness which
God has left in her soul; but, what is more cruel, she is forced to appear
happy in anguish of shame and of deception.
Ah! if the Protestants could know, as I do, how much the hearts of those nuns
bleed, how much those poor victims of the Pope feel themselves wounded to
death, how almost every one of them die at an early age, broken-hearted,
instead of speaking of their happiness and holiness, they would weep at their
profound misery. Instead of helping Satan to build up and maintain those sad
dungeons by giving both their gold and their children, they would let them
crumble into dust, and thus check the torrents of silent though bitter tears
which those cells hide from our view.
I was traveling in 1851 over the vast prairies of Illinois in search of a spot
which would suit us the best for the colony which I was about to found. One day
my companions and myself found ourselves so wearied by the heat that we
resolved to wait for the cool night in the shade of a few trees around a brook.
The night was calm; there were no clouds in the sky, and the moon was
beautiful. Like the sailor upon the sea, we had nothing but our compass to
regulate our course on those beautiful and vast prairies. But the pen cannot
express the emotions I felt while looking at that beautiful sky and those
magnificent deserts opened to our view. We often came to sloughs which we
thought deeper than they really were, and of which we would keep the side for
fear of drowning our horses. Many a time did I get down from the carriage and
stop to contemplate the wonders which those ponds presented to our view.
All the splendours of the sky seemed brought down in those pure and limpid
waters. The moon and the stars seemed to have left their places in the
firmament to bathe themselves in those delightful lakelets. All the purest, the
most beautiful things of the heavens seemed to come down to hide themselves in
those tranquil waters as if in search of more peace and purity.
A few days later I was retracing my steps. It was day-time; and, following the
same route, I was longing to get to my charming little lakes. But during the
interval the heat had been great, the sun very hot, and my beautiful sheets of
water had been dried up. My dear little lakes were nowhere to be seen.
And what did I find instead? Innumerable reptiles, with the most hideous forms
and filthy colours! No brilliant start, no clear moon were there any more to
charm my eyes. There was nothing left but thousands of little toads and snakes,
at the sight of which I was filled with disgust and horror!
Protestants! when upon life's way you are tempted to admire the smiling lips
and unstained faces of the Pope's nuns, please think of those charming lakes
which I saw in the prairies of Illinois, and remember the innumerable reptiles
and toads that swarm at the bottom of those deceitful waters.
When, by the light of Divine truth, Protestants see behind these perfect
mockeries by which the nun conceals with so much care the hideous misery which
devours her heart, they will understand the folly of having permitted
themselves to be so easily deceived by appearances. Then they will bitterly
weep for having sacrificed to that modern Paganism the future welfare of their
children, of their families, and of their country!
"But," says one, "the education is so cheap in the
nunnery." I answer, "The education in convents, were it twice cheaper
than it is now, would still cost twice more than it is worth. It is in this
circumstance that we can repeat and apply the old proverb, `Cheap things are
always too highly paid for.'"
In the first place, the intellectual education in the nunnery is completely
null. The great object of the Pope and the nuns is to captivate and destroy the
intelligence.
The moral education is also of no account; for what kind of morality can a
young girl receive from a nun who believes that she can live as she pleases as
long as she likes it that nothing evil can come to her, neither in this life
nor in the next, provided only she is devout to the Virgin Mary?
Let Protestants read the "Glories of Mary," by St. Liguori, a book
which is in the hands of every nun and every priest, and they will understand
what kind of morality is practiced and taught inside the walls of the Church of
Rome. Yes; let them read the history of that lady who was so well represented
at home by the Holy Virgin, that her husband did not perceive that she had been
absent, and they will have some idea of what their children may learn in a
convent.
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CHAPTER 12 Back to Top
The
word education is a beautiful word. It comes from the Latin educare, which
means to raise up, to take from the lowest degrees to the highest spheres of
knowledge. The object of education is, then, to feed, expand, raise, enlighten,
and strengthen the intelligence.
We hear the Roman Catholic priests making use of that beautiful word education
as often, in not oftener, than the Protestant. But that word
"education" has a very different meaning among the followers of the
Pope than among the disciples of the Gospel. And that difference, which the
Protestants ignore, is the cause of the strange blunders they make every time
they try to legislate on that question here, as well as in England or in
Canada.
The meaning of the word education among Protestants is as far from the meaning
of that same word among Roman Catholics as the southern pole is from the
northern pole. When a Protestant speaks of education, that word is used and
understood in its true sense. When he sends his little boy to a Protestant
school, he honestly desires that he should be reared up in the spheres of
knowledge as much as his intelligence will allow. When that little boy is going
to school, he soon feels that he has been raised up to some extent, and he
experiences a sincere joy, a noble pride, for this new, though at first very
modest raising; but he naturally understands that this new and modest upheaval
is only a stone to step on and raise himself to a higher degree of knowledge,
and he quickly makes that second step with an unspeakable pleasure. When the
son of a Protestant has acquired a little knowledge, he wants to acquire more.
When he has learned what this means, he wants to know what that means also.
Like the young eagle, he trims his wings for a higher flight, and turns his
head upward to go farther up in the atmosphere of knowledge. A noble and
mysterious ambition has suddenly seized his young soul. Then he begins to feel
something of that unquenchable thirst for knowledge which God Himself has put
in the breast of every child of Adam, a thirst of knowledge, however, which
will never be perfectly realized except in heaven.
The object of education, then, is to enable man to fulfill that kingly mission
of ruling, subduing the world, under the eyes of his Creator.
Let us remember that it is not from himself, nor from any angel, but it is from
God Himself that man has received that sublime mission. Yes, it is God Himself
who has implanted in the bosom of humanity the knowledge and aspirations of
those splendid destinies which can be attained only by "Education."
What a glorious impulse is this that seizes hold of the newly-awakened mind,
and leads the young intelligence to rise higher and pierce the clouds that hide
from his gaze the splendours of knowledge that lay concealed beyond the gloom
of this nether sphere! That impulse is a noble ambition; it is that part of
humanity that assimilates itself to the likeness of the great Creator; that
impulse which education has for its mission to direct in its onward and upward
march, is one of the most precious gifts of God to man. Once more, the glorious
mission of education is to foster these thirstings after knowledge and lead man
to accomplish his high destiny.
It ought to be a duty with both Roman Catholics and Protestants to assist the
pupil in his flight toward the regions of science and learning. But is it so?
No. When you, Protestants, send you children to school, you put no fetters to
their intelligence; they rise with fluttering wings day after day. Though their
flight at first is slow and timid, how happy they feel at every new aspect of
their intellectual horizon! How their hearts beat with an unspeakable joy when
they begin to hear voices of applause and encouragement from every side saying
to them, "Higher, higher, higher!" When they shake their young wings
to take a still higher flight, who can express their joy when they distinctly
hear again the voices of a beloved mother, of a dear father, of a venerable
pastor, cheering them and saying, "Well done! Higher yet, my child,
higher!"
Raising themselves with more confidence on their wings, they then soar still
higher, in the midst of the unanimous concert of the voices of their whole
country encouraging them to the highest flight. It is then that the young man
feels his intellectual strength tenfold multiplied. He lifts himself on his
eagle wings, with a renewed confidence and power, and soars up still higher,
with his heart beating with a noble and holy joy. For from the south and north,
from the east and west, the echoes bring to his ears the voices of the admiring
multitudes "Rise higher, higher yet!"
He has now reached what he thought, at first, to be the highest regions of
thought and knowledge: but he hears again the same stimulating cries from
below, encouraging him to a still higher flight toward the loftiest dominion of
knowledge and philosophy, till he enters the regions where lies the source of all
truth, and light, and life. For he had also heard the voice of his God speaking
through His Son Jesus Christ, crying, "Come unto Me! Fear Not! Come unto
Me! I am the light, the way! Come to this higher region where the Father, with
the Son and the Spirit, reign in endless light!"
Thus does the Protestant scholar, making use of his intelligence as the eagle
of his wing, go on from weakness unto strength, from the timid flutter to the
bold confident flight, from one degree to another still higher, from one region
of knowledge to another still higher, till he loses himself in that ocean of
light and truth and life which is God.
In the Protestant schools no fetters are put on the young eagle's wings; there
is nothing to stop him in his progress, or paralyze his movements and upward
flights. It is the contrary: he receives every kind of encouragement in his
flight.
Thus it is that the only truly great nations in the world are Protestants! Thus
it is the truly powerful nations in the world are Protestants! Thus it is that
the only free nations in the world are Protestants! The Protestant nations are
the only ones that acquit themselves like men in the arena of this world;
Protestant nations only march as giants at the head of the civilized world.
Everywhere they are the advanced guard in the ranks of progress, science and
liberty, leaving far behind the unfortunate nations whose hands are tied by the
ignominious iron chains of Popery.
After we have seen the Protestant scholar raising himself, on his eagle wings,
to the highest spheres of intelligence, happiness, and light, and marching
unimpeded toward his splendid destinies, let us turn our eyes toward the Roman
Catholic student, and let us consider and pity him in the supreme degradation
to which he is subjected.
That young Roman Catholic scholar is born with the same bright intelligence as
the Protestant one; he is endowed by his Creator with the same powers of mind
as his Protestant meighbour; he has the same impulses, the same noble
aspirations implanted by the hand of God in his breast. He is sent to school
apparently, like the Protestant boy, to receive what is called
"Education." He at first understands that word in its true sense; he
goes to school in the hope of being raised, elevated as high as his intelligence
and his person efforts will allow. His heart beats with joy, when at once the
first rays of light and knowledge come to him; he feels a holy, a noble pride
at every new step he makes in his upward progress; he longs to learn more, he
wants to rise higher; he also takes up his wings, like the young eagle, and
soars up higher.
But here begin the disappointments and tribulations of the Roman Catholic
student; for he is allowed to raise himself yes, but when he has raised himself
high enough to be on a level with the big toes of the Pope he hears piercing,
angry, threatening cries coming from every side "Stop! stop! Do not rise
yourself higher than the toes of the Holy Pope!....Kiss those holy toes,....and
stop your upward flight! Remember that the Pope is the only source of science,
knowledge, and truth!....The knowledge of the Pope is the ultimate limit of
learning and light to which humanity can attain....You are not allowed to know
and believe what his Holiness does not know and believe. Stop! stop! Do not go
an inch higher than the intellectual horizon of the Supreme Pontiff of Rome, in
whom only is the plenitude of the true science which will save the world."
Some will perhaps answer me here: "Has not Rome produced great men in
every department of science?" I answer, Yes; as I have once done before.
Rome can show us a long list of names which shine among the brightest lights of
the firmament of science and philosophy. She can show us her Copernicus, her
Galileos, her Pascals, her Bossuets, her Lamenais, ect., ect. But it is at
their risk and peril that those giants of intelligence have raised themselves
into the highest regions of philosophy and science. It is in spite of Rome that
those eagles have soared up above the damp and obscure horizon where the Pope
offers his big toes to be kissed and worshipped as the ne plus ultra of human
intelligence; and they have invariably been punished for their boldness.
On the 22 of June, 1663, Galileo was obliged to fall on his knees in order to
escape the cruel death to which he was to be condemned by the order of the
Pope; and he signed with his own hand the following retraction: "I abjure,
curse, and detest the error and heresy of the motion of the earth," ect.,
ect.
That learned man had to degrade himself by swearing a most egregious lie,
namely, that the earth does not move around the sun. Thus it is that the wings
of that giant eagle of Rome were clipped by the scissors of the Pope. That
mighty intelligence was bruised, fettered, and, as much as it was possible to
the Church of Rome, degraded, silenced, and killed. But God would not allow
that such a giant intellect should be entirely strangled by the bloody hands of
that implacable enemy of light and truth the Pope. Sufficient strength and life
had remained in Galileo to enable him to say, when rising up, "This will
not prevent the earth from moving!"
The infallible decree of the infallible Pope, Urban VIII, against the motion of
the earth is signed by the Cardinals Felia, Guido, Desiderio, Antonio, Bellingero,
and Fabriccioi. It says: "In the name and by the authority of Jesus
Christ, the plenitude of which resides in His Vicar, the Pope, that the
proposition that the earth is not the centre of the world, and that it moves
with a diurnal motion is absurd, philosophically false, and erroneous in
faith."
What a glorious thing for the Pope of Rome to be infallible! He infallibly
knows that the earth does not move around the sun! And what a blessed thing for
the Roman Catholics to be governed and taught by such an infallible being. In
consequence of that infallible decree, you will admire the following act of
human submission of two celebrated Jesuit astronomers, Lesueur and Jacquier:
"Newton assumes in his third book the hypothesis of the earth moving
around the sun. The proposition of that author could not be explained, except
through the same hypothesis: we have, therefore, been forced to act a character
not our own. But we declare our entire submission to the decrees of the Supreme
Pontiffs of Rome against the motion of the earth." (Newton's
"Principia," vol. iii., p.450.)
Here you see two learned Jesuits, who have written a very able work to prove
that the earth moves around the sun; but, trembling at the thunders of the
Vatican, which are roaring on their heads and threaten to kill them, they
submit to the decrees of the Popes of Rome against the motion of the earth.
These two learned Jesuits tell a most contemptible and ridiculous lie to save
themselves from the implacable wrath of that great light-extinguisher whose
throne is in the city of the seven hills.
Had the Newtons, the Franklins, the Fultons, the Morses been Romanists, their
names would have been lost in the obscurity which is the natural heritage of
the abject slaves of the Popes. Being told from their infancy that no one had
any right to make use of his "private judgment," intelligence and
conscience in the research of truth, they would have remained mute and
motionless at the feet of the modern and terrible god of Rome, the Pope. But
they were Protestants! In that great and glorious word "Protestant"
is the secret of the marvelous discoveries with which they had read a book
which told them that they were created in the image of God, and that that great
God had sent His eternal Son Jesus to make them free from the bondage of man.
They had read in that Protestant book (for the Bible is the most Protestant
book in the world) that man had not only a conscience, but an intelligence to
guide him; they had learned that that intelligence and conscience had no other
master but God, no other guide but God, no other light but God. On the walls of
their Protestant schools the Son of God had written the marvelous words:
"Come unto Me; I am the Light, the Way, the Life."
But when the Protestant nations are marching with such giant strides to the
conquest of the world, why is it that the Roman Catholic nations not only
remain stationary, but give evidence of a decadence which is, day after day,
more and more appalling and remediless? Go to their schools and give a moment
of attention to the principles which are sown in the young intelligences of
their unfortunate slaves, and you will have the key to tat sad mystery.
What is not only the first, but the daily school lesson taught to the Roman
Catholic? Is it not that one of the greatest crimes which a man can commit is
to follow his "private judgment?" which means that he has eyes, but
cannot see; ears, but he cannot hear; and intelligence, but he cannot make use
of it in the research of truth and light and knowledge, without danger of being
eternally damned. His superiors which mean the priest and the Pope must see for
him, hear for him, and think for him. Yes, the Roman Catholic is constantly
told in his school that the most unpardonable and damnable crime is to make use
of his own intelligence and follow his own private judgment in the research of
truth. He is constantly reminded that man's own private judgment is his
greatest enemy. Hence all his intellectual and conscientious efforts must be
brought to fight down, silence, kill his "private judgment." It is by
the judgment of his superiors the priest, the bishop and the pope that he must
be guided in everything.
Now, what is a man who cannot make use of his "private personal
judgment?" Is he not a slave, an idiot, an ass? And what is a nation
composed of men who do not make use of their private personal judgment in the
research of truth and happiness, if not a nation of brutes, slaves and
contemptible idiots?
But as this will look like an exaggeration on my part, allow me to force the
Church of Rome to come here and speak for herself. Please pay attention to what
she has to say about the intellectual faculties of men. Here are the very words
of the so-called Saint Ignatius Loyola, the founder of the Jesuit Society:-
"As for holy obedience, this virtue must be perfect in every point in
execution, in will, in intellect; doing which is enjoined with all celerity,
spiritual joy and perseverance; persuading ourselves that everything is just,
suppressing every repugnant thought and judgment of one's own in a certain
obedience; and let every one persuade himself, that he who lives under
obedience should be moved and directed, under Divine Providence, by his
superior, just as if he were a corpse (perinde asi cadaver esset) which allows
itself to be moved and led in every direction."
Some one will, perhaps, ask me what can be the object of the popes and the
priests of Rome in degrading the Roman Catholics in such a strange way that
they turn them into moral corpses? Why not let them live? The answer is a very
easy one. The great, the only object of the thoughts and workings of the Pope
and the priests is to raise themselves above the rest of the world. They want
to be high! high above the heads not only of the common people, but of the
kings and emperors of the world. They want to be not only as high, but higher
than God. It is when speaking of the Pope that the Holy Ghost says: "He
opposeth and exalted himself above all that is called God, shewing himself that
he is God." (2 Thess. ii.4). To attain their object, the priests have
persuaded their millions and millions of slaves that they were mere corpses;
that they must have no will, no conscience, no intelligence of their own, just
"as corpses which allow themselves to be moved and led in any way, without
any resistance." When this has been once gained, they have made a pyramid
of all those motionless, inert corpses which is so high, that though its feet
are on the earth, its top goes to the skies, in the very abode of the old
divinities of the Pagan world, and putting themselves and their popes at the
top of that marvelous pyramid, the priests say to the rest of the world:
"Who among you are as high as we are? Who has ever been raised by God as a
priest and a pope? Where are the kings and the emperors whose thrones are as
elevated as ours? Are we not at the very top of humanity?" Yes! yes! I
answer to the priests of Rome, you are high, very high indeed! No throne on
earth has ever been so sublime, so exalted as yours. Since the days of the
tower of Babel, the world has not seen such a huge fabric. Your throne is
higher than anything we know. But it is a throne of corpses!!!
And if you want to know what other use is made of those millions and millions
of corpses, I will tell it to you. There is no manure so rich as dead
carcasses. Those millions of corpses serve to manure the gardens of the
priests, the bishops and the popes, and make their cabbages grow. And what fine
cabbages grow in the Pope's garden!
But that you may better understand the degrading tendencies of the principles
which are as the fundamental stone of the moral and intellectual education of
Rome, let me put before your eyes another extract of the Jesuit teachings,
which I take again from the "Spiritual Exercises," as laid down by
their founder, Ignatius Loyola: "That we may in all things attain the
truth, that we may not err in anything, we ought ever to hold as a fixed
principle that what I see white I believe to be black, if the superior
authorities of the Church define it to be so."
You all know that it is the avowed desire of Rome to have public education in
the hands of the Jesuits. She says everywhere that they are the best, the model
teachers. Why so?
Because they more boldly and more successfully than any other of her teachers
aim at the destruction of the intelligence and conscience of their pupils. Rome
proclaims everywhere that the Jesuits are the most devoted, the most reliable
of her teachers; and she is right, for when a man has been trained a sufficient
time by them, the most perfectly becomes a moral corpse. His superiors can do
what they please with him. When he knows that a thing is white as snow, he is
ready to swear that it is black as ink if his superior tells him so. But some
may be tempted to think of these degrading principles are exclusively taught by
the Jesuits; that they are not the teachings of the Church, and that I do an
injustice to the Roman Catholics when I give, as a general iniquity, what is
the guilt of the Jesuits only. Listen to the words of that infallible Pope
Gregory XVI., in his celebrated Encyclical of the 15th of August, 1832:"If
the holy Church so requires, let us sacrifice our own opinions, our knowledge,
our intelligence, the splendid dreams of our imagination, and the most sublime
attainments of the human understanding."
It is when considering those anti-social principles of Rome that Mr. Gladstone
wrote, not long ago: "No more cunning plot was ever devised against the
freedom, the happiness and the virtue of mankind than Romanism."
("Letter to Earl Aberdeen.") Now, Protestants, do you begin to see
the difference of the object of education between a Protestant and a Roman
Catholic school? Do you begin to understand that there is as great a distance between
the word "Education" among you, and the meaning of the same word in
the Church of Rome, than between the southern and the northern poles! By
education you mean to raise man to the highest sphere of manhood. Rome means to
lower him below the most stupid brutes. By education you mean to teach man that
he is a free agent, that liberty within the limits of the laws of God and of
his country is a gift secured to every one; you want to impress every man with
the noble thought that it is better to die a free man than to live a slave.
Rome wants to teach that there is only one man who is free, the Pope, and that
all the rest are born to be his abject slaves in thought, will and action.
Now, that you may still more understand to what a bottomless abyss of human
degradation and moral depravity these anti-Christian and antisocial principles
of Rome lead her poor blind slaves, read what Liguori says in his book
"The Nun Sanctified": "The principal and most efficacious means
of practicing obedience due to superiors, and of rendering it meritorious
before God, is to consider that in obeying them we obey God Himself, and that
by despising their commands we despise the authority of our Divine Master.
When, thus, a religious receives a precept from her prelate, superior or
confessor, she should immediately execute it, not only to please them but
principally to please God, whose will is made known to her by their command. In
obeying their command, in obeying their directions, she is more certainly
obeying the will of God than if an angel came down from heaven to manifest His
will to her. Bear this always in your mind, that the obedience which you
practice to your superior is paid to God. If, then, you receive a command from
one who holds the place of God, you should observe it with the same diligence
as if it came from God Himself. Blessed Egidus used to say that it is more
meritorious to obey man for the love of God than God Himself. It may be added
that there is more certainty of doing the will of God by obedience to our
superior than by obedience to Jesus Christ, should He appear in person and give
His commands. St. Phillip de Neri used to say that religious shall be most
certain of not having to render an account of the actions performed through
obedience; for these the superiors only who commanded them shall be held
accountable." The Lord said once to St. Catherine of Sienne,
"Religious will not be obliged to render an account to me of what they do
through obedience; for that I will demand an account from the superior. This doctrine
is conformable to Sacred Scripture: `Behold, says the Lord, as clay is in the
potter's hand, so are you in My hands, O Israel!' (Jeremiah xviii. 6.) A
religious man must be in the hands of the superiors to be moulded as they will.
Shall the clay say to Him that fashioneth it, What art Thou making? The Potter
ought to answer `Be silent; it is not your business to inquire what I do, but
to obey and to receive whatever form I please to give you.'"
I ask you, American Protestants, what would become of your fair country if you
were blind enough to allow the Church of Rome to teach the children of the
United States? What kind of men and women can come out of such schools? What
future of shame, degradation, and slavery you prepare for your country if Rome
does succeed in forcing you to support such schools? What kind of women would
come out from the schools of nuns who would teach them that the highest pitch
of perfection in a woman is when she obeys her superior, the priest, in
everything he commands her! that your daughter will never be called to give an
account to God for the actions she will have done to please and obey her
superior, the priest, the bishop, or the Pope? That the affairs of her
conscience will be arranged between God and that superior, and that she will
never be asked why she had done this or that, when it will be to gratify the
pleasures of the superior and obey his command that she has done it. Again,
what kind of men and citizens will come out from the schools of those Jesuits
who believe and teach that a man has attained the perfection of manhood only
when he is a perfect spiritual corpse before his superior; when he obeys the
priest with the perfection of a cadaver, that has neither life nor will in
itself.
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CHAPTER 13 Back to Top
Talleyrand,
one of the most celebrated Roman Catholic bishops of France, once said,
"Language is the art of concealing one's thoughts." Never was there a
truer expression, if it had reference to the awful deceptions practiced by the
Church of Rome under the pompous name of "Theological studies."
Theology is the study of the knowledge of the laws of God. Nothing, then, is
more noble than the study of theology. How solemn were my thoughts and elevated
my aspirations when, in 1829, under the guidance of the Rev. Messrs. Rimbault
and Leprohon, I commenced my theological coarse of study at Nicolet, which I
was to end in 1833!
I supposed that my books of theology were to bring me nearer to my God by the
more perfect knowledge I would acquire, in their study, of His holy will and
His sacred laws. My hope was that they would be to my heart what the burning
coal, brought by the angel of the Lord, was to the lips of the prophet of old.
The principal theologians which we had in our hands were "Les Conferences
d'Anger," Bailly, Dens, St. Thomas, but above all Liguori, who has since
been canonized. Never did I open one without offering up a fervent prayer to
God and to the Virgin Mary for the light and grace of which I would be in need
for myself and for the people whose pastor I was to become.
But how shall I relate my surprise when I discovered that, in order to accept
the principles of the theologians which my Church gave me for guides I had to
put away all principles of truth, of justice, of honour and holiness! What long
and painful efforts it cost me to extinguish, one by one, the lights of truth
and of reason kindled by the hand of my merciful God in my intelligence. For to
study theology in the Church of Rome signifies to learn to speak falsely, to
deceive, to commit robbery, to perjure one's self! It means how to commit sins
without shame, it means to plunge the soul into every kind of iniquity and
turpitude without remorse!
I know that Roman Catholics will bravely and squarely deny what I now say. I am
aware also that a great many Protestants, too easily deceived by the fine
whitewashing of the exterior walls of Rome, will refuse to believe me.
Nevertheless they may rest assured it is true, and my proof will be
irrefutable. The truth may be denied by many, but my witnesses cannot be
contradicted by any one. My witnesses are even infallible. They are none other
than the Roman Catholic theologians themselves, approved by infallible Popes!
These very men who corrupted my heart, perverted my intelligence and poisoned
my soul, as they have done with each and every priest of their Church, will be
my witnesses, my only witnesses. I will just now forcibly bring them before the
world to testify against themselves!
Liguori, in his treatise on oaths, Question 4, asks if it is allowable to use
ambiguity, or equivocal words, to deceive the judge when under oath, and at no.
151 he answers: "These things being established, it is a certain and
common opinion amongst all divines that for a just cause it is lawful to use
equivocation in the propounded modes, and to confirm it (equivocation) with an
oath.... Now a just cause is any honest end in order to preserve good things
for the spirit, or useful things for the body."*
"The accused, or a witness not properly interrogated, can sear that he
does not know a crime, which in reality he does know, by understanding that he
does not know the crime, concerning which he can be legitimately enquired of,
or that he does not know it so as to give evidence concerning it."**
When the crime is very secret and unknown to all, Liguori says the culprit or
the witness must deny it under oath. "The same is true, if a witness on
another ground is not bound to depose; for instance, if the crime appear to
himself to be free from blame. Or if he knew a crime which he is bound to keep
secret, when no scandal may have gone abroad." ***
"Make an exception in a trial where the crime is altogether concealed. For
then he can, yea, the witness is bound to say that the accused did not commit the
crime. And the same course the accused can adopt, if the proof be not complete,
ect., because then the judge does not legitimately interrogate."****
Liguori asks himself, "Whether the accused legitimately interrogated, can
deny a crime, even with an oath, if the confession of the crime would be
attended with great disadvantage." The saint replies:"Elbel, ect.,
denies that he can, and indeed more probably because the accused is then bound
for the general good to undergo the loss. But sufficiently probable Lugo, ect.,
with many others, say, that the accused, if in danger of death, or of prison,
or of perpetual exile, the loss of property, the danger of the galleys, and
such like, can deny the crime even with an oath (at least without great sin) by
understanding that he did not commit it so that he is bound to confess it, only
let there be a hope of avoiding the punishment." *
"He who hath sworn that he would keep a secret, does not sin against the
oath by revealing that secret when he cannot conceal it without great loss to
himself, or to another, because the promise of secrecy does not appear to bind,
unless under this condition, if it does not injure me."
"He who hath sworn to a judge that he would speak what he knew, is not
bound to reveal concealed things. The reason is manifest." **
Liguori says whether a woman, accused of the crime of adultery, which she has
really committed, may deny it under oath? He answers: "She is able to
assert equivocally that she did not break the bond of matrimony, which truly
remains. And if sacramentally she confessed adultery, she can answer, `I am
innocent of this crime,' because by confession it was taken away. So Card, who,
however, here remarks that she cannot affirm it with an oath, because in
asserting anything the probability of a deed suffices, but in swearing
certainty is required. To this it is replied that in swearing moral certainty
suffices, as we said above. Which moral certainty of the remission of sin can
indeed be had, when any, morally well disposed, receives the sacrament of
penance."***
Liguori maintains that one may commit a minor crime in order to avoid a greater
crime. He says, "Hence Sanchez teaches, ect., that it is lawful to
persuade a man, determined to slay some one, that he should commit theft or
fornication." *
"Whether is it lawful for a servant to open the door for a harlot? Croix
denies it, but more commonly Bus. ect., with others answer that it is
lawful."
"Whether from fear of death, or of great loss, it may be lawful for a
servant to stoop his shoulders, or to bring a ladder for his master ascending
to commit fornication, to force open the door, and such like? Viva, ect., deny
it, and others, because, as they say, such actions are never lawful, inasmuch
as they are intrinsically evil. But Busemb, ect., speak the contrary, whose
opinion, approved of by reason, appears to me the more probable."**
"But the salmanticenses say that a servant can, according to his own
judgment, compensate himself for his labour, if he without doubt judge that he
was deserving of a larger stipend. Which indeed appears sufficiently probable
to me, and to other more modern learned men, if the servant, or any other hired
person, be prudent, and capable of forming a correct judgment, and be certain
concerning the justice of the compensation, all danger of mistake being
removed." ***
"A poor man, absconding with goods for his support, can answer the judge
that he has nothing. In like manner an heir who has concealed his goods without
an inventory, if he is not bound to settle with his creditors from them, can
say to a judge that he has not concealed anything in his own mind meaning those
goods with which he is bound to satisfy his creditors." *
Liguori, in Dubium II., considers what may be the quantity of stolen property
necessary to constitute mortal sin. He says:-
"There are various opinions concerning this matter. Navar too scrupulously
has fixed the half of regalem, others with too great laxity have fixed ten
aureos. Tol., ect., moderately have fixed two regales, although less might
suffice, if it would be a serious loss."**
"Whether it be mortal sin to steal a small piece of a relic? There is no
doubt but that in the district of Rome it is a mortal sin, since Clement VIII.
and Paul V. have issued an excommunication against those who, the rectors of
the churches being unwilling, steal some small relic: otherwise Croix probably
says, ect., if any one should steal any small thing out of the district [of
Rome], not deforming the relic itself nor diminishing its estimation; unless it
may be some rare or remarkable relic, as for example, the holy cross, the hair
of the Blessed Virgin, ect." ***
"If any one on an occasion should steal only a moderate sum either from
one or more, not intending to acquire any notable sum, neither to injure his
neighbour to a great extent by several thefts, he does not sin grievously, nor
do these, taken together, constitute a mortal sin; however, after it may have
amounted to a notable sum, by detaining it, he can commit mortal sin. But even
this mortal sin may be avoided, if either then he be unable to restore, or have
the intention of making restitution immediately, of those things which he then
received."****
"This opinion of Bus. is most probable, viz., if many persons steal small
quantities, that none of them commit grievous sin, although they may be
mutually aware of their conduct, unless they do it by concert: also Habert,
ect., hold this view; and this, although each should steal at the same time.
The reason is, because then no one person is the cause of injury, which, per
accidens, happens by the others to the master." *
Liguori, speaking of children who steal from their parents, says:"Salas,
ect., say that a son does not commit grievous sin, who steals 20 or 30 aurei
from a father possessing yearly 1500 aureos, and Lugo does not disprove of it.
If the father be not tenacious, and the son have grown up and receive it for
honest purposes. Less, ect., say that a son stealing two or three aureos from a
rich father does not sin grievously; Bannez says that fifty aureos are required
to constitute a grievous sin who steals from a rich father; but this opinion,
Lug, ect., reject, unless perchance he is the son of a prince; in which case
Holzm. consents."**
The theologians of Rome assure us that we may, and even that we must, conceal
and disguise our faith.
"Notwithstanding, indeed although it is not lawful to lie, or to feign
what is not, nevertheless it is lawful to dissemble what is, or to cover the
truth with words, or other ambiguous and doubtful signs for a just cause, and
when there is not a necessity of confessing. It is the common opinion."***
"Whence, if thus he may be able to deliver himself from a troublesome
investigation, it is lawful (as Kon has it), for generally it is not true that
he who is interrogated by public authority is publicly bound to profess the
faith, unless when that is necessary, lest he may appear to those present to
deny the faith."****
"When you are not asked concerning the faith, not only is it lawful, but
often more conducive to the glory of God and the utility of your neighbour to
cover the faith than to confess it; for example, if concealed among heretics
you may accomplish a greater amount of good; or if, from the confession of the
faith more of evil would follow for example, great trouble, death, the
hostility of a tyrant, the peril of defection, if you should be tortured.
Whence it is often rash to offer one's self willingly." * The Pope has the
right to release from all oaths.
"As for an oath made for a good and legitimate object, it seems that there
should be no power capable of annulling it. However, when it is for the good of
the public, a matter which comes under the immediate jurisdiction of the Pope,
who has the supreme power over the Church, the Pope has full power to release
from that oath." (St. Thomas, Quest. 89, art. 9, vol. iv.)
The Roman Catholics have not only the right, but it is their duty to kill
heretics.
"Excommunicatus privatur omni civili communicatione fidelium, ita ut ipsi
non possit cum aliis, et si non sit toleratus, etiam aliis cum ipso non possint
communicare; idque in casibus hoc versu comprehensis, Os, orare, communio,
mensa negatur."
Translated: "Any man excommunicated is deprived of all civil communication
with the faithful, in such a way that if he is not tolerated they can have no
communication with him, as it is in the following verse, `It is forbidden to
kiss him, pray with him, salute him, to eat or to do any business with
him.'" (St. Liguori, vol. ix., page 62.)
"Quanquam heretici tolerandi non sunt ipso illorum demerito, usque tamen
ad secundam correptionem expectandi sunt, ut ad sanam redeant ecclesiae fidem;
qui vero post secundam correptionem in suo errore obstinati permanent, non modo
excommunicationis sententia, sed etiam saecularibus principibus exterminandi
tradendi sunt."
Translated: "Though heretics must not be tolerated because they deserve
it, we must bear with them till, by a second admonition, they may be brought
back to the faith of the Church. But those who, after a second admonition,
remain obstinate in their errors must not only be excommunicated, but they must
be delivered to the secular powers to be exterminated."
"Quanquam heretici revertentes, semper recipiendi sint ad poenitentiam
quoties cujque relapsi furint; non tamen semper sunt recipiendi et restituendi
ad bonorum hujus vitae participation nem...recipiuntur ad poenitentiam...non
tamen ut liberentur a sententia mortis."
Translated: "Though the heretics who repent must always be accepted to
penance, as often as they have fallen, they must not in consequence of that
always be permitted to enjoy the benefits of this life. When they fall again
they are admitted to repent. But the sentence of death must not be
removed." (St. Thomas, vol. iv., page 91.)
"Quum quis per sententiam denuntiatur propter apostasiam excommunicatus,
ipso facto, ejus subditi a dominio et juramento fidelitatis ejus liberati
sunt."
"When a man is excommunicated for his apostasy, it follows from that very
fact that all those who are his subjects are released from the oath of
allegiance by which they were bound to obey him." (St. Thomas, vol. iv.,
page 91.)
Every heretic and Protestant is condemned to death, and every oath of
allegiance to a government which is Protestant or heretic is abrogated by the
Council of Lateran, held in A.d. 1215. Here is the solemn decree and sentence
of death, which has never been repealed, and which is still in force:
"We excommunicate and anathematize every heresy that exalts itself against
the holy, orthodox and Catholic faith, condemning all heretics, by whatever
name they may be known; for though their faces differ, they are tied together
by their tails. Such as are condemned are to be delivered over to the existing
secular powers, to receive due punishment. If laymen, their goods must be
confiscated. If priests, they shall be first degraded from their respective
orders, and their property applied to the use of the church in which they have
officiated. Secular powers of all ranks and degrees are to be warned, induced,
and, if necessary, compelled by ecclesiastical censure, to swear that they will
exert themselves to the utmost in the defense of the faith, and extirpate all
heretics denounced by the Church who shall be found in their territories. And
whenever any person shall assume government, whether it be spiritual or
temporal, he shall be bound to abide by this decree.
"If any temporal lord, after being admonished and required by the Church,
shall neglect to clear his territory of heretical depravity, the metropolitan
and the bishops of the province shall unite in excommunicating him. Should he
remain contumacious for a whole year, the fact shall be signified to the
Supreme Pontiff, who will declare his vassals released from their allegiance
from that time, and will bestow the territory on Catholics to be occupied by
them, on the condition of exterminating the heretics and preserving the said
territory in the faith.
"Catholics who shall assume the cross for the extermination of heretics
shall enjoy the same indulgences and be protected by the same privileges as are
granted to those who go to the help of the Holy Land. We decree, further, that
all who may have dealings with heretics, and especially such as receive,
defend, or encourage them, shall be excommunicated. He shall not be eligible to
any public office. He shall not be admitted as a witness. He shall neither have
the power to bequeath his property by will, nor to succeed to any inheritance.
He shall not bring any action against any person, but anyone can bring an
action against him. Should he be a judge, his decision shall have no force, nor
shall any cause be brought before him. Should he be an advocate, he shall not
be allowed to plead. Should he be a lawyer, no instruments made by him shall be
held valid, but shall be condemned with their author."
But why let my memory and my thoughts linger any longer in these frightful
paths, where murderers, liars, perjurers and thieves are assured by the
theologians of the Church of Rome that they can lie, steal, murder and perjure
themselves as much as they like, without offending God, provided they commit
those crimes according to certain rules approved by the Pope for the good of
the Church!
I should have to write several large volumes were I to quote all the Roman
Catholic doctors and theologians who approve of lying, of perjury, of adultery,
theft and murder, for the greatest glory of God and the good of the Roman
Church! But I have quoted enough for those who have eyes to see and ears to hear.
With such principles, is it a wonder that all the Roman Catholic nations,
without a single exception, have declined so rapidly?
The great Legislator of the World, the only Saviour of nations, has said:
"Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out
of the mouth of God."
A nation can be great and strong only according to the truths which form the
basis of her faith and life. "Truth" is the only bread which God
gives to the nations that they may prosper and live. Deceitfulness, duplicity,
perjury, adultery, theft, murder, are the deadly poisons which kill the
nations.
Then, the more the priests of Rome, with their theology, are venerated and
believed by the people, the sooner that people will decay and fall. "The
more priests the more crimes," a profound thinker has said; for then the
more hands will be at work to pull down the only sure foundations of society.
How can any man be sure of the honesty of his wife as long as a hundred
thousand priests tell her that she may commit any sin with her neighbour in
order to prevent him from doing something worse? or when she is assured that,
though guilty of adultery, she can swear that she is pure as an angel!
What will it avail to teach the best principles of honour, decency and holiness
to a young girl, when she is bound to go many times a year to a bachelor
priest, who is bound in conscience to give her the most infamous lessons of
depravity under the pretext of helping her to confess all her sins?
How will the rights of justice be secured, and how can the judges and the
juries protect the innocent and punish the guilty, so long as the witnesses are
told by one hundred thousand priests that they can conceal the truth, give
equivocal answers, and even perjure themselves under a thousand pretexts?
What government, either monarchical or republican, can be sure of a lease of
existence? how can they make their people walk with a firm step in the ways of
light, progress, and liberty, as long as there is a dark power over them which
has the right, at every hour of the day or night, to break and dissolve all the
most sacred oaths of allegiance?
Armed with his theology, the priest of Rome has become the most dangerous and
determined enemy of truth, justice, and liberty. He is the most formidable
obstacle to every good Government, as he is, without being aware of it, the
greatest enemy of God and man.
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CHAPTER 14 Back to Top
Were
I to write all the ingenious tricks, pious lies, shameful stories called miracles,
and sacrilegious perversions of the Word of God made use of by superiors of
seminaries and nunneries to entice poor victims into the trap of perpetual
celibacy, I should have to write ten large volumes, instead of a short chapter.
Sometimes the trials and obligations of married life are so exaggerated that
they may frighten the strongest heart. At other times the joys, peace and
privileges of celibacy are depicted with such brilliant colours that they fill
the coldest mind with enthusiasm.
The Pope takes his victim to the top of a high mountain, and there shows him
all the honours, praise, wealth, peace and joys of this world, united to the
most glorious throne of heaven, and then tells him: "I will give you all
those things if you fall at my feet, promise me an absolute submission, and
swear never to marry in order to serve me better."
Who can refuse such glorious things? But before entirely shutting their eyes,
so that they may not see the bottomless abyss into which they are to fall, the
unfortunate victims sometimes have forebodings and presentiments of the
terrible miseries which are in store for them. The voice of their conscience,
intelligence and common sense has not always been so fully silenced as the
superior desired.
At the very time when the tempter is whispering his lying promises into their
ears, their Heavenly Father is speaking to them of the ceaseless trials, the
shameful falls, the tedious days, the dreary nights, and the cruel and
insufferable burdens which are concealed behind the walls where the sweet yoke
of the good Master is exchanged for the burdens of heartless men and women.
As formerly, the human victims crowned with flowers, when dragged to the foot
of the altar of their false gods, often cried out with alarm and struggled to
escape from the bloody knife of the heathen priest, so at the approach of the
fatal hour at which the impious vow is to be made, the young victims often feel
their hearts fainting and filled with terror. With pale cheeks, trembling lips
and cold-dropping sweat they ask their superiors, "Is it possible that our
merciful God requires of us such a sacrifice?"
Oh! how the merciless priest of Rome then becomes eloquent in depicting
celibacy as the only way to heaven, or in showing the eternal fires of hell
ready to receive cowards and traitors who, after having put their hand to the
plough of celibacy, look back! He speaks of the disappointment and sadness of
so many dear friends, who expected better things of them. He points out to them
their own shame when they will again be in a world which will have nothing for
them but sneers for their want of perseverance and courage. He overwhelms them
with a thousand pious lies about the miracles wrought by Christ in favour of
his virgins and priests. He bewitches them by numerous texts of Scripture,
which he brings as evident proof of the will of God in favour of their taking
the vows of celibacy, though they have not the slightest reference to such
vows.
The text of which the strangest abuses are made by the superiors to persuade
the young people of both sexes to bind themselves by those shameful vows is
Matthew xix. 12, 13, "For there are eunuchs which were born from their
mother's womb; and there are some eunuchs which were made eunuchs of men; and
there are eunuchs which have made themselves eunuchs for the kingdom of
heaven's sake. He that is able to receive it, let him receive it."
Upon one occasion our superior made a very pressing appeal to our religious
feelings from this text, to induce us to make the vow of celibacy and become
priests. But the address, though delivered with a great deal of zeal, seemed to
us deficient in logic.
The next day was a day of rest (conge). The students in theology who were
preparing themselves for the priesthood, with me, talked seriously of the
singular arguments of the last address. It seemed to them that the conclusions
could not in any way be drawn from the selected text, and therefore determined
to respectfully present their objections and their views, which were also mine,
to the superior; and I was chosen to speak for them all.
At the next conference, after respectfully asking and obtaining permission to
express our objections with our own frank and plain sentiments, I spoke about
as follows:
"Dear and venerable sir: You told us that the following words of Christ,
`There be eunuchs which have made themselves eunuchs for the kingdom of
heaven's sake,' show us evidently that we must make the vow of celibacy and
make ourselves eunuchs if we want to become priests. Allow us to tell you
respectfully, that it seems to us that the mind of our Saviour was very
different from yours when He pronounced these words. In our humble opinion, the
only object of the Son of God was to warn His disciples against one of the most
damnable errors which were to endanger the very existence of nations. He was
foretelling that there would be men so wicked and blind as to preach that the
best way for men to go to heaven would be to make eunuchs of themselves. Allow
us to draw your attention to the fact that in that speech Jesus Christ neither
approves or disapproves of the idea of gaining a throne in heaven by becoming
eunuchs. He leaves us to our common sense and to some clearer parts of
Scripture to see whether or not He approves of those who would make eunuchs of
themselves to gain a crown in heaven. Must we not interpret this text as we
interpret what Jesus said to His apostles, `The time cometh that whosoever
killeth you will think that he doeth God service' (John xvi. 1,2).
Allow us to put these two texts fact to face:
"'There are eunuchs which have "'The time cometh that whosoever made
themselves eunuchs for the killeth you will think that he kingdom of heaven's
sake' doeth God service' (Matt. xix. 12,13.) (John xvi. l,2).
"Because our Saviour has said that there would be men who would think that
they would please God (and of course gain a place in heaven) by killing His
disciples, are we, therefore, allowed to conclude that it would be our duty to
kill those who believe and follow Christ? Surely not!
"Well, it seems to us that we are not to believe that the best way to go
to heaven is to make ourselves eunuchs, because our Saviour said that some men
had got that criminal and foolish notion into their mind!
"Christian nations have always looked with horror upon those who have
voluntarily become eunuchs. Common sense, as well as the Word of God, condemns
those who thus destroy in their own bodies that which God in His wisdom gave
them for the wisest and holiest purposes. Would it not, therefore, be a crime
which every civilized and Christian nation would punish, to preach publicly and
with success to the people that one of the surest ways for man to go to heaven
would be to make himself a eunuch. How can we believe that our Saviour could
ever sanction and such a practice?
"Moreover, if being eunuchs would make the way to heaven surer and more
easy, would not God be unjust for depriving us of the privilege of being born
eunuchs, and thus being made ripe fruits for heaven?
"It seems to us that that text does not in any way require us to believe
that an eunuch is nearer the kingdom of God than He who lives just according to
the laws which God gave to man in the earthly paradise. If it was not good for
man to be without his wife when he was so holy and strong as he was in the
Garden of Eden, how can it be good now that he is so weak and sinful? "Our
Saviour clearly shows that He finds no sanctifying power in the state of an
eunuch, in His answer to the young man who asked Him, `Good Master, what must I
do that I may have eternal life?" (Matt. xix. 16). Did the good Master
answer him in the language we heard from you two days ago, namely, that the
best way to have eternal life is to make yourself an eunuch make a solemn vow
never to marry? No; but He said, `Keep the commandments!' But where is the
commandment of God, in the Old or New Testament, to induce us to make such a
vow as that of celibacy? The promise of a place in heaven is not attached in
any way to the vow of celibacy. Christ has not a word about that doctrine.
"Allow us to respectfully ask, if the views concerning the vows of
celibacy entertained by Christ had been like yours, is it possible that He
would have forgotten to mention them when He answered the solemn question of
that young man? Is it possible that He would not have said a single word about
a thing which you have represented to us as being of such vital importance to
those who sincerely desire to know what to do to be saved? Is it not strange
that the Church should attach such an importance to that vow of celibacy, when
we look in vain for such an ordinance in both the Old and New Testaments? How
can we understand the reasons or the importance of such a strict and, we dare
say, unnatural obligation in our day, when we know very well that the holy
apostles themselves were living with their wives, and that the Saviour had not
a word of rebuke for them on that account?"
This free expression of our common views on the vows of celibacy evidently took
our superior by surprise. He answered me, with an accent of indignation which
he could not suppress: "Is that all you have to say?"
"It is not quite all we have to say," I answered; "but before we
go further we would be much gratified to receive from you the light we want on
the difficulties which I have just stated."
"You have spoken as a true heretic," replied Mr. Leprohon, with an
unusual vivacity; "and were it not for the hope which I entertain that you
have said these things to receive the light you want than to present and
support the heretical side of such an important question, I would at once
denounce you to the bishop. You speak of the Holy Scriptures just as a
Protestant would do. You appeal to them as the only source of Christian truth
and knowledge. Have you forgotten that we have the holy traditions to guide us,
the authority of which is equal to that of the Scriptures?
"You are correct when you say that we do not find any direct proof in the
Bible to enforce the vows of celibacy upon those who desire to consecrate
themselves to the service of the Church. But if we do not find the obligation
of that vow in the Bible, we find it in the holy traditions of the Church.
"It is an article of faith that the vow of celibacy is ordered by Jesus
Christ, through His Church. The ordinances of the Church, which are nothing but
the ordinances of the Son of God, are clear on that subject, and bind our
consciences just as the commandments of God upon Mount Sinai; for Christ has
said, those who do not hear the Church must be looked upon as heathen and
publicans. There is no salvation to those who do not submit their reason to the
teachings of the Church.
"You are not required to understand all the reasons for the vow of
celibacy; but you are bound to believe in its necessity and holiness, as the
Church has pronounced her verdict upon that question. It is not your business
to argue about those matters; but your duty is to obey the Church, as dutiful
children obey a kind mother.
"But who can have any doubt about the necessity of the vows of celibacy,
when we remember that Christ had ordered His apostles to separate themselves
from their wives? a fact on which no doubt can remain after hearing St. Peter
say to our Saviour, `Behold, we have forsaken all and follow Thee; what shall
we have, therefore?' (Matt. xix. 27). Is not the priest the true representative
of Christ on earth? In his ordination, is not the priest made the equal and in
a sense the superior of Christ? for when he celebrates Mass he commands Christ,
and that very Son of God is bound to obey! It is not in the power of Christ to
resist the orders of the priest. He must come down from heaven every time the
priest orders Him. The priest shuts Him up in the holy tabernacles or takes Him
out of them, according to his own will.
"By becoming priests of the New Testament you will be raised to a dignity
which is much above that of angels. From these sublime privileges flows the
obligation to the priest to raise himself to a degree of holiness much above
the level of the common people a holiness equal to that of the angels. Has not
our Saviour, when speaking of the angels, said, `Neque nubent neque nubentur?'
They marry not, nor are given in marriage. Surely, since the priests are the
messengers and angels of God, on earth they must be clad with angelic holiness
and purity.
"Does not Paul say that the state of virginity is superior to that of
marriage? Does not that saying of the apostle show that the priest, whose hands
every day touch the divine body and blood of Christ, must be chaste and pure,
and must not be defiled by the duties of married life? That vow of celibacy is
like a holy chain, which keeps us above the filth of this earth and ties us to
heaven. Jesus Christ, through His Holy Church, commands that vow to His priests
as the most efficacious remedy against the inclinations of our corrupt nature.
"According to the holy Fathers, the vow of celibacy is like a strong high
tower, from the top of which we can fight our enemies, and be perfectly safe
from their darts and weapons.
"I will be happy to answer you other objections, if you have any
more," said Mr. Leprohon.
"We are much obliged to you for your answers," I replied, "and
we will avail ourselves of your kindness to present you with some other
observations.
"And, firstly, we thank you for having told us that we find nothing in the
Word of God to support the vows of celibacy, and that it is only by the
traditions of the Church that we can prove their necessity and holiness. It was
our impression that you desired us to believe that the necessity of that vow
was founded on the Holy Scriptures. If you allow it, we will discuss the
traditions another time, and will confine ourselves today to the different
texts to which you referred in favour of celibacy.
"When Peter says, `We have given up everything,' it seems to us that he
had no intention of saying that he had for ever given up his wife by a vow. For
St. Paul positively says, many years after, that Peter had his wife; that he
was not only living with her in his own house, but was traveling with her when
preaching the gospel. The words of Scripture are of such evidence on that
subject that they can neither be obscured by any shrewd explanation nor by any
tradition, however respectable it may appear.
"Though you know the words of Paul on that subject, you will allow us to
read them: `Have we not power to eat and drink? have we not power to lead about
a sister, a wife, as well as other apostles and as the brethren of the Lord,
and Cephas?' (I Cor. ix. 4, 5). St. Peter saying `We have forsaken everything'
could not then mean that he had made a vow of celibacy, and that he would never
live with his wife as a married man. Evidently the words of Peter mean only
that Jesus had the first place in his heart that everything else, even the
dearest objects of his love, as father, mother, wife, were only secondary in
his affections and thoughts.
"Your other text about the angels who do not marry, from which you infer
the obligation and law on the vow of celibacy, does not seem to us to bear on
that subject as much as you have told us. For, be kind enough to again read the
text: `Jesus answered and said to them, Ye do err, not knowing the Scriptures,
nor the power of God. For in the resurrection they neither marry nor are given
in marriage; but are as the angels of God in heaven' (Matt. xxii. 29, 30). You
see that when our Saviour speaks of men who are like angels, and who do not
marry, He takes care to observe that He speaks of the state of men after the
resurrection. If the Church had the same rule for us that Christ mentioned for
the angelic men to whom He refers, and would allow us to make a vow never to
marry after the resurrection, we would not have the slightest objection to such
a vow.
"You see that our Saviour speaks of a state of celibacy; but He does not
intimate that that state is to begin on this side of the grave. Why does not
our Church imitate and follow the teachings of our Saviour? Why does she
enforce a state of celibacy before the resurrection, while Christ postpones the
promulgation of this law till after that great day?
"Christ speaks of a perpetual celibacy only in heaven! On what authority,
then, does our Church enforce that celibacy on this side of the grave, when we
still carry our souls in earthly vessels?
"You tell us that the vow of celibacy is the best remedy against the
inclinations of our corrupt nature; but do you not fear that your remedy makes
war against the great one which God prepared in His wisdom? Do we not read in
our own vulgate: `Propter fornicationem autem unus quisque uxorem snam habeat,
et unaquaque virum suum'? "To avoid fornication let every man have his own
wife, and let every woman have her own husband' (2 Cor. vii. 2).
"Is it not too strange, indeed, that God does tell us that the best remedy
He had prepared against the inclinations of our corrupt nature is in the
blessings of a holy marriage. `Let every man have his own wife, and every woman
her own husband.' But now our Church has found another remedy, which is more
accordant to the dignity of man and the holiness of God, and that remedy is the
vow of celibacy!"
The sound of my last words were still on my lips when our venerable superior,
unable any longer to conceal his indignation, abruptly interrupted me, saying:
"I do exceedingly regret to have allowed you to go so far. This is not a
Christian and humble discussion between young Levites and their superior, to
receive from him the light they want. It is the exposition and defense of the
most heretical doctrines I have ever heard. Are you ashamed, when you try to
make us prefer your interpretation of the Holy Scriptures to that of the
Church? Is it to you, or to His holy Church, that Christ promised the light of
the Holy Ghost? It is you who have to teach the Church, or the Church who must
teach you? Is it you who will govern and guide the Church, or the Church who
will govern and guide you?
"My dear Chiniquy, if there is not a great and prompt change in you and in
those whom you pretend to represent, I fear much for you all. You show a spirit
of infidelity and revolt which frightens me. Just like Lucifer, you rebel
against the Lord! Do you not fear to share the eternal pains of his rebellion?
"Whence have you taken the false and heretical notions you have, for
instance, about the wives of the apostles? Do you not know that you are
supporting a Protestant error, when you say that the apostles were living with
their wives in the usual way of married people? It is true that Paul says that
the apostles had women with them, and that they were even traveling with them.
But the holy traditions of the Church tell us that those women were holy
virgins, who were traveling with the apostles to serve and help them in
different ways. They were ministering to their different wants washing their
underclothes, preparing their meals, just like the housekeeper whom the priests
have today. It is a Protestant impiety to think and speak otherwise.
"But only a word more, and I am done. If you accept the teaching of the
Church, and submit yourselves as dutiful children to that most holy Mother, she
will raise you to the dignity of the priesthood, a dignity much above kings and
emperors in this world. If you serve her with fidelity, she will secure to you
the respect and veneration of the whole world while you live, and procure your
a crown of glory in heaven.
"But if you reject her doctrines, and persist in your rebellious views
against one of the most holy dogmas; if you continue to listen to the voice of
your own deceitful reason rather than to the voice of the Church, in the
interpretation of the Holy Scriptures, you become heretics, apostates and
Protestants; you will lead a dishonoured life in this world, and you will be
lost for all eternity."
Our superior left us immediately after these fulminating words. Some of the theological
students, after this exit, laughed heartily, and thanked me for having so
bravely fought and gained so glorious a victory. Two of them, disgusted by the
sophisms and logical absurdities of our superior, left the seminary a few days
after. The rest, with me had not the moral courage to follow their example, but
remained, stunned by the last words of our superior.
I went to my room and fell on my knees, with a torrent of tears falling from my
eyes. I was really sorry for having wounded his feelings, but still more so for
having dared for a moment to oppose my own feeble and fallible reason to the
mighty and infallible intelligence of my Church!
At first it appeared to me that I was only combating, in a respectful way,
against my old friend, Rev. Mr. Leprohon; but I had received it from his own
lips that I had really fought against the Lord!
After spending a long and dark night of anguish and remorse, my first action,
the next day, was to go to confession, and ask my confessor, with tears of
regret, pardon for the sin I had committed and the scandal I had given.
Had I listened to the voices of my conscience, I certainly would have left the
seminary that day; for they told me that I had confounded my superior and
pulverized all his arguments. Reason and conscience told me that the vow of
celibacy was a sin against logic, morality and God; that that vow could not be
sustained by any argument from the Holy Scriptures, logic or common sense. But
I was a most sincere Roman Catholic. I had therefore to fight a new battle
against my conscience and intelligence, so as to subdue and silence them for
ever! Many a time it was my hope, before this, to have succeeded in
slaughtering them at the foot of the altar of my Church; but that day, far from
being for ever silenced and buried, they had come out again with renewed force,
to waken me from the terrible illusions in which I was living. Nevertheless,
after a long and frightful battle, my hope was that they were perfectly subdued
and buried under the feet of the holy Fathers, the learned theologians and the
venerable popes, whose voice I was determined now to follow. I felt a real calm
after that struggle. It was evidently the silence of death, although my
confessor told me it was the peace of God. More than ever I determined to have
no knowledge, no thought, no will, no light, no desires, no science but that
which my Church would give me through my superior. I was fallible, she was
infallible! I was a sinner, she was the immaculate spouse of Jesus Christ! I
was weak, she had more power than the great waters of the ocean! I was but an
atom, she was covering the world with her glory! What, therefore, could I have
to fear in humbling myself at her feet, to live of her life, to be strong of
her strength, wise of her wisdom, holy with her holiness? Had not my superior
repeatedly told me that no error, no sin would be imputed to me as long as I
obeyed my Church and walked in her ways?
With these sentiments of a most profound and perfect respect for my Church, I
irrevocably consecrated myself to her services on the 4th of May, 1832, by
making the vow of celibacy and accepting the office of sub-deacon.
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CHAPTER 15 Back to Top
"The mother of harlots and abominations." Rev. xvii. 5.
Constrained
by the voice of my conscience to reveal the impurities of the theology of the
Church of Rome, I feel, in doing so, a sentiment of inexpressible shame. They
are of such a loathsome nature, that often they cannot be expressed in any
living language.
However great may have been the corruptions in the theologies and priests of
paganism, there is nothing in their records which can be compared with the
depravity of those of the Church of Rome. Before the day on which the theology
of Rome was inspired by Satan, the world had certainly witnessed many dark
deeds; but vice had never been clothed with the mantle of theology: the most
shameful forms of iniquity had never been publicly taught in the schools of the
old pagan priest, under the pretext of saving the world. No! neither had the
priests nor the idols been forced to attend meetings where the most degrading
forms of iniquity were objects of the most minute study, and that under the
pretext of glorifying God.
Let those who understand Latin read "The Priest, the Women, and the
Confessional," and decide as to whether or not the sentiments therein
contained are not enough to shock the feelings of the most depraved. And let it
be remembered that all those abominations have to be studied, learned by heart and
thoroughly understood by men who have to make a vow never to marry! For it is
not till after his vow of celibacy that the student in theology is initiated
into those mysteries of iniquity.
Has the world ever witnessed such a sacrilegious comedy? A young man about
twenty years of age has been enticed to make a vow of perpetual celibacy, and
the very next day the Church of Rome put under the eye of his soul the most
infamous spectacle! She fills his memory with the most disgusting images! She
tickles all his senses and pollutes his ears, not by imaginary representations,
but by realities which would shock the most abandoned in vice!
For, let it be well understood, that it is absolutely impossible for one to
study those questions of Roman Theology, and fathom those forms of iniquity
without having his body as well as his mind plunged into a state the most
degrading. Moreover, Rome does not even try to conceal the overwhelming power
of this kind of teaching; she does not even attempt to make it a secret from
the victims of her incomparable depravity, but bravely tells them that the
study of those questions will act with an irresistible power upon their organs,
and without a blush says, "that pollution must follow!!!"
But in order that the Church of Rome may more certainly destroy her victims,
and that they may not escape from the abyss which she has dug under their feet,
she tells them, "There is no sin for you in those pollutions!" (Dens,
vol. i. p. 315.)
But Rome must bewitch so as the better to secure their destruction. She puts to
their lips the cup of her enchantments, the more certainly to kill their souls,
dethrones God from their consciences, and abrogates His eternal laws of
holiness. What answer does Rome give to those who reproach her with the awful
impurity of theology. "My theological works," she answers, "are
all written in Latin; the people cannot read them. No evil, no scandal,
therefore, can come from them!" But this answer is a miserable subterfuge.
Is this not the public acknowledgment that her theology would be exceedingly
injurious to the people if it were read and understood by them?
By saying, "My theological works are written in Latin, therefore the
people cannot be defiled, as they do not understand them," Rome does
acknowledge that these works would only act as a pestilence among the people,
were they read and understood by them. But are not the one hundred thousand
priests of Rome bound to explain in every known tongue, and present to the mind
of every nation, the theology contained in those books? Are they not bound to
make every polluting sentence in them flow into the ears, imaginations, hearts
and minds of all the married and unmarried women whom Rome holds in her grasp?
I exaggerate nothing when I say that not fewer than half a million women every
day are compelled to hear in their own language, almost every polluting
sentence and impure notion of the diabolical sciences.
And here I challenge, most fearlessly, the Church of Rome to deny what I say,
when I state that the daily average of women who go to confession to each
priest, is ten. But let us reduce the number to five. Then the one hundred
thousand priest who are scattered over the whole world, hear the confession of
five hundred thousand women every day! Well, now, out of one hundred women who
confess, there are at least ninety-nine whom the priest is bound in conscience
to pollute, by questioning them on the matters mentioned in the Latin pages at
the end of this chapter. How can one be surprised at the rapid downfall of the
nations who are under the yoke of the Pope.
The public statistics of the European, as well of American nations, show that
there is among Roman Catholics nearly double the amount of prostitution,
bastardy, theft, perjury, and murder than is found among Protestant nations.
Where must we, then, look for the cause of those stupendous facts, if not in
the corrupt teachings of the theology of Rome. How can the Roman Catholic
nations hope to raise themselves in the scale of Christian dignity and morality
as long as there remain one hundred thousand priests in their midst, bound in
conscience every day to pollute the minds and the hearts of their mothers,
their wives and their daughters!
And here let me say, once for all, that I am not induced to speak as I do from
any motive of contempt or unchristian feeling against the theological
professors who have initiated me into those mysteries of iniquity. The Rev.
Messrs. Raimbault and Leprohon were, and in my mind they still are, as
respectable as men can be in the Church of Rome. As I have been myself, and as
all the priests of Rome are, they were plunged without understanding it, into
the abyss of the most stolid ignorance. They were crushed, as I was myself,
under a yoke which bound their understanding to the dust, and polluted their
hearts without measure. We were embarked together on a ship, the first
appearance of which was really magnificent, but the bottom of which was
irremediably rotten. Without the true Pilot on board we were left to perish on
unknown shoals. Out of this sinking ship the hand of God alone, in His
providence rescued me. I pity those friends of my youth, but despise them? hate
them? No! Never! Never!
Every time out theological teachers gave us our lessons, it was evident that
they blushed in the inmost part of their souls. Their consciences as honest men
were evidently forbidding them, on the one hand, to open their mouths on such
matters, while, on the other hand, as slaves and priests of the Pope, they were
compelled to speak without reserve.
After our lessons in theology, we students used to be filled with such a
sentiment of shame that sometimes we hardly dared to look at each other: and,
when alone in our rooms, those horrible pictures were affecting our hearts, in
spite of ourselves, as the rust affects and corrodes the hardest and purest
steel. More than one of my fellow-students told me, with tears of shame and
rage, that they regretted to have bound themselves by perpetual oaths to
minister at the altars of the Church.
One day one of the students, called Desaulnier, who was sick in the same room
with me, asked me: "Chiniquy, what do you think of the matters which are
the objects of our present theological studies? Is it not a burning shame that
we must allow our minds to be so polluted?"
"I cannot sufficiently tell you my feelings of disgust," I answered.
"Had I known sooner that we were to be dragged over such a ground, I
certainly never would have nailed my future to the banners under which we are
irrevocably bound to live." "Do you know," said Desaulnier,
"that I am determined never to consent to be ordained a priest; for when I
think of the fact that the priest is bound to confer with women on all of these
polluting matters, I feel an insurmountable disgust and shame."
"I am not less troubled," I replied. "My head aches and my heart
sinks within me when I hear our theologians telling us that we will be in
conscience bound to speak to females on these impure subjects. But sometimes
this looks to me as if it were a bad dream, the impure phantoms of which will
disappear at the first awakening. Our Church, which is so pure and holy that
she can only be served by the spotless virgins, surely cannot compel us to
pollute our lips, thoughts, souls, and even our bodies, by speaking to strange
women on matters so defiling!"
"But we are near the hour at which the good Mr. Leprohon is in the habit
of visiting us. Will you," I said, "promise to stand by me in what I
will ask him on this subject? I hope to get from him a pledge that we will not
be compelled to be polluted in the confessional by the women who will confess
to us. The purity and holiness of our superior is of such a high character,
that I am sure he has never said a word to females on those degrading matters.
In spite of all the theologians, Mr. Leprohon will allow us to keep our tongues
and our hearts, as well as our bodies, pure in the confessional."
"I have had the desire to speak to him upon this subject for some
time," rejoined Desaulnier, "but my courage failed me every time I
attempted to do so. I am glad, therefore, that you are to break the ice, and I
will certainly support you, as I have a longing desire to know something more
in regard to the mysteries of the confessional. If we are at liberty never to
speak to women on these horrors, I will consent to serve the Church as a
priest; but if not, I will never be a priest."
A few minutes after this our superior entered to kindly enquire how we had
rested the night before. Having thanked him for his kindness, I opened the
volumes of Dens and Liguori which were on our table, and, with a blush, putting
my fingers on one of the infamous chapters referred to, I said to him:
"After God, you have the first place in my heart since my mother's death,
and you know it. I take you, not only as my benefactor, but also, as it were,
as my father and mother. You will therefore tell me all I want to know in these
my hours of anxiety, through which God is pleased to make me pass. To follow
your advice, not to say your commands, I have lately consented to receive the
order of sub-deacon, and I have in consequence taken the vow of perpetual
celibacy. But I will not conceal the fact from you, I had not a clear
understanding of what I was doing; and Desaulnier has just stated to me, that
until recently he had no more idea of the nature of that promise, nor of the
difficulties which we now see ahead of us in our priestly life than I had.
"But Dens, Liguori and St. Thomas have given us notions quite new in
regard to many things. They have directed our minds to the knowledge of the
laws which are in us, as well as in every other child of Adam. They have, in a
word, directed our minds into regions which were quite new and unexplored by
us; and I dare say that every one of those whom we have known, whether in this house
or elsewhere, who have made the same vow, could tell you the same tale.
"However, I do not speak for them; I speak only for myself and Desaulnier.
For God's sake, please tell us if we will be bound in conscience to speak in
the confessional, to the married and unmarried females, on such impure and
defiling questions as are contained in the theologians before us?"
"Most undoubtedly," replied Rev. Mr. Leprohon; "because the
learned and holy theologians whose writings are in your hands are positive on
that question. It is absolutely necessary that you should question your female
penitents on such matters; for, as a general thing, girls and married women are
too timid to confess those sins, of which they are even more frequently guilty
than men, therefore they must be helped by questioning them."
"But have you not," I rejoined, "induced us to make an oath that
we should always remain pure and undefiled? How is it then, that today you put
us in such a position that it is almost impossibility for us to be true to our
sacred promise? For the theologians are unanimous that those questions put by
us to our female penitents, together with the recital of their secret sins,
will act with such an irresistible power upon us that we will be polluted.
"Would it not be better for us to experience those things in the holy
bonds of marriage, with our wives, and according to the laws of God, than in
company and conversation with strange women? Because, if we are to believe the
theologians which are in our hands, no priest not even you, my dear Mr.
Leprohon can hear the confessions of women without being defiled."
Here Desaulnier interrupted me, and said: "My dear Mr. Leprohon, I concur
in everything Chiniquy has just been telling you. Would we not be more chaste
and pure by living with our lawful wives, than by daily exposing ourselves in
the confessional in company of women whose presence will irresistibly drag us
into the most shameful pit of impurity? I ask you, my dear sir, what will
become of my vow of perfect and perpetual chastity, when the seducing presence
of my neighbour's wife, or the enchanting words of his daughter, will have
defiled me through the confessional. After all, I may be looked upon by the
people as a chaste man; but what will I be in the eyes of God? The people may
entertain the thought that I am a strong and honest man; but will I not be a
broken reed? Will God not be the witness that the irresistible temptations
which will have assailed me when hearing the secret sins of some sweet and
tempting woman, will have deprived me of that glorious crown of chastity for
which I have so dearly paid? Men will think that I am an angel of purity; but
my own conscience will tell me that I am nothing but a skillful hypocrite. For
according to all the theologians, the confessional is the tomb of the chastity
of priests!! If I hear the confession of women, I will be like all other
priests, in a tomb, well painted and gilded on the outside, but within full or
corruption."
Francis Desaulnier, just as he had foretold me, refused to be a priest. He
remained all his life in the orders of sub-deaconate, in the College of
Nicolet, as a Professor of Philosophy. He was a man who seldom spoke in
conversation, but thought very much. It seems to me that I still see him there,
under that tall centenary tree, alone, during the long hours of intermission,
and many long days during our holidays, while the rest of the students passed
hither and thither, singing and playing, on the enchanting banks of the river
of Nicolet.
He was a good logician and a profound mathematician; and although affable to
everyone, he was not communicative. I was probably the only one to whom he
opened his mind concerning the great questions of Christianity faith, history,
the Church and her discipline. He repeatedly said to me: "I wish I had
never opened a book of theology. Our theologians are without heart, soul or
logic. Many of them approve of theft, lies and perjury; others drag us without
a blush, into the most filthy pits of iniquity. Every one of them would like to
make an assassin of every Catholic. According to their doctrine, Christ is
nothing but a Corsican brigand, whose blood-thirsty disciples are bound to
destroy all the heretics with fire and sword. Were we acting according to the
principles of those theologians, we would slaughter all Protestants with the
same coolness of blood as we would shoot down the wolf which crosses our path.
With their hand still reddened with the blood of St. Bartholomew, they speak to
us of charity, religion and God, as if there were neither of them in the
world."
Desaulnier was looked upon as "un homme singulier" at Nicolet. He was
really an exception to all the men in the seminary. For example: Though it was
the usage and the law that ecclesiastics should receive the communion every
month, and upon every great feast day of the Church, yet he would scarcely take
the communion once a year. But let me return to the interview with our
superior.
Desaulnier's fearless and energetic words had evidently made a very painful impression
upon our superior. It was not a usual thing for His disciples in theology thus
to take upon themselves to speak with such freedom as we both did on this
occasion. He did not conceal his pain at what he called our unbecoming and
unchristian attack upon some of the most holy ordinances of the Church; and
after he had refuted Desaulnier in the best way he could, he turned to me and
said: "My dear Chiniquy, I have repeatedly warned you against the habit
you have of listening to your own frail reasoning, when you should only obey as
a dutiful child. Were we to believe you, we would immediately set ourselves to
work to reform the Church and abolish the confession of women to priests; we
would throw all our theological books into the fire and have new one written,
better adapted to your fancy. What does all this prove? Only one thing, and
that is, that the devil of pride is tempting you as he has tempted all the
so-called Reformers, and destroyed them as he would you. If you do not take
care, you will become another Luther!
"The Theological books of St. Thomas, Liguori and Dens have been approved
by the Church. How, therefore, do you not see the ridicule and danger of your
position. On one side, then, I see all our holy popes, the two thousand
Catholic bishops, all our learned theologians and priests, backed up by over
two hundred millions of Roman Catholics drawn up as an innumerable army to
fight the battles of the Lord; and on the other side what do I see? Nothing by
my small, though very dear Chiniquy!
"How, then, is it that you do not fear, when with your weak reasoning you
oppose the mighty reasoning and light of so many holy popes, and venerable
bishops and learned theologians? Is it not just as absurd for you to try to
reform the Church by your small reason, as it is for the grain of sand which is
found at the foot of the great mountain to try to turn that mighty mountain out
of its place? or for the small drop of water to attempt to throw the boundless
ocean out of its bed, or try to oppose the running tides of the Polar seas?
"Believe me, and take my friendly advice," continued our superior,
"before it is too late. Let the small grain of sand remain still at the
foot of the majestic mountain; and let the humble drop of water consent to
follow the irresistible currents of the boundless seas, and everything will be
in order.
"All the good priests who have heard the confessions of women before us
have been satisfied and have had their souls saved, even when their bodies were
polluted; for those carnal pollutions are nothing but human miseries, which
cannot defile a soul which desires to remain united to God. Are the rays of the
sun defiled by coming down into the mud? No! The rays remain pure, and return
spotless to the shining orb whence they came. So the heart of a good priest as
I hope my dear Chiniquy will be will remain pure and holy in spite of the
accidental and unavoidable defilement of the flesh.
"Apart from these things, in your ordination you will receive a special
grace which will change you into another man; and the Virgin Mary, to whom you
will constantly address yourself, will obtain for you a perfect purity from her
Son.
"The defilement of the flesh spoken of by the theologians, and which, I
confess, is unavoidable when hearing the confessions of women, must not trouble
you; for they are not sinful, as Dens and Liguori assure us. (Dens. vol. i.,
pages 299, 300.)
"But enough on that subject. I forbid you to speak to me any more on those
idle questions, and, as much as my authority is anything to you both, I forbid
you to say a word more to each other on that matter!!"
It was my fond hope that my dear and so much venerated Mr. Leprohon would
answer me with some good and reasonable arguments; but he, to my surprise,
silenced the voice of our conscience by un coup d'etat.
Nevertheless, the idea of that miserable grain of sand which so ridiculously
attempted to remove the stately mountain, and also of that all but
imperceptible drop of water which attempted to oppose itself to the onward motion
of the vast ocean, singularly struck and humbled me. I remained silent and
confused, though not convinced.
This was not all. Those rays of the sun, which could not be defiled even when
going down into the mud, after bewildering one by their glittering appearance,
left my soul more in the dark than ever. I could not resist the presentiment
that I was in the presence of an imposition, and of a glittering sophism. But I
had neither sufficient learning, moral courage, nor grace from God clearly to
see through that misty cloud and to expel it from my mind.
Almost every month of the ten years which I had passed in the seminary of
Nicolet, priests of the district of Three Rivers and elsewhere were sent by the
bishops to spend two or three weeks in doing penances for having bastards by
their nieces, their housekeepers, or their fair penitents. Even not long before
this conversation with our director, the curate of St. Francois, the Rev. Mr.
Amiot, had in the very same week two children by two of his fair penitents,
both of whom were sisters. One of those girls gave birth to her child at the
parsonage the very night on which the bishop was on his episcopal visit to that
parish. These public and undeniable facts were not much in harmony with those
beautiful theories of our venerable director concerning the rays of the sun,
which "remained pure and undefiled even when warming and vivifying the mud
of our planet." The facts had frequently occurred to my mind while Mr.
Leprohon was speaking, and I was tempted more than once to ask him respectfully
if he really thought these "shining rays," the priests, had thus come
into the mire, and would then return, like the rays of the sun, without taking
back with them something of the mire in which they had been so strangely wallowing.
But my respect for Mr. Leprohon sealed my lips.
When I returned to my room I fell on my knees to ask God to pardon me for
having, for the moment, thought otherwise than the popes and theologians of
Rome. I again felt angry with myself for having dared, for a single moment, to
have arrayed my poor little and imperceptible grain of sand drop of water and
personal and contemptible understanding against that sublime mountain of
strength, that vast ocean of learning, and that immensely divine wisdom of the
popes!
But, alas! I was not yet aware that when Jesus in His mercy sends into a
perishing soul a single ray of His grace, that there is more light and wisdom
in that soul than in all the popes and their theologians!
I was then taught what the real foundation of the Church of Rome is, and
sincerely believed that to think for myself was a damnable impiety that to look
and see with my own eyes, and understand with my own mind, was an unpardonable
sin. To be saved I had to believe, not what I considered to be the truth, but
what the popes told me to be the truth. I had to look and see every object of
faith, just as every true Roman Catholic of today has to look and see the same,
through the Pope's eyes or those of his theologians.
However absurd and impious this belief may be, yet it was mine, and it is also
the belief of every true member of the Church of Rome today. The glorious light
and grace of God could not possibly flow directly from Him to me; they had to
pass through the Pope and his Church, which were my only mountain of strength
and only ocean of light. It was, then, my firm belief that there was an
impassable abyss between myself and God, and that the Pope and his Church were
the only bridge by which I could have communication with Him. That stupendously
high and most sublime mountain, the Pope, was between myself and God: and all
that was allowed my poor soul was to raise itself and travel with great
difficulty till it attained the foot of that holy mountain, the Pope, and,
prostrating itself there in the dust, ask him to let me know what my yet
distant God would have me to do. The promises of mercy, truth, light, and life
were all vested in this great mountain, the Pope, from whom alone they could
descend upon my poor soul!
Darkness, ignorance, uncertainty, and eternal loss were my lot, the very moment
I ceased worshiping at the feet of the Pope! The God of Heaven was not my God;
He was only the God of the Pope! The Saviour of the world was not my Saviour;
He was only the Pope's. Therefore it was through the Pope only that I could
receive Christ as my Saviour, and to the Pope alone had I to go to know the
way, the truth, and the life of my soul!
God alone knows what a dark and terrible night I passed after this meeting! I
had again to smother my conscience, dismantle my reason, and bring them all
under the turpitudes of the theologies of Rome, which are so well calculated to
keep the world fettered in ignorance and superstition.
But God saw the tears with which I bedewed my pillow that night. He heard the
cry of my agonizing soul, and in His infinite love and mercy determined to come
to my rescue, and save me. If He saw fit to leave me many years more in the
slavery of Egypt, it was that I might better know the plagues of that land of
darkness, and the iron chains which are there prepared for poor lost souls.
When the hour of my deliverance came, the Lord took me by the hand and helped
me to cross the Red Sea. He brought me to the Land of Promise a land of peace,
life, and joy which passeth all understanding.
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CHAPTER 16 Back to Top
There
are several imposing ceremonies at the ordination of a priest; and I will never
forget the joy I felt when the Roman Pontiff, presenting to me the Bible,
ordered me, with a solemn voice, to study and preach it. That order passed
through my soul as a beam of light. But, alas! those rays of light and life
were soon to be followed, as a flash of lightning in a stormy night, by the
most sudden and distressing darkness!
When holding the sacred volume, I accepted with unspeakable joy the command of
studying and preaching its saving truth; but I felt as if a thunderbolt had
fallen upon me when I pronounced the awful oath which is required from every
priest: "I will never interpret the Holy Scriptures except according to
the unanimous consent of the Holy Fathers."
Many times, with the other students in theology, I had discussed the nature of
that strange oath; still more often, in the silence of my meditations, alone in
the presence of God, I had tried to fathom the bottomless abyss which, it
seemed to me, was dug under my feet by it, and every time my conscience had
shrunk in terror from its consequences. But I was not the only one in the
seminary who contemplated, with an anxious mind, its evidently blasphemous
nature.
About six months before our ordination, Stephen Baillargeon, one of my fellow
theological students, had said in my presence to our superior, the Rev. Mr.
Raimbault: "Allow me to tell you that one of the things with which I
cannot reconcile my conscience is the solemn oath we will have to take, `That
we will never interpret the Scriptures except according to the unanimous
consent of the Holy Fathers! We have not given a single hour yet to the serious
study of the Holy Fathers. I know many priests, and not a single one of them
has ever studied the Holy Fathers; they have not even got them in their
libraries! We will probably walk in their footsteps. It may be that not a
single volume of the Holy Fathers will ever fall into our hands! In the name of
common sense, how can we swear that we will follow the sentiments of men of
whom we know absolutely nothing, and about whom, it is more probable, we will
never know anything, except by mere vague hearsay?"
Our superior gave evident signs of weakness in his answer to that unexpected
difficulty. But his embarrassment grew much greater when I said:
"Baillargeon cannot contemplate that oath without anxiety, and he has
given you some of his reasons; but he has not said the last word on that
strange oath. If you will allow me, Mr. Superior, I will present you some more
formidable objections. It is not so much on account of our ignorance of the
doctrines of the Holy Fathers that I tremble when I think I will have `to swear
never to interpret the Scriptures, except according to their unanimous
consent.' Would to God that I could say, with Baillargeon, `I know nothing of
the Holy Fathers: how can I swear they will guide me in all my ways?' It is
true that we know so little of them that it is supremely ridiculous, if it is
not an insult to God and man, that we take them for our guides. But my regret
is that we know already too much of the Holy Fathers to be exempt from
perjuring ourselves, when we swear that we will not interpret the Holy Scriptures
except according to their unanimous consent.
"Is it not a fact that the Holy Fathers' writings are so perfectly kept
out of sight, that it is absolutely impossible to read and study them? But even
if we had access to them, have we sufficient time at our disposal to study them
so perfectly that we could conscientiously swear that we will follow them? How
can we follow a thing we do not see, which we cannot hear, and about which we
do not know more than the man in the moon? Our shameful ignorance of the Holy
Fathers is a sufficient reason to make us fear at the approach of the solemn
hour that we will swear to follow them. Yes! But we know enough of the Holy
Fathers to chill the blood in our veins when swearing to interpret the Holy
Scriptures only according to their unanimous consent. Please, Mr.Superior, tell
us what are the texts of Scripture on which the Holy Fathers are unanimous. You
respect yourself too much to try to answer a question which no honest man has,
or will ever dare to answer. And if you, one of the most learned men of France,
cannot put your finger on the texts of the Holy Bible and say, `The Holy
Fathers are perfectly unanimous on these texts!' How can we, poor young
ecclesiastics of the humble College of Nicolet, say, `The Holy Fathers are
unanimously of the same mind on those texts?' But if we cannot distinguish
today, and if we shall never be able to distinguish between the texts on which
the Holy Fathers are unanimous and the ones on which they differ, how can we
dare to swear before God and men to interpret every text of the Scriptures only
according to the unanimous consent of those Holy Fathers?
"By that awful oath, will we not be absolutely bound to remain mute as
dead men on every text on which the Holy Fathers have differed, under the
evident penalty of becoming perjured? Will not every text on which the Holy
Fathers have differed become as the dead carcass which the Israelites could not
touch, except by defiling themselves? After that strange oath, to interpret the
Scripture only according to the unanimous consent of the Holy Fathers, will we
not be absolutely deprived of the privilege of studying or preaching on a text
on which they have differed?
"The consequences of that oath are legion, and every one of them seems to
me the death of our ministry, the damnation of our souls! You have read the
history of the Church, as we have it here, written by Henrion, Berrault, Bell,
Costel, and Fleury. Well, what is the prominent fact in those reliable
histories of the Church? Is it not that the Church has constantly been filled
with the noise of the controversies of Holy Fathers with Holy Fathers? Do we
not find, on every page, that the Holy Fathers of one century very often
differed from the Holy Fathers of another century in very important matters? Is
it not a public and undeniable fact, that the history of our Holy Church is
almost nothing else than the history of the hard conflict, stern divisions,
unflinching contradictions and oppositions of Holy Fathers to Holy Fathers?
"Here is a big volume of manuscript written by me, containing only
extracts from our best Church historians, filled with the public disputes of
Holy Fathers among themselves on almost every subject of Christianity.
"There are Holy Fathers who say, with our best modern theologians St.
Thomas, Bellarmine and Liguori that we must kill heretics as we kill wild
beasts; while many others say that we must tolerate them! You all know the name
of the Holy Father who sends to hell all the widows who marry a second time,
while other Holy Fathers are of a different mind. Some of them, you know well,
had very different notions from ours about purgatory. Is it necessary for me to
give you the names of the Holy Fathers, in Africa and Asia, who refused to
accept the supreme jurisdiction we acknowledge in the Pope over all churches?
Several Holy Fathers have denied the supreme authority of the Church of Rome
you know it; they have laughed at the excommunications of the Popes! Some even
have gladly died, when excommunicated by the Pope, without doing anything to
reconcile themselves to him! What do we find in the six volumes of letters we
have still from St. Jerome, if not the undeniable fact that he filled the
Church with the noise of his harsh denunciations of the scriptural views of St.
Augustine on many important points. You have read these letters? Well, have you
not concluded that St. Jerome and St. Augustine agreed almost only on one
thing, which was, to disagree on every subject they treated?
"Did not St. Jerome knock his head against nearly all the Holy Fathers of
his time? And has he not received hard knocks from almost all the Holy Fathers
with whom he was acquainted? Is it not a public fact that St. Jerome and
several other Holy Fathers rejected the sacred books of the Maccaabees, Judith,
Tobias, just as the heretics of our time reject them?
"And now we are gravely asked, in the name of the God of Truth, to swear
that we will interpret the Holy Scriptures only according to the unanimous
consent of those Holy Fathers, who have been unanimous but in one thing, which
was never to agree with each other, and sometimes not even with themselves.
"For it is a well-known fact, though it is a very deplorable one, for
instance, that St. Augustine did not always keep to the same correct views on
the text "Thou art Peter, and upon that rock I will build My church.'
After holding correct views on that fundamental truth he gave it up, at the end
of his life, to say, with the Protestants of our day, that `upon that rock
means only Christ, and not Peter.' Now, how can I be bound by an oath to follow
the views of men who have themselves been wavering and changing, when the Word
of God must stand as an unmoving rock to my heart? If you require from us an
oath, why put into our hands the history of the Church, which has stuffed our
memory with the undeniable facts of the endless fierce divisions of the Holy
Fathers on almost every question which the Scriptures present to our faith?
Would to God that I could say, with Baillargeon, I know nothing of the Holy
Fathers! Then I could perhaps be at peace with my conscience, after perjuring
myself by promising a thing that I cannot do.
"I was lately told by the Rev. Leprohon, that it is absolutely necessary
to go to the Holy Fathers in order to understand the Holy Scriptures! But I
will respectfully repeat today what I then said on that subject.
"If I am too ignorant or too stupid to understand St. Mark, St. Luke and
St. Paul, how can I be intelligent enough to understand Jerome, Augustine and
Tertullian? And if St. Matthew, St. John and St. Peter have not got from God
the grace of writing with a sufficient degree of light and clearness to be
understood by men of good-will, how is it that Justin, Clemens and Cyprian have
received from our God a favour of lucidity and clearness which He denied to His
apostles and evangelists? If I cannot rely upon my private judgment when
studying, with the help of God, the Holy Scriptures, how can I rely on my
private judgment when studying the Holy Fathers? You constantly tell me I
cannot rely on my private judgment to understand and interpret the Holy
Scriptures; but will you please tell me with what judgment and intelligence I
shall have to interpret and understand the writings of the Holy Fathers, if it
be not with my own private judgment? Must I borrow the judgment and
intelligence of some of my neighbours in order to understand and interpret, for
instance, the writings of Origen? or shall I be allowed to go and hear what
that Holy Father wants from me, with my own private intelligence? But again, if
you are forced to confess that I have nothing else but my private judgment and
intelligence to read, understand and follow the Holy Fathers, and that I not
only can but must rely on my own private judgment, without any fear, in that
case, how is it that I will be lost if I make use of that same private and
personal judgment when at the feet of Jesus, listening to His eternal and
life-giving words?
"Nothing distresses me so much in our holy religion as that want of
confidence in God when we go to the feet of Jesus to hear or read His
soul-saving words, and the abundance of self-confidence, when we go among
sinful and fallible men, to know what they say.
"It is not to the Holy Scriptures that we are invited to go to know what
the Lord saith: it is to the Holy Fathers!
"Would it be possible that, in our Holy Church, the Word of God would be
darkness, and the words of men light!
"This dogma, or article of our religion, by which we must go to the Holy
Fathers in order to know what `The Lord saith,' and not to the Holy Scriptures,
is to my soul what a handful of sand would be to my eyes it makes me perfectly
blind.
"When our venerable bishop places the Holy Scriptures in my hands and
commands me to study and peach them, I shall understand when he means, and he
will know what he says. He will give me a most sublime work to perform; and, by
the grace of God, I hope to do it. But when he orders me to swear that I will
never interpret the Holy Scriptures except according to the unanimous consent
of the Holy Fathers, will he not make a perjured man of me, and will he not say
a thing to which he has not given sufficient attention? For to swear that we
will never interpret anything of the Scriptures, except according to the
unanimous consent of the Holy Fathers, is to swear to a thing as impossible and
ridiculous as to take the moon with our hands. I say more, it is to swear that
we ill never study nor interpret a single chapter of the Bible. For it is
probable that there are very few chapters of that Holy Book which have not been
a cause of serious differences between some of the Holy Fathers.
"As the writings of the Holy Fathers fill at least two hundred volumes in
folio, it will not take us less than ten years of constant study to know on
what question they are or are not unanimous! If, after that time of study, I
find that they are unanimous on the question of orthodoxy which I must believe
and preach, all will be right with me. I will walk with a fearless heart to the
gates of eternity, with the certainty of following the true way of salvation.
But if among fifty Holy Fathers there are forty-nine on one side and one only
on the opposite side, in what awful state of distress will I be plunged! Shall
I not be then as a ship in a stormy night, after she has lost her compass, her
masts, and her helm. If I were allowed to follow the majority, there would
always be a plank of safety to rescue me from the impending wreck. But the Pope
has inexorably tied us to the unanimity. If my faith is not the faith of
unanimity, I am for ever damned. I am out of the Church!
"What a frightful alternative is just before us! We must either perjure
ourselves, by swearing to follow a unanimity which is a fable, in order to
remain Roman Catholics, or we must plunge into the abyss of impiety and atheism
by refusing to swear that we will adhere to a unanimity which never
existed."
It was visible, at the end of that long and stormy conference, that the fears
and anxieties of Baillargeon and mine were partaken of by every one of the
students in theology. The boldness of our expressions brought upon us a real
storm. But our Superior did not dare to face or answer a single one of our
arguments; he was evidently embarrassed, and nothing could surpass his joy when
the bell told him that the hour of the conference was over. He promised to
answer us the next day; but the next day he did nothing but throw dust into our
eyes, and abuse us to his heart's content. He began by forbidding me to read
any more of the controversial books I had brought a few months before, among
which was the celebrated Derry discussion between seven priests and seven
Protestants. I had to give back the well known discussion between "Pope
and Maguire," and between Gregg and the same Maguire. I had also to give
up the numbers of the Avenir and other books of Lamenais, which I had got the
liberty, as a privilege, to read. It was decided that my intelligence was not
clear enough, and that my faith was not sufficiently strong to read those
books. I had nothing to do but to bow my head under the yoke and obey, without
a word or murmur. The darkest night was made around our understandings, and we
had to believe that that awful darkness was the shining light of God! We
rejected the bright truth which had so nearly conquered our mind in order to
accept the most ridiculous sophisms as gospel truths! We did the most degrading
action a man can do we silenced the voice of our conscience, and we consented
to follow our superior's views, as a brute follows the order of his master; we
consented to be in the hands of our superiors like a stick in the hands of the
traveler.
During the months which elapsed between that hard fought, through lost battle,
and the solemn hour of my priestly ordination, I did all I could to subdue and
annihilate my thoughts on that subject. My hope was that I had entirely
succeeded. But, to my dismay, that reason suddenly awoke, as from a long sleep,
when I had perjured myself, as every priest has to do. A chill of horror and
shame ran through all my frame in spite of myself. In my inmost soul a cry was
heard from my wounded conscience, "You annihilate the Word of God! You
rebel against the Holy Ghost! You deny the Holy Scriptures to follow the steps
of sinful men! You reject the pure waters of eternal life, to drink the waters
of death."
In order to choke again the voice of my conscience, I did what my Church
advised me to do I cried to my wafer god and to the blessed Virgin Mary that
they might come to my help, and silence the voices which were troubling my
peace by shaking my faith.
With the utmost sincerity, the day of my ordination, I renewed the promise that
I had already so often made, and said in the presence of God and His angels,
"I promise that I will never believe anything except according to the
teachings of my Holy and Apostolic Church of Rome."
And on that pillow of folly, ignorance, and fanaticism I laid my head to sleep
the sleep of spiritual death, with the two hundred millions of slaves whom the
Pope seem at his feet.
And I slept that sleep till the God of our salvation, in His great mercy, awoke
me, by giving to my soul the light, the truth, and the life which are in Jesus
Christ.
.
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CHAPTER 17 Back to Top
I
was ordained a priest of Rome in the Cathedral of Quebec, on the 21st of
September, 1833, by the Right Reverend Signaie, first Archbishop of Canada. No
words can express the solemnity of my thoughts, the superhuman nature of my
aspirations, when the delegate of the Pope, imposing his hands on my head, gave
me the power of converting a real wafer into the real substantial body, blood,
soul and divinity of Jesus Christ! The bright illusion of Eve, as the deceiver
told her "Ye shall be as gods," was child's play compared with what I
felt when, assured by the infallible voice of my Church that I was not only on
equal terms with my Saviour and God, but I was in reality above Him! and that
hereafter I would not only command, but create Him!!
The aspirations to power and glory which had been such a terrible temptation in
Lucifer were becoming a reality in me! I had received the power of commanding
God, not in a spiritual and mystical, but in a real, personal and most
irresistible way.
With my heart full of an inexpressible joy and gratitude to God, and with all
the faculties of my soul raised to exaltation, I withdrew from the feet of the
pontiff to my oratory, where I passed the rest of the day in meditation on the
great things which my God had wrought in me.
I had, at last, attained the top of that power and holiness which my Church had
invited me to consider from my infancy as the most glorious gift which God had
ever given to man! The dignity which I had just received was above all the
dignities and the thrones of this world. The holy character of the PRIESTHOOD
had been impressed on my soul, with the blood of Christ, as an imperishable and
celestial glory. Nothing could ever take it away from me, in time or eternity.
I was to be a priest of my God for ever and ever. Not only had Christ let His divine
and priestly mantle fall on my shoulders, but He has so perfectly associated me
with Himself as the great and eternal Sacrificer, that I was to renew, every
day of my life, His atoning SACRIFICE! At my bidding, the only and eternally
begotten Son of my God was now to come into my hands in Person! The same Christ
who sits at the right hand of the Father was to come down every day into my
breast, to unite His flesh to my flesh, His blood to my blood, His divine soul
to my poor sinful soul, in order to walk, work and live in me and with me in
the most perfect unity and intimacy!
I passed that whole day and the greater part of the night in contemplating the
superhuman honours and dignities which my beloved Church had conferred on me.
Many times I fell on my knees to thank God for His mercies towards me, and I
could hardly speak to Him except with tears of joy and gratitude. I often
repeated the words of the Holy Virgin Mary: "My soul doth magnify the
Lord, and my spirit doth rejoice in God my Saviour."
The privileges granted to me were of a more substantial kind than those
bestowed upon Mary. She had been obeyed by Christ only when He was a child. He
had to obey me now, although He was in the full possession of His eternal
glory!
In the presence of God and His angels, I promised to live a holy life as a
token of my gratitude to Him. I said to my lips and my tongue, "Be holy
now; for you will not only speak to your God: you will give Him a new birth
every day!" I said to my heart, "Be holy and pure now; for you will
bear every day the Holy of Holies!" To my soul I said, "Be holy now;
for you will henceforth be most intimately and personally united to Christ
Jesus. You will be fed with the body, blood, soul and divinity of Him before
whom the angels do not find themselves pure enough!"
Looking on my table, where my pipe, filled with tobacco, and my snuffbox were
lying, I said: "Impure and noxious weeds, you will no more defile me! I am
the priest of the Almighty. It is beneath my dignity to touch you any
more!" and opening the window I threw them into the street, never to make
use of them again.
On the 21st of September, 1833, I had thus been raised to the priesthood; but I
had not yet made use of the divine powers with which I had been invested. The
next day I was to say my first Mass, and work that incomparable miracle which
the Church of Rome calls TRANSUBSTANTIATION.
As I have already said, I had passed the greater part of the night between the
21st and 22nd in meditation and thanksgivings. On the morning of the 22nd, long
before the dawn of day, I was dressed and on my knees. This was to be the most
holy and glorious day of my life! Raised, the day before, to a dignity which
was above the kingdoms and empires of the world, I was now, for the first time,
to work a miracle at the altar which no angel or seraph could do.
At my bidding Christ was to receive a new existence! The miracle wrought by
Joshua, when he commanded the sun and moon to stop, on the bloody plain of
Gibeon, was nothing compared to the miracle that I was to perform that day.
When the eternal Son of God would be in my hands, I was to present myself at
the throne of mercy, with that expiatory victim of the sins of the world pay
the debt, not only of my guilty soul, but of all those for whom I should speak!
The ineffable sacrifice of Calvary was to be renewed by me that day with the
utmost perfection!
When the bell rang to tell me that the hour was come to clothe myself with the
golden priestly robes and go to the altar, my heart beat with such a rapidity
that I came very near fainting. The holiness of the action I was to do, the
infinite greatness of the sacrifice I was about to make, the divine victim I
was to hold in my hands and present to God the Father! the wonderful miracle I
was to perform, filled my soul and my heart with such sentiments of terror, joy
and awe, that I was trembling from head to foot; and if very kind friends,
among whom was the venerable secretary of the Archbishop of Quebec, now the
Grand Vicar Cazault, had not been there to help and encourage me, I think I
would not have dared to ascend the steps of the altar.
It is not an easy thing to go through all the ceremonies of a Mass. There are
more than one hundred different ceremonies and positions of the body, which
must be observed with the utmost perfection. To omit one of them willingly, or
through a culpable neglect or ignorance, is eternal damnation. But thanks to a
dozen exercises through which I had gone the previous week, and thanks be to
the kind friends who helped and guided me, I went through the performances of
that first Mass much more easily than I expected. It lasted about an hour. But
when it was over, I was really exhausted by the effort made to keep my mind and
heart in unison with the infinite greatness of the mysteries accomplished by
me.
To make one's self believe that he can convert a piece of bread into God
requires such a supreme effort of the will, and complete annihilation of
intelligence, that the state of the soul, after the effort is over, is more like
death than life.
I had really persuaded myself that I had done the most holy and sublime action
of my life, when, in fact, I had been guilty of the most outrageous act of
idolatry! My eyes, my hands an lips, my mouth and tongue, and all my senses, as
well as the faculties of my intelligence, were telling me that what I had seen,
touched, eaten, was nothing but a wafer; but the voices of the Pope and his
Church were telling me that it was the real body, blood, soul and divinity of
Jesus Christ. I had persuaded myself that the voices of my senses and
intelligence were the voices of Satan, and that the deceitful voice of the Pope
was the voice of the God of Truth! Every priest of Rome has come to that
strange degree of folly and perversity, every day of his life, to remain a
priest of Rome.
The great imposture taught under the modern word TRANSUBSTANTIATION, when
divested of the glare which Rome, by her sorceries, throws around it, is soon
seen to be what it is a most impious and idolatrous doctrine.
"I must carry the `good God' to-morrow to a sick man," says the
priest to his servant girl. In plain French: "Je dois porter le `Bon Dieu'
demain a un malade," dit le pretre a sa servante; "mais il n'y en a
plus dans le tabernacle." "But there are no more particles in the
tabernacle. Make some small cakes that I may consecrate them to-morrow."
And the obedient domestic takes some wheat flour, for no other kind of flour is
fit to make the god of the Pope. A mixture of any other kind would make the
miracle of "transubstantiation" a great failure. The servant girl
accordingly takes the dough, and bakes it between two heated irons, on which
are graven the following figures, C.H.S. When the whole is well baked, she
takes her scissors and cuts those wafers, which are about four or five inches
large, into smaller ones of the size of an inch, and respectfully hands them
over to the priest.
The next morning the priest takes the newly-baked wafers to the altar, and
changes them into the body, blood, soul, and divinity of Jesus Christ. It was
one of those wafers that I had taken to the altar in that solemn hour of my
first Mass, and which I had turned into my Saviour by the five magical words
HOC EST ENIM CORPUS MEUM!
What was the difference between the incredible folly of Aaron, on the day of
his apostasy in the wilderness, and the action I had done when I worshipped the
god whom I made myself, and got my friends to worship? Where, I ask, is the
difference between the adoration of the calf-god of Aaron and the wafer-god which
I had made on the 22nd of September, 1833. The only difference was, that the
idolatry of Aaron lasted but one day, while the idolatry in which I lived
lasted a quarter of a century, and has been perpetuated in the Church of Rome
for more than a thousand years.
What has the Church of Rome done by giving up the words of Christ, "Do
this in remembrance of Me," and substituting her dogma of
Transubstantiation? She has brought the world back to the old heathenism. The
priest of Rome worships a Saviour called Christ. Yes; but that Christ is not
the Christ of the gospel. It is a false and newly-invented Christ whom the
Popes have smuggled from the Pantheon of Rome, and sacrilegiously called by the
adorable name of our Saviour, Jesus Christ.
I have often been asked: "Was it possible that you sincerely believed that
the wafer could be changed into God by you?" And, "Have you really
worshipped that water as your Saviour?"
To my shame, and to the shame of poor humanity, I must say, "Yes." I
believed as sincerely as every Roman Catholic priest is bound to believe it,
that I was creating my own Saviour-God every morning by the assumed
consecration of the wafer; and I was saying to the people, as I presented it to
them, "Ecce Agnus Dei" "This is the Lamb of God, who takes away
the sins of the world; let us adore Him;" and prostrating myself on my
knees I was adoring the god made by myself, with the help of my servant; and
all the people prostrated themselves to adore the newlymade god!
I must confess, further, that though I was bound to believe in the existence of
Christ in heaven, and was invited by my Church to worship Him as my Saviour and
my God, I had, as every Roman Catholic has, more confidence, faith, and love
towards the Christ which I had created with a few words of my lips than towards
the Christ of heaven.
My Church told me, every day of my life, and I had to believe and preach it,
that though the Christ of heaven was my Saviour, He was angry against me on
account of my sins; that He was constantly disposed to punish me, according to
His terrible justice; that He was armed with lightning and thunder to crush me;
and that, were it not for His mother, who day and night was interceding for me,
I should be cast into that hell which my sins had so richly deserved. All the
theologians, with St. Liguori at their head, whose writings I was earnestly
studying, and which had received the approbation of infallible Popes, persuaded
me that it was Mary whom I had to thank and bless, if I had not yet been
punished as I deserved. Not only had I to believe this doctrine, but I had to
peach it to the people. The result was for me, as it is for every Roman
Catholic, that my heart was really chilled, and I was filled with terror every
time I looked to the Christ of heaven through the lights and teachings of my
Church. He could not, as I believed, look to me except with an angry face; He
could not stretch out His hand towards me except to crush me, unless His
merciful mother or some other mighty saint interposed their saving supplications
to appease His just indignation. When I was praying to that Christ of the
Church of Rome, my mind was constantly perplexed about the choice I should make
of some powerful protector, whose influence could get me a favourable hearing
from my irritated Saviour.
Besides this, I was told, and I had to believe it, that the Christ of heaven
was a mighty monarch, a most glorious king, surrounded by innumerable hosts of
servants, officers and friends, and that, as it would not do for a poor rebel
to present himself before his irritated King to get His pardon, but he must
address himself to some of His most influential courtiers, or to His beloved
mother, to whom nothing can be refused, that they might plead his cause; so I
sincerely believed that it was better for me not to speak myself to Jesus
Christ, but to look for some one who would speak for me.
But there were no such terrors or fears in my heart when I approached the
Saviour whom I had created myself! Such an humble and defenseless Saviour,
surely, had no thunder in His hands to punish His enemies. He could have no
angry looks for me. He was my friend, as well as the work of my hands. There
was nothing in Him which could inspire me with any fear. Had I not brought Him
down from heaven? And had He not come into my hands that He might hear, bless,
and forgive me? that He might be nearer to me, and I nearer to Him?
When I was in His presence, in that solitary church, there was no need of
officers, of courtiers, of mothers to speak to Him for me. He was no longer
there a mighty monarch, an angry king, who could be approached only by the
great officers of His court; He as now the rebuked of the world, the humble and
defenseless Saviour of the manger, the forsaken Jesus of Calvary, the forgotten
Christ of Gethsemane.
No words can give any idea of the pleasure I used to feel when alone,
prostrated before the Christ whom I had made at the morning Mass, I poured out
my heart at His feet. It is impossible for those who have not lived under those
terrible illusions to understand with what confidence I spoke to the Christ who
was then before me, bound by the ties of His love for me! How many times, in
the colder days of winter, in churches which had never seen any fire, with an
atmosphere 15 degrees below zero, had I passed whole hours alone, in adoration
of the Saviour whom I had made only a few hours before! How often have I looked
with silent admiration to the Divine Person who was there alone, passing the
long hours of the day and night, rebuked and forsaken, that I might have an
opportunity of approaching Him, and of speaking to Him as a friend to his
friend, as a repenting sinner to his merciful Saviour. My faith I should rather
say my awful delusion, was then so complete that I scarcely felt the biting of the
cold! I may say with truth, that the happiest hours I ever had, during the long
years of darkness into which the Church of Rome had plunged me, were the hours
which I passed in adoring the Christ whom I had made with my own lips. And
every priest of Rome would make the same declaration were they questioned on
the subject.
It is a similar principle of monstrous faith that leads widows in India to leap
with cries of joy into the fire which will burn them into ashes with the bodies
of their deceased husbands. Their priests have assured them that such a
sacrifice will secure eternal happiness to themselves and their departed
husbands.
In fact, the Roman Catholics have no other Saviour to whom they can betake
themselves than the one made by the consecration of the wafer. He is the only
Saviour who is not angry with them, and who does not require the mediation of
virgins and saints to appease His wrath. This is the reason why Roman Catholic
churches are so well filled by the poor blind Roman Catholics. See how they
rush to the foot of their altars at almost every hour of the day, sometimes
long before the dawn! Go to some of their churches, even on a rainy and stormy
morning, and you will see crowds of worshipers, of every age and from every
grade of society, braving the storm and the rain, walking through the mud to
pass an hour at the foot of their tabernacles!
How is it that the Roman Catholics, alone, offer such a spectacle to the
civilized world? The reason is very simple and plain. Every soul yearns for a God
to whom it can speak, and who will hear its supplications with a merciful
heart, and who will wipe away her penitential tears. Just as the flowers of our
gardens turn naturally towards the sun which gives them their colour, their
fragrance and their life, so every soul wants a Saviour who is not angry but
merciful towards those who come unto Him. A Saviour who will say to the weary
and heavy laden: "Come unto Me and I will give you rest." A God, in
fine, who is not armed with Thunder and Lightning, and does not require to be
approached only by saints, virgins, and martyrs; but who, through his son
Jesus, is the real, the true, and the only friend of Sinners.
When the people think there is such a God such a loving Saviour to be found in
the tabernacle, it is but natural that they should brave the storms and the
rains, to worship at His feet, to receive the pardon of their sins.
The children of light, the disciples of the gospel, who protest against the
errors of Rome, know that their Heavenly Father is everywhere ready to hear,
forgive, and help them. They know that it is no more at Jerusalem, nor on this
or that mountain, or at Church that God wants to be worshipped (John iv. 21.)
They know that their Saviour liveth, and is everywhere ready to hear those who
invoke His name; that He is no more in that desert, or in that secret chamber
(Matt. xxiv. 26). They know that He is everywhere that He is ever near to those
who look to His bleeding wounds, and whose robes are washed in His blood. They
find Jesus in their most secret closets when they enter them to pray; they meet
Him and converse with Him when in the fields, behind the counter, traveling on
railroads or steamers everywhere they meet with Him, and speak to Him as friend
to friend.
It is not so with the followers of the Pope. They are told contrary to the
gospel (Matt. xxiv. 23), that Christ is in this Church in that secret chamber
or tabernacle! cruelly deceived by their priests, they run, they brave the
storms to go as near as possible to that place where their merciful Christ
lives. They go to the Christ who will give them a hearty welcome who will
listen to their humble prayers, and be compassionate to their tears of
repentance.
Let Protestants cease to admire poor deluded Roman Catholics who dare the storm
and go to church even before the dawn of day. This devotion, which so dazzles
them, should excite compassion, and not admiration; for it is the logical
result of the most awful spiritual darkness. It is the offspring of the
greatest imposture the world has ever seen; it is the natural consequence of
the belief that the priest of Rome can create Christ and God by the
consecration of a wafer, and keep Him in a secret chamber.
The Egyptians worshipped God under the form of crocodiles and calves. The
Greeks made their gods of marble or of gold. The Persian made the sun his god.
The Hottentots make their gods with whalebone, and go far through the storms to
adore them. The Church of Rome makes her god out of a piece of bread! Is this
not Idolatry?
From the year 1833, the day that God in His mercy opened my eyes, my servant
had used more than a bushel of wheat flour, to make the little cakes which I
had to convert into the Christ of the Mass. Some of these I ate; others I
carried about with me for the sick, and others I placed in the tabernacle for
the adoration of the people.
I am often asked, "How is it that you could be guilty of such a gross act
of idolatry?" My only answer is the answer of the blind man of the gospel:
"I know not; one thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see."
(John ix. 25).
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CHAPTER 18 Back to Top
On
the day of my ordination to the priesthood, I had to believe, with all the
priests of Rome, that it was within the limits of my powers to go into all the
bakeries of Quebec, and change all the loaves and biscuits in that old city,
into the body, blood, soul, and divinity of our Lord Jesus Christ, by
pronouncing over them the five words: Hoc est enim corpus meum. Nothing would
have remained of these loaves and biscuits but the smell, the colour, the
taste.
Every bishop and priest of the cities of New York and Boston, Chicago,
Montreal, Paris, and London, ect., firmly believes and teaches that he has the
power to turn all the loaves of their cities, of their dioceses, nay, of the
whole world, into the body, blood, soul, and divinity of our Saviour, Jesus
Christ. And, though they have never yet found it advisable to do that wonderful
miracle, they consider, and say, that to entertain any doubt about the power to
perform that marvel, is as criminal as to entertain any doubt about the
existence of God.
When in the Seminary of Nicolet, I heard, several times, our Superior, the Rev.
Mr. Raimbault, tell us that a French priest having been condemned to death in
Paris, when dragged to the scaffold had, through revenge, consecrated and
changed into Jesus Christ all the loaves of the bakeries which were along the
streets through which he had to pass; and though our learned Superior condemned
that action in the strongest terms, yet he told us that the consecration was
valid, and that the loaves were really changed into the body, blood, soul and
divinity of the Saviour of the world. And I was bound to believe it under pain
of eternal damnation.
Before my ordination I had been obliged to learn by heart, in one of the most
sacred books of the Church of Rome (Missale Romanum, p. 63) the following
statement: "If the host after consecration disappear, either by any
accident, as by the wind, or a miracle, or being taken and carried off by any
animal; and if it cannot be recovered, then he shall consecrate another."
And at page 57 I had learned, "If after consecration a fly has fallen in,
or anything of that sort, and a nausea be occasioned to the priest, he shall draw
it out and wash it with wine, and when the mass is finished, burn it, and the
ashes and lotion shall be thrown into the sacrarium. But if he have not a
nausea, nor fear any danger, he shall drink them [ashes and lotion] with the
blood."
In the month of January, 1834, I heard the following fact from the Rev. Mr.
Paquette, curate of St. Gervais, at a grand dinner which he had given to the
neighbouring priests:-
"When young, I was the vicar of a curate who could eat as much as two of
us, and drink as much as four. He was tall and strong, and he has left the dark
marks of his hard fists on the nose of more than one of his beloved sheep; for
his anger was really terrible after he had drank his bottle of wine.
"One day, after a sumptuous dinner, he was called to carry the good god
(Le Bon Dieu), to a dying man. It was in midwinter. The cold was intense. The
wind was blowing hard. There were at least five or six feet of snow, and the
roads were almost impassable. It was really a serious matter to travel nine miles
on such a day, but there was no help. The messenger was one of the first
marguilliers (elders) who was very pressing, and the dying man was one of the
first citizens of the place. The curate, after a few grumblings, drank a
tumbler of good Jamaica with his marguillier, as a preventive against the cold;
went to church, took the good god (Le Bon Dieu), and threw himself into the
sleigh, wrapped as well as possible in his large buffalo robes.
"Though there were two horses, one before the other, to drag the sleigh,
the journey was a long and tedious one, which was made still worse by an
unlucky circumstance. They were met half-way by another traveler coming from
the opposite direction. The road was too narrow to allow the two sleighs and
horses to remain easily on firm ground when passing by each other, and it would
have required a good deal of skill and patience in driving the horses to
prevent them from falling into the soft snow. It is well known that when once
horses are sunk into five or six feet of snow, the more they struggle the
deeper they sink.
"The marguillier, who was carrying the `good god,' with the curate,
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 that 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 d take your "good god" before I 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 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, who was thrown upon his back in the soft snow, where he almost
disappeared.
"Till then the curate had been a silent spectator; but the sight and cries
of his friend, whom the stranger was pommeling 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
with 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 savage 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.
"The `good god' had evidently heard the prayer of my curate, and he had
remained neutral; at all events, he had not taken the part of his priest, for
he lost the day, and the infamous Protestant remained master of the
battle-field.
"The curate had to help his marguillier out of the snow in which he was
buried, and where he had lain like a slaughtered ox. Both had to walk, or
rather crawl, nearly half a mile in snow to the knees, before they could reach
the nearest farmhouse, where they arrived when it was dark.
"But the worse is not told. You remember when my curate had put the box
containing the `good god' on the seat of the sleigh, before going to fight. The
horses had dragged the sleigh a certain distance, upset and smashed it. The
little silk bag, with the silver box and its precious contents, was lost in the
snow, and though several hundred people had looked for it, several days at
different times, it could not be found. It was only late in the month of June,
that a little boy, seeing some rags in the mud of the ditch, along the highway,
lifted them and a little silver box fell out. Suspecting that it was what the
people had looked for so many days during the last winter, he took it to the
parsonage.
"I was there when it was opened; we had the hope that the `good god' would
be found pretty intact, but we were doomed to be disappointed. The good god was
entirely melted away. Le Bon Dieu etait fondu!"
During the recital of that spicy story, which was told in the most amusing and
comical way, the priests had drunk freely and laughed heartily. But when the
conclusion came: "Le Bon Dieu etait fondu!"
"The good god was melted away!" There was a burst of laughter such as
I never heard the priests striking the floor with their feet, and the table
with their hands, filled the house with the cries, "The good god melted
away!"
Le Bon Dieu est fondu!' "Le Bon Kieu est fondu!" Yes, the god of
Rome, dragged away by a drunken priest, had really melted away in the muddy
ditch. This glorious fact was proclaimed by his own priests in the midst of
convulsive laughter, and at tables covered with scores of bottles just emptied
by them!
About the middle of March, 1839, I had one of the most unfortunate days of my
Roman Catholic priestly life. At about two o'clock in the afternoon, a poor
Irishman had come in haste from beyond the high mountains, between Lake
Beauport and the River Morency, to ask me to go and anoint a dying woman. It
took me ten minutes to run to the church, put the "good god" in the
little silver box, shut the whole in my vest pocket and jump into the
Irishman's rough sleigh. The roads were exceeding bad, and we had to go very
slowly. At 7 p.m. we were yet more than three miles from the sick woman's
house. It was very dark, and the horse was so exhausted that it was impossible
to go any further through the gloomy forest. I determined to pass the night at
a poor Irish cabin which was near the road. I knocked at the door, asked
hospitality, and was welcomed with that warm-hearted demonstration of respect
which the Roman Catholic Irishman knows, better than any other man, how to pay
to his priests.
The shanty, twenty-four feet long by sixteen wide, was built with round logs,
between which a liberal supply of clay, instead of mortar, had been thrown, to
prevent the wind and cold from entering. Six fat, though not absolutely
well-washed, healthy boys and girls, half-naked, presented themselves around
their good parents, as the living witnesses that this cabin, in spite of its
ugly appearance, was really a happy home for its dwellers.
Besides the eight human beings sheltered beneath that hospitable roof, I saw,
at one end, a magnificent cow, with her new-born calf, and two fine pigs. These
last two boarders were separated from the rest of the family only by a branch
partition two or three feet high.
"Please your reverence," said the good woman, after she had prepared
her supper, "excuse our poverty, but be sure that we feel happy and much
honoured to have you in our humble dwelling for the night. My only regret is
that we have only potatoes, milk and butter to give you for your supper. In
these backwoods, tea, sugar, and wheat flour are unknown luxuries."
I thanked that good woman for her hospitality, and caused her to rejoice not a
little by assuring her that good potatoes, fresh butter and milk, were the best
delicacies which could be offered to me in any place. I sat at the table, and
ate one of the most delicious suppers of my life. The potatoes were exceedingly
well-cooked the butter, cream and milk of the best quality, and my appetite was
not a little sharpened by the long journey over the steep mountains.
I had not told these good people, nor even my driver, that I had "Le Bon
Dieu," the good god, with me in my vest pocket. It would have made them
too uneasy, and would have added too much to my other difficulties. When the
time of sleeping arrived I went to bed with all my clothing, and I slept well;
for I was very tired by the tedious and broken roads from Beauport to these
distant mountains.
Next morning, before breakfast and the dawn of day, I was up, and as soon as we
had a glimpse of light to see our way, I left for the house of the sick woman
after offering a silent prayer.
I had not traveled a quarter of a mile when I put my hand into my vest pocket, and
to my indescribable dismay I found that the little silver box, containing the
"good god," was missing. A cold sweat ran through my frame. I told my
driver to stop and turn back immediately, that I had lost something which might
be found in the bed where I had slept. It did not take five minutes to retrace
our way.
On opening the door I found the poor woman and her husband almost beside
themselves, and distressed beyond measure. They were pale and trembling as
criminals who expected to be condemned.
"Did you not find a little silver box after I left," I said.
"O my God!" answered the desolate woman; "yes, I have found it,
but would to God I had never seen it. There it is."
"But why do you regret finding it, when I am so happy to find it here,
safe in your hands!" I replied.
"Ah; your reverence, you do not know what a terrible misfortune has just
happened to me, not more than half a minute before you knocked at the
door."
"What misfortune can have fallen upon you in so short a time," I
answered.
"Well, please your reverence, open the little box and you will understand
me."
I opened it, but the "good god" was not in it!! Looking in the face
of the poor distressed woman, I asked her, "What does this mean? It is
empty!"
"It means," answered she, "that I am the most unfortunate of
women! Not more than five minutes after you had left the house, I went to your
bed and found that little box. Not knowing what it was I showed it to my
children and to my husband. I asked him to open it, but he refused to do it. I
then turned it on every side, trying to guess what it could contain; till the
devil tempted me so much that I determined to open it. I came to this corner,
where this pale lamp is used to remain on that little shelf, and I opened it.
But, oh my God! I do not dare to tell the rest."
At these words she fell on the floor in a fit of nervous excitement her cries
were piercing, her mouth was foaming. She was cruelly tearing her hair with her
own hands. The shrieks and lamentations of the children were so distressing
that I could hardly prevent myself from crying also.
After a few moments of the most agonizing anxiety, seeing that the poor woman
was becoming calm, I addressed myself to the husband, and said: "Please
give me the explanation to these strange things?" He could hardly speak at
first, but as I was very pressing he told me with a trembling voice:
"Please your reverence; look into that vessel which the children use, and
you will perhaps understand our desolation! When my wife opened the little
silver box she did not observe the vessel was there, just beneath her hands. In
the opening, what was in the silver box fell into that vase, and sank! We were
all filled with consternation when you knocked at the door and entered."
I felt struck with such unspeakable horror at the thought that the body, blood,
soul and divinity of my Saviour, Jesus Christ, was there, sunk into that vase,
that I remained speechless, and for a long time did not know what to do. At
first it came into my mind to plunge my hands into the vase and try to get my
Saviour out of that sepulchre of ignominy. But I could not muster courage to do
so.
At last I requested the poor desolated family to dig a hole three feet deep in
the ground, and deposit it, with its contents, and I left the house, after I
had forbidden them from ever saying a word about that awful calamity.
In one of the most sacred books of the laws and regulations of the Church of
Rome (Missale Romanum), we read, page 58, "If the priest vomit the
Eucharist, if the species appear entire, let them be reverently swallowed,
unless sickness arise; for then let the consecrated species be cautiously
separated and laid up in some sacred place till they are corrupted; and
afterwards let them be cast into the sacrarium. But if the species do not
appear, let the vomit be burned, and the ashes cast into the sacarium."
When a priest of Rome, I was bound, with all the Roman Catholics, to believe
that Christ had taken His own body, with His own hand, to His mouth; and that
He had eaten Himself, not in a spiritual, but in a substantial material way!
After eating Himself, He had given it to each of His apostles, who then ate Him
also!!
Before closing this chapter, let the reader allow me to ask him, if the world,
in its darkest ages of paganism, has ever witnessed such a system of idolatry,
so debasing, impious, ridiculous, and diabolical in its consequences as the
Church of Rome teaches in the dogma of transubstantiation!
When, with the light of the gospel in hand, the Christian goes into those
horrible recesses of superstition, folly, and impiety, he can hardly believe
what his eyes see and his ears hear. It seems impossible that men can consent
to worship a god whom the rats can eat! A god who can be dragged away and lost
in a muddy ditch by a drunken priest! A god who can be eaten, vomited, and
eaten again by those who are courageous enough to eat again what they have
vomited!!
The religion of Rome is not a religion: it is the mockery, the destruction, the
ignominies caricature of religion. The Church of Rome, as a public fact, is
nothing but the accomplishment of the awful prophecy: "Because they
received not the love of the truth that they might be saved. And for this cause
God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie." (2
Thess. ii. 10, 11.)
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CHAPTER 19 Back to Top
On
the 24th September, 1833, the Rev. Mr. Casault, secretary of the Bishop of
Quebec, presented tome the official letters which named me the vicar of the
Rev. Mr. Perras, arch-priest, and curate of St. Charles, Rivierre Boyer, and I
was soon on my way, with a cheerful heart, to fill the post assigned to me by
my Superior.
The parish of St. Charles is beautifully situated about twenty miles south-west
of Quebec, on the banks of a river, which flows in its very midst, from north
to south. Its large farm-houses and barns, neatly white-washed with lime, were
the symbols of peace and comfort. The vandal axe had not yet destroyed the
centenary forests which covered the country. On almost every farm a splendid
grove of maples had been reserved as the witness of the intelligence and tastes
of the people.
I had often heard of the Rev. Mr. Perras as one of the most learned, pious, and
venerable priest of Canada. I had even been told that several of the governors
of Quebec had chosen him for the French teacher of their children. When I
arrived, he was absent on a sick call, but his sister received me with every
mark of refined politeness. Under the burden of her five-and-fifty years she
had kept all the freshness and amiability of youth. After a few words of
welcome, she showed me my study and sleeping room. They were both perfumed with
the fragrance of two magnificent bouquets of the choicest flowers, on the top
of one of which were written the words: "Welcome to the angel whom the
Lord sends to us as His messenger." The two rooms were the perfection of
neatness and comfort. I shut the doors and fell on my knees to thank God and
the blessed Virgin for having given me such a home. Ten minutes later I came
back to the large parlour, where I found Miss Perras waiting for me, to offer
me a glass of wine and some excellent "pain de savoie," as it was the
universal custom, then, to do in every respectable house. She then told me how
her brother, the curate, and herself were happy when they heard that I was to
come and live with them. She had known my mother before her marriage, and she
told me how she had passed several happy days in her company.
She could not speak to me of any subject more interesting than my mother; for,
though she had died a few years before, she had never ceased to be present to
my mind, and near and dear to my heart.
Miss Perras had not spoken long when the curate arrived. I rose to meet him,
but it is impossible to adequately express what I felt at that moment. The
Israelites were hardly struck with more awe when they saw Moses coming down
from Mount Sinai, than I was at the first sight I had of that venerable man.
Rev. Mr. Perras was then about sixty-five years old. He was a tall man almost a
giant. No army officer, no king ever bore his head with more dignity. But his
beautiful blue eyes, which were the embodiment of kindness, tempered the
dignity of his mien. His hair, which was beginning to whiten, had not yet lost
its golden lustre. It seemed as if silver and gold were mixed on his head to
adorn and beautify it. There was on his face an expression of peace, calm,
piety and kindness, which entirely won my heart and my respect. When, with a
smile on his lips, he extended his hands towards me, I felt beside myself, I
fell on my knees and said: "Mr. Perras, God sends me to you that you may
be my teacher and my father. You will have to guide my first and inexperienced
steps in the holy ministry. Do bless me, and pray that I may be a good priest
as you are yourself."
That unpremeditated and earnest act of mine so touched the good old priest,
that he could hardly speak. Leaning towards me he raised me up and pressed me
to his bosom, and with a voice trembling with emotion he said: "May God
bless you, my dear sir, and may He also be blessed for having chosen you to
help me to carry the burden of the holy ministry in my old age." After
half-an-hour of the most interesting conversation, he showed me his library, which
was very large, and composed of the best books which a priest of Rome is
allowed to read; and he very kindly put it at my service.
Next morning, after breakfast, he handed me a large and neat sheet of paper,
headed by these Latin words:
"ORDO DUCIT AD DEUM."
It was the rule of life which he had imposed upon himself, to guide all the
hours of the day in such a way that not a moment could be given to idleness or
vain pastime.
"Would you be kind enough," he said, "to read this and tell me
if it suits your views? I have found great spiritual and temporal benefits in
following these rules of life, and would be very happy if my dear young
coadjutor would unite with me in walking in the ways of an orderly, Christian
and priestly life.
I read this document with interest and pleasure, and handed it back to him
saying: "I will be very happy, with the help of God, to follow, with you,
the wise rules set down here for a holy and priestly life."
Thinking that these rules might be interesting to the reader, I give them here
in full:
.
1. Rising..........5:30am.
2. Prayer and Meditation............6 to 6:30am.
3. Mass, hearing confessions and recitation of brevarium ..6:30 to 8am.
4. Breakfast......................8am.
5. Visitation of the sick, and reading the lives of the saints......8:30 to
10am.
6. Study of philosophical, historical or theological books 11a.m. to 12.
7. Dinner.........................12 to 12:30.
8. Recreation and conversation.............12:30 to 1:30.
9. Recitation and vespers...................1:30 to 2pm.
10. Study of history, theology or philosophy........2 to 4 pm.
11. Visit to the holy sacrament and reading "Imitation of Jesus
Christ" 4 to 4:30.
12. Hearing of confessions, or visit to the sick, or study..4:30 to 6pm.
13. Supper..................6 to 6:30pm.
14. Recreation..............6:30 to 8pm.
15. Chaplet reading of the Holy Scriptures and prayer.....8 to 9pm.
16. Going to bed............9pm.
Such
was our daily life during the eight months which it was my privilege to remain
with the venerable Mr. Perras, except that Thursdays were invariably given to
visit some of the neighbouring curates, and the Sabbath days spent in hearing
confessions, and performing the public services of the church.
The conversation of Mr. Perras was generally exceedingly interesting. I never
heard from him any idle, frivolous talking, as is so much the habit among the
priests. He was well versed in the literature, philosophy, history and theology
of Rome. He had personally known almost all the bishops and priests of the last
fifty years, and his memory was well stored with anecdotes and facts concerning
the clergy, from almost the days of the conquest of Canada. I could write many
interesting things, were I to publish what I heard from him, concerning the doings
of the clergy. I will only give two or three of the facts of that interesting
period of the church in Canada.
A couple of months before my arrival at St. Charles, the vicar who preceded me,
called Lajus, had publicly eloped with one of his beautiful penitents, who,
after three months of public scandal, had repented and come back to her heart
broken parents. About the same time a neighbouring curate, in whom I had great
confidence, compromised himself also, with one of his fair parishioners, in a
most shameful, though less public way. These who scandals, which came to my
knowledge almost at the same time, distressed me exceedingly, and for nearly a
week I felt so overwhelmed with shame, that I dreaded to show my face in
public, and I almost regretted that I ever became a priest. My nights were
sleepless; the best viands of the table had lost their relish. I could hardly
eat anything. My conversations with Mr. Perras had lost their charms. I even
could hardly talk with him or anybody else.
"Are you sick, my young friend?" said he to me one day.
"No, sir, I am not sick, but I am sad."
He replied, "Can I know the cause of your sadness? You used to be so
cheerful and happy since you came here. I must bring you back to your former
happy frame of mind. Please tell me what is the matter with you? I am an old
man, and I know many remedies for the soul as well as for the body. Open your
heart to me, and I hope soon to see that dark cloud which is over you pass
away."
"The two last awful scandals given by he priests," I answered,
"are the cause of my sadness. The news of the fall of these two confreres,
one of whom seemed to me so respectable, has fallen upon me like a thunderbolt.
Though I had heard something of that nature when I was a simple ecclesiastic in
the college, I had not the least idea that such was the life of so many
priests. The fact of the human frailty of so many, is really distressing. How
can one hope to stand up on one's feet when one sees such strong men fall by
one's side? What will become of our holy church in Canada, and all over the
world, if her most devoted priests are so weak and have so little self-respect,
and so little fear of God?"
"My dear young friend," answered Mr. Perras. "Our holy church is
infallible. The gates of hell can not prevail against her; but the assurance of
her perpetuity and infallibility does not rest on any human foundation. It does
not rest on the personal holiness of her priests; but it rests on the promises
of Jesus Christ. Her perpetuity and infallibility are a perpetual miracle. It
requires the constant working of Jesus Christ to keep her pure and holy, in
spite of the sins and scandals of her priests. Even the clearest proof that our
holy church has a promise of perpetuity and infallibility is drawn from the very
sins and scandals of her priests; for those sins and scandals would have
destroyed her long ago, if Christ was not in the midst to save and sustain her.
Just as the ark of Noah was miraculously saved by the mighty hand of God, when
the waters of the deluge would otherwise have wrecked it, so our holy church is
miraculously prevented from perishing in the flood of iniquities by which too
many priests have deluged the world. By the great mercy and power of God, the
more the waters of the deluge were flowing on the earth, the more the ark was
raised towards heaven by these very waters. So it is with our holy church. The
very sins of the priests make that spotless spouse of Jesus Christ fly away
higher and higher towards the regions of holiness, as it is in God. Let,
therefore, your faith and confidence in our holy church, and your respect for
her, remain firm and unshaken in the midst of all these scandals. Let your zeal
be rekindled for her glory and extension, at the sight of the unfortunate
confreres who yield to the attacks of the enemy. Just as the valiant soldier
makes superhuman efforts to save the flag, when he sees those who carried it
fall on the battlefield. Oh! you will see more of our flag bearers slaughtered
before you reach my age. But be not disheartened or shaken by that sad
spectacle; for once more our holy church will stand for ever, in spite of all
those human miseries, for her strength and her infallibility do not lie in men,
but in Jesus Christ, whose promises will stand in spite of all the efforts of
hell.
"I am near the end of my course, and, thanks be to God, my faith in our
holy church is stronger than ever, though I have seen and heard many things,
compared with which, the facts which just now distress you are mere trifles. In
order the better to inure you to the conflict, and to prepare you to hear and
see more deplorable things than what is now troubling you, I think it is my
duty to tell you a fact which I got from the late Lord Bishop Plessis. I have
never revealed it to anybody, but my interest in you is so great that I will
tell it to you, and my confidence in your wisdom is so absolute, that I am sure
you will never abuse it. What I will reveal to you is of such a nature that we
must keep it among ourselves, and never let it be known to the people, for it
would diminish, if not destroy their respect and confidence in us, respect and
confidence, without which, it would become almost impossible to lead them.
"I have already told you that the late venerable Bishop Plessis was my personal
friend. Our intimacy had sprung up when we were studying under the same roof in
the seminary of St. Sulpice, Montreal, and it had increased year after year
till the last hour of his life. Every summer, when he had reached the end of
the three months of episcopal visitation of his diocese, he used to come and
spend eight or ten days of absolute rest and enjoyment of private and solitary
life with me in this parsonage. The two rooms you occupy were his, and he told
me many times that the happiest days of his episcopal life were those passed in
this solitude.
"One day he had come from his three months' visit, more worn out than
ever, and when I sat down with him in his parlour, I was almost frightened by
the air of distress which covered his face. Instead of finding him the
loquacious, amiable and cheerful guest I used to have in him, he was taciturn,
cast down, distressed. I felt really uneasy, for the first time, in his
presence, but as it was the last hour of the day, I supposed that this was due
to his extreme fatigue, and I hoped that the rest of the night would bring
about such a change in my venerable friend, that I would find him, the next
morning, what he used to be, the most amiable and interesting of men.
"I was, myself, completely worn out. I had traveled nearly thirty miles
that day, to go to receive him at St. Thomas. The heat was oppressive, the
roads very bad, and the dust awful. I was in need of rest, and I was hardly in
my bed when I fell into a profound sleep, and slept till three o'clock in the
morning. I was then suddenly awakened by sobs and halfsuppressed lamentations
and prayers, which were evidently coming from the bishop's room. Without losing
a moment, I went and knocked at the door, inquiring about the cause of these
sobs. Evidently the poor bishop had not suspected that I could hear him.
"`Sobs! sobs!' he answered, `What do you mean by that. Please go back to
your room and sleep. Do not trouble yourself about me, I am well,' and he
absolutely refused to open the door of his room. The remaining hours of the
night, of course, were sleepless ones for me. The sobs of the bishop were more
suppressed, but he could not sufficiently suppress them to prevent me from
hearing them. The next morning his eyes were reddened with weeping, and his
face was that of one who had suffered intensely all the night. After breakfast
I said to him: `My lord, last night has been one of desolation to your
lordship; for God's sake, and in the name of the sacred ties of friendship,
which has united us during so many years, please tell me what is the cause of
your sorrow. It will become less the very moment you share it with your
friend.'
"The bishop answered me: `You are right when you think that I am under the
burden of a great desolation; but its cause is of such a nature, that I cannot
reveal it even to you, my dear friend. It is only at the feet of Jesus Christ
and His holy mother, that I must go to unburden my heart. If God does not come
to my help, I must certainly die from it. But I will carry with me into my
grave, the awful mystery which kills me.'
"In vain, during the rest of the day, I did all that I could to persuade
Monseigneur Plessis to reveal the cause of his grief. I failed. At last,
through respect for him, I withdrew to my own room, and left him alone, knowing
that solitude is sometimes the best friend of a desolated mind. His lordship,
that evening withdrew to his sleeping room sooner than usual, and I retired to
my room much later. But sleep was out of the question for me that night, for his
desolation seemed to be so great, and his tears so abundant, that when he bade
me `good-night,' I was in fear of finding my venerable, and more than ever dear
friend, dead in his bed the next morning. I watched him, without closing my
eyes, from the adjoining room, from ten o'clock till the next morning. Though
it was evident that he was making great efforts to suppress his sobs, I could
see that his sorrow was still more intense that night, than the last one, and
my mental agony was not much less than his, during those distressing hours.
"But I formed an extreme resolution, which I put into effect the very
moment that he came out of his room the next morning, to salute me.
"`My Lord,' said I, `I thought till the night before last, that you
honored me with your friendship, but I see today that I was mistaken. You do
not consider me as your friend, for if you would look upon me as a friend
worthy of your confidence, you would unburden your heart into mine. A true
friend has no secret from a true friend. What is the use of friendship if it be
not to help each other to carry the burdens of life! I found myself honored by
your presence in my house, so long as I considered myself as your own friend.
But now, that I see I have lost your confidence, please allow me frankly to say
to your lordship, that I do not feel the same at your presence here. Besides,
it seems to me very probable that the terrible burden which you want to carry
alone, will kill you, and that very soon. I do not at all like the idea of
finding you suddenly dead in my parsonage, and having the coroner holding his
inquest upon your body, and making the painful inquiries which are always made
upon one suddenly taken by death, particularly when he belongs to the highest
ranks of society. Then, my lord, be not offended if I respectfully request your
lordship to find another lodging as soon as possible.'
"My words fell upon the bishop like a thunderbolt. He seemed to awaken
from a profound sleep. With a deep sigh he looked in my face with his eyes rolling
in tears, and said:
"`You are right, Perras, I ought never to have concealed my sorrow from
such a friend as you have always been for more than half a century to me. But
you are the only one to whom I can reveal it. No doubt your priestly and Christian
heart will not be less broken than mine; but you will help me with your prayers
and wise counsels to carry it. However, before I initiate you into such an
awful mystery, we must pray.'
"We then knelt down, and we said together a chaplet to invoke the power of
the Virgin Mary, after which we recited Psalm li.: `Miserere mihi.' Have mercy
upon me, O Lord!
"Then, sitting by me on this sofa, the bishop said: `My dear Mr. Perras,
you are the only one to whom I could reveal what you are about to hear, for I
think you are the only one who can hear such a terrible secret without
revealing it, and because, also, you are the only friend whose advice can guide
me in this terrible affliction.
"`You know that I have just finished the visit of my immense diocese of
Quebec. It has taken me several years of hard work and fatigue, to see by my
own eyes, and know by myself, the gains and losses in a word, the strength and
life of our holy church. I will not speak to you of the people. They are, as a
general thing, truly religious and faithful to the church. But the priests. O
Great God! will I tell you what they are? My dear Perras, I would almost die
with joy, if God would tell me that I am mistaken. But, alas! I am not
mistaken. The sad, the terrible truth is this' (putting his right hand on his
forehead), `the priests! Ah! with the exception of you and three others, are
infidels and atheists! O my God! my God! what will become of the church, in the
hands of such wicked men!' and covering his face with his hands, the bishop
burst into tears, and for one hour could not say a word. I myself remained
mute.
"At first I regretted having pressed the bishop to reveal such an
unexpected `mystery of iniquity.' But, taking counsel of our very fathomless
humiliation and distress, after an hour of silence, spent in pacing the walks
of the garden, almost unable to look each other in the face, I said; `My lord,
what you have told me is surely the saddest thing that I ever heard; but allow
me to tell you that your sorrows are out of the limits of your high
intelligence and your profound science. If you read the history of our holy
church, from the seventh to the fifteenth century, you will know that the
spotless spouse of Christ has seen as dark days, if not darker, in Italy,
France, Spain and Germany, as she does in Canada, and though the saints of
those days deplored the errors and crimes of those dark ages, they have not
killed themselves with their vain tears, as you are doing.'
"Taking the bishop by the hand, I led him to the library, and opened the
pages of the history of the church, by Cardinals Baronius and Fieury, and I
showed him the names of more than fifty Popes who had evidently been atheists
and infidels. I read to him the lives of Borgia, Alexander VI., and a dozen
others, who would surely and justly be hanged today by the executioner of
Quebec, were they, in that city, committing one-half of the public crimes of
adultery, murder, debauchery of every kind, which they committed in Rome,
Avignon, Naples, ect., ect. I read to him some of the public and undeniable
crimes of the successors of the apostles, and of the inferior clergy, and I
easily and clearly proved to him that his priests, though infidels and
atheists, were angels of pity, modesty, purity, and religion, when compared
with a Borgia, who publicly lives as a married man with his own daughter, and
had a child by her. He agreed with me that several of the Alexanders, the
Johns, the Piuses, and the Leos were sunk much deeper in the abyss of every
kind of iniquity than his priests.
"Five hours passed in so perusing the sad but irrefutable pages of the
history of our holy church, wrought a marvelous and beneficial change in the
mind of Monseigneur Plessis.
"My conclusion was, that if our holy church had been able to resist the
deadly influence of such scandals during so many centuries in Europe, she would
not be destroyed in Canada, even by the legion of atheists by whom she is
served today.
"The bishop acknowledged that my conclusion was correct. He thanked me for
the good I had done him, by preventing him from despairing of the future of our
holy church in Canada, and the rest of the days which he spent with me, he was
almost as cheerful and amiable as before.
"Now, my dear young friend," added Mr. Perras, "I hope you will
be as reasonable and logical in your religion as bishop Plessis, who was
probably the greatest man Canada has ever had. When Satan tries to shake your
faith by the scandals you see, remember that Stephen, after having fought with
his adversary, Pope Constantine II., put out his eyes and condemned him to die.
Remember that other Pope, who through revenge against his predecessor, had him
exhumed, brought his dead body before judges, then charged him with the most
horrible crimes, which he proved by the testimony of scores of eye-witnesses,
got him (the dead Pope), to be condemned to be beheaded and dragged with ropes
through the muddy streets of Rome, and thrown into the river Tiber. Yes, when
your mind is oppressed by the secret crimes of the priests, which you will
know, either through the confessional or by public rumour, remember that more
than twelve Popes have been raised to that high and holy dignity by the rich
and influential prostitutes of Rome, with whom they were publicly living in the
most scandalous way. Remember that young bastard, John XI., the son of Pope
Sergius, who was consecrated Pope when only twelve years old by the influence
of his prostitute mother, Marosia, but who was so horribly profligate that he
was deposed by the people and the clergy of Rome.
"Well, if our holy church has been able to pass through such storms
without perishing, is it not a living proof that Christ is her pilot, that she
is imperishable and infallible because St. Peter is her foundation, `Tu es
Petrus, et super hanc petram aedificabo Ecclesiam meam, et portae inferi non
prevalebunt adversus eam.'"
Oh, my God! Shall I confess, to my confusion, what my thoughts were during that
conversation, or rather that lecture of my curate, which lasted more than an
hour! Yes, to thy eternal glory, and to my eternal shame, I must say the truth.
When the priest was exhibiting to me the horrible unmentionable crimes of so
many of our Popes, to calm my fears and strengthen my shaken faith, a
mysterious voice was repeating to the ears of my soul the dear Saviour's words:
"A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree
bring forth good fruit. Every tree that bringeth not good fruit is hewn down
and cast into the fire. Wherefore, by their fruits ye shall know them"
(Matt. vii. 18 20), and in spite of myself the voice of my conscience cried in
thundering tones that a church, whose head and members were so horribly
corrupt, could not, by any means, be the Church of Christ.
But the most sacred and imperative law of my church, which I had promised by
oaths, was that I would never obey the voice of my conscience, nor follow the
dictates of my private judgment, when they were in opposition to the teachings
of my church. Too honest to admit the conclusions of Mr. Perras, which were
evidently the conclusions of my church, I was too cowardly and too mean to
bravely express my own mind, and repeat the words of the Son of God: "By
their fruits ye shall know them! A good tree cannot bring forth evil
fruit!"
.
.
.
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CHAPTER 20 Back to Top
The
name of Louis Joseph Papineau will be for ever dear to the French Canadians;
for whatever may be the political party to which one belongs in Canada, he cannot
deny that it is to the ardent patriotism, the indomitable energy, and the
remarkable eloquence of that great patriot, that Canada is indebted for the
greater part of the political reforms which promise in a near future to raise
the country of my birth to the rank of a great and free nation.
It is not my intention to speak of the political parties which divided the
people of Canada into two camps in 1833. The long and trying abuses under which
our conquered race was groaning, and which at last brought about the bloody
insurrections of 1837 and 1838, are matters of history, which do not pertain to
the plea of this work. I will speak of Papineau, and the brilliant galaxy of
talented young men by whom he was surrounded and supported, only in connection
with their difficulties with the clergy and the Church of Rome.
Papineau, Lafontaine, Bedard, Cartier and others, though born in the Church of
Rome, were only nominal Romanists. I have been personally acquainted with every
one of them, and I know they were not in the habit of confessing. Several times
I invited them to fulfill that duty, which I considered, then, of the utmost
importance to be saved. They invariably answered me with jests which distressed
me; for I could see that they did not believe in the efficacy of auricular
confession. These men were honest and earnest in their efforts to raise their
countrymen from the humiliating and inferior position which they occupied
compared with the conquering race. They well understood that the first thing to
be done, in order to put the French Canadians on a level with their British
compatriots, was to give good schools to the people; and they bravely set
themselves to show the necessity of having a good system of education, for the
country as well as for the city. But at the very first attempt they found an
insurmountable barrier to their patriotic views in the clergy. The priests had
everywhere the good common sense to understand that their absolute power over
the people was due to its complete ignorance. They felt that that power would
decrease in the same proportion that light and education would spread among the
masses. Hence the almost insurmountable obstacles put by the clergy before the
patriots, to prevent them from reforming the system of education. The only
source of education, then in Canada, with the exception of the colleges of
Quebec, Montreal and Nicolet, consisted in one or two schools in the principal
parishes, entirely under the control of the priests and kept by their most
devoted servants, while the new parishes had none at all. The greater part of
these teachers knew very little more, and required nothing more from their
pupils, than the reading of the A, B, C, and their little catechism. When once
admitted to their first communion the A, B, C, and the little catechism were
soon forgotten, and 95 in 100 of the French Canadian people were not even able
to sign their names! In many parishes, the curate, with his school teacher, the
notary, and half-a-dozen others, were the only persons who could read or write
a letter. Papineau and his patriotic friends understood that the French
Canadian people were doomed to remain an inferior race in their own country, if
they were left in that shameful state of ignorance. They did not conceal their
indignation at the obstacles placed by the clergy to prevent them from amending
the system of education. Several eloquent speeches were made by Papineau, who
was their "Parliament Speaker," in answer to the clergy. The curates,
in their pulpits, as well as by the press, tried to show that Canada had the
best possible system of education that the people were happy that too much
education would bring into Canada the bitter fruits which had grown in France
infidelity, revolution, riots, bloodshed; that the people were too poor to pay
the heavy taxes which would be imposed for the new system of education. In one
of his addresses, Papineau answered this last argument, showing the immense
sums of money foolishly given by those so-called poor people to gild the
ceilings of the church (as was the usage then). He made a calculation of the
tithes paid to the priests; of the costly images and statues of saints, which
were to be seen then, around all the interior of the churches, and he boldly
said that the priests would do better to induce the people to establish good
schools, and pay respectable teachers, than to lavish their money on objects
which were of so little benefit.
That address, which was reproduced by the only French paper of Quebec, "Le
Canadien," fell upon the clergy like a hurricane upon a rotten house,
shaking it to its foundation. Everywhere Papineau and his party were denounced
as infidels, more dangerous than Protestants, and plans were immediately laid
down to prevent the people from reading "Le Canadien," the only
French paper they could receive. Not more than half-adozen were receiving it in
St. Charles; but they used to read it to their neighbours, who gathered on
Sabbath afternoons to hear its contents. We at first tried, through the
confessional, to persuade the subscribers to reject it, under the pretext that
it was a bad paper; that it spoke against the priests and would finally destroy
our holy religion. But, to our great dismay, our efforts failed. The curates
then had recourse to a more efficacious way of preserving the faith of their
people.
The postmaster of St. Charles was, then, a man whom Mr. Perras had got educated
at his own expense in the seminary of Quebec. His name was Chabot. That man was
a perfect machine in the hands of his benefactor. Mr. Perras forbade him to
deliver any more of the numbers of that journal to the subscribers, when there
would be anything unfavourable to the clergy in its columns. "Give them to
me," said he, "that I may burn them, and when the people come to get
them, give them such evasive answers, that they may believe that it is the
editor's fault, or of some other post-offices, if they have not received
it." From that day, every time there was any censure of the clergy, the
poor paper was consigned to the flames. One evening, when Mr. Perras had, in my
presence, thrown a bundle of these papers into the stove, I told him:
"Please allow me to express to you my surprise at this act. Have we really
the right to deprive the subscribers of that paper of their property! That paper
is theirs, they have paid for it. How can we take upon ourselves to destroy it
without their permission! Besides, you know the old proverb: Les pierres
parlent. (Stones speak.) If it were known by our people that we destroy their
papers, would not the consequences be very serious? Now, Mr. Perrs, you know my
sincere respect for you, and I hope I do not go against that respect by asking
you to tell me by what right or authority you do this? I would not put this
question to you, if you were the only one who does it. But I know several
others who do just the same thing. I will, probably, be obliged, when a curate,
to act in the same manner, and I wish to know on what grounds I shall be
justified in acting as you do."
"Are we not the spiritual fathers of our people?" answered Mr.
Perras.
I replied, "Yes sir, we are surely the spiritual fathers of our
people."
"Then," rejoined Mr. Perras, "we have in spiritual matters, all
the rights and duties which temporal fathers have, in temporal things, towards
their children. If a father sees a sharp knife in the hands of his beloved but
inexperienced child, and if he has good reason to fear that the dear child may
wound himself, nay, destroy his own life with that knife, is it not his duty,
before God and man, to take it from his hands, and prevent him from touching it
any more?"
"Yes," I answered, "but allow me to draw your attention to a
little difference which I see between the corporal and the spiritual children
of your comparison. In the case you bring forward, of a father who takes away
the knife from the hands of a young and inexperienced child, that knife has,
very probably, been bought by the father. It has been paid for with that
father's money. It is, then, the father's knife. But the papers of your spiritual
children, which you have thrown into your stove, have been paid for by them,
and not by you. They are theirs, then, before the laws of God and man, and they
are not yours."
I saw that my answer had cut the good old priest to the quick, and he became
more nervous than I had ever seen him. "I see that you are young,"
answered he; "you have not yet had time to meditate on the great and broad
principles of our holy church. I confess there is a difference in the rights of
the two children to which I had not paid attention, and which, at first sight,
may seem to diminish the strength of my argument. But I have here an argument
which will satisfy you, I hope. Some weeks ago I wrote to our venerable Bishop
Panet about my intention of burning that miserable and impious paper, `Le
Canadien,' to prevent it from poisoning the minds of our people against us, and
he has approved me, adding the advice, to be very prudent, and to act so
secretly that there would be no danger in being detected. Here is the letter of
the holy bishop; you may read it if you like."
"I thank you," I replied. "I believe that what you say in
reference to that letter is correct. But suppose that our good bishop has made
a mistake in advising you to burn those papers, would you not have some reasons
to regret that burning, should you, sooner or later, detect that mistake?"
"A reason of regretting to follow the advice of my superiors! Never!
Never! I fear, my dear young friend, that you do not sufficiently understand
the duties of an inferior, and the sacred rights of superiors in the College of
Nicolet, that there can be no sin in an inferior who obeys the orders or
counsels of his legitimate superiors?"
"Yes, sir," I answered, "the Rev. Mr. Leprohon has told us that
in the college of Nicolet."
"But," rejoined Mr. Perras, "your last question makes me fear
that you have forgotten what you have learned there. My dear young friend, do
not forget that it was the want of respect to their ecclesiastical superiors
which caused the apostasy of Luther and Calvin, and damned so many millions of
heretics who have followed them. But in order to bring your rebellious mind
under the holy yoke of a perfect submission to your superiors, I will show you,
by our greatest and most approved theologian, that I can burn these papers,
without doing anything wrong before God."
He then went to his library, and brought me a volume of Liguori, from which he
read to me the following Latin words: "Docet Sanchez, ect., parato aliquem
occidere, licite posse suaderi, ut ab eo furetur, vel ut fornicetur." *
With an air of triumph he said, "Do you see now that I am absolutely
justifiable in destroying these pestilential papers. According to those
principles of our holy church, you know well that even a woman is allowed to
commit the sin of adultery with a man who threatens to kill her, or himself, if
she rebukes him; because murder and suicide are greater crimes, and more
irremediable than adultery. So the burning of those papers, though a sin, if
done through malice, or without legitimate reasons, ceases to be a sin; it is a
holy action the moment I do it, to prevent the destruction of our holy
religion, and to save immortal souls."
I must confess, to my shame, that the degrading principles of absolute
submission of the inferior to the superiors, which flattens everything to the
ground in the Church of Rome, had so completely wrought their deadly work on
me, that it was my wish to attain to that supreme perfection of the priest of
the Church or Rome, to become like a stick in the hands of my superiors like a
corpse in their presence. But my God was stronger than His unfaithful and blind
servant, and He never allowed me to go down to the bottom of that abyss of
folly and impiety. In spite of myself, I had left in me sufficient manhood to
express my doubts about that awful doctrine of my Church.
"I do not want to revolt against my superiors," I answered, "and
I hope God will prevent me from falling into the abyss where Luther and Calvin
lost themselves. I only respectfully request you to tell me, if you would not
regret the burning of these papers, in case you would know that Bishop Panet
made a mistake in granting you the power of destroying a property which is
neither yours or his a property over which neither of you has any control?"
It was the first time that I was not entirely of the same mind with Mr. Perras.
Till then, I had not been brave, honest, or independent enough to oppose his
views and his ipse dixit, though often tempted to do so. The desire of living
in peace with him; the sincere respect which his many virtues and venerable age
commanded in me; the natural timidity, not to say cowardice, of a young,
inexperienced man, in the presence of a learned and experienced priest, had
kept me, till then, in perfect submission to the views of my aged curate. But
it seemed impossible to yield any longer, and to bow my conscience before
principles, which seemed to me then, as I am sure they are now, subversive of
everything which is good and holy among men. I took the big Bible, which was on
the table, and I opened it at the history of Susanna, and I answered: "My
dear Mr. Perras, God has chosen you to be my teacher, and I have learned many
things since it has been my privilege to be with you. But I have much more to
learn, before I know all that your books and your long experience have taught
you. I hope you will not find fault with me, if I honestly tell you that in
spite of myself, there is a doubt in my mind about this doctrine of our
theologians," and I said, "is there anything more sublime, in the
whole Bible, than that feeble woman, Susanna, in the hands of those two
infamous men? With a diabolical impudence and malice, they threaten to destroy
her, and to take her before a tribunal which will surely condemn her to the
most ignoble death, if she does not consent to satisfy their criminal desires.
She is just in the position alluded to by Liguori. What will she do? Will she
be guided by the principles of our theologians? Will she consent to become an
adulteress in order to prevent those two men from perjuring themselves, and
becoming murderers, by causing her to be stoned to death, as was required by
the law of the Jews? No! She raises her eyes and her soul towards the God whom
she loves and fears more than anything in the world, and she says, `I am
straitened on every side, for if I do this thing it is death unto me; and if I
do it not, I cannot escape your hands. It is better for me to fall into your
hands, and not to do it, than to sin in the sight of the Lord.' Has not God
Almighty Himself shown that He approved of that heroic resolution of Susanna,
to die rather than commit adultery. Does He not show that He himself planted,
in that noble soul, the principle that it is better to die than break the laws
of God, when He brought His prophet Daniel, and gave him a supernatural wisdom
to save the life of Susanna? If that woman had been guided by the principles of
Liguori, which, I confess to you with regret, are the principles accepted
everywhere in our Church (principles which have guided you in the burning of
`Le Canadien'), she would have consented to the desires of those infamous men.
Nay, if she had been interrogated by her husband, or by the judges on that
action, she would have been allowed to swear before God and men, that she was not
guilty of it. Now, my dear Mr. Perras, do you not find that there is some
clashing between the Word of God, as taught in the Holy Scriptures, and the
teachings of our Church, through the theologians?"
Never have I seen such a sudden change in the face and manners of a man, as I
saw in that hour. That Mr. Perras, who had, till then, spoken with so much
kindness and dignity, completely lost his temper. Instead of answering me, he
abruptly rose to his feet, and began to pace the room with a quick step. After
some time he told me: "Mr. Chiniquy, you forget that when you were
ordained a priest, you swore that you would never interpret the Holy Scriptures
according to your own fallible private judgment; you solemnly promised that you
would take them only according to the unanimous consent of the Holy Fathers
speaking to you through your superiors. Has not Liguori been approved by the
Popes by all the bishops of the Church? We have then, here, the true doctrine
which must guide us. But instead of submitting yourself with humility, as it
becomes a young and inexperienced priest, you boldly appeal to the Scriptures,
against the decisions of Popes and bishops against the voice of all your
superiors, speaking to you through Liguori. Where will that boldness end? Ah! I
tremble for you, if you do not speedily change: you are on the high road to
heresy!"
These last words had hardly fallen from his lips, when the clock struck 9 p.m.
He abruptly stopped speaking, and said, "This is the hour of prayer."
We knelt and prayed.
I need not say that that night was a sleepless one to me. I wept and prayed all
through its long dark hours. I felt that I had lost, and for ever, the high
position I had in the heart of my old friend, and that I had probably
compromised myself, for ever, in the eyes of my superiors, who were the
absolute masters of my destinies. I condemned myself for that inopportune
appeal to the Holy Scriptures, against the ipse dixit of my superiors. I asked
God to destroy in me, that irresistible tendency, by which I was constantly
going to the Word of God to know the truth, instead of remaining at the feet of
my superiors, with the rest of the clergy, as the only fountain of knowledge
and light.
But thanks be to God that blasphemous prayer was never to be granted.
.
.
.
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CHAPTER 21 Back to Top
It
was the custom in those days, in the Church of Rome, to give the title of
arch-priest to one of the most respectable and able priests, among twelve or
fifteen others, by whom he was surrounded. That title was the token of some
superior power, which was granted to him over his confreres, who, in
consequence, should consult him in certain difficult matters.
As a general thing, those priests lived in the most cordial and fraternal
unity, and, to make the bond of that union stronger and more pleasant, they
were, in turn, in the habit of giving a grand dinner every Thursday.
In 1834 those dinners were really state affairs. Several days in advance,
preparations were made on a grand scale, to collect everything that could
please the taste of the guests. The best wines were purchased. The fattest
turkeys, chickens, lambs, or sucking pigs were hunted up. The most delicate
pastries were brought from the city, or made at home, at any cost. The rarest
and most costly fruits and desserts were ordered. There was a strange emulation
among those curates, who would surpass his neighbours. Several extra hands were
engaged, some days before, to help the ordinary servants to prepare the
"GRAND DINNER."
The second Thursday of May, 1834, was Mr. Perras' turn, and at twelve o'clock
noon, we were fifteen priests seated around the table.
I must here render homage to the sobriety and perfect moral habits of the Rev.
Mr. Perras. Though he took his social glass of wine, as it was the universal
usage at that time, I never saw him drink more than a couple of glasses at the
same meal. I wish I could say the same thing of all those who were at his table
that day.
Never did I see, before nor after, a table covered with so many tempting and
delicate viands. The good curate had surpassed himself, and I would hardly be
believed, were I to give the number of dishes and covers, plates et
entreplates, which loaded the table. I will only mention a splendid salmon,
which was the first brought to Quebec that year, for which Mr. Amoit, the
purveyor for the priests around the capital, had paid twelve dollars.
There was only one lady at that dinner, Miss Perras, sister of the curate.
However, she was not at all embarrassed by finding herself along among those
jolly celebataires, and she looked like a queen at the head of the table. Her
sweet and watchful eyes were everywhere to see the wants of her guests. She had
an amiable word for every one of them. With the utmost grace she pressed the Rev.
Mr. A. to try that wing of turkey she was so gently remonstrating with the Rev.
Mr. B. for his not eating more, and she was so eloquent in requesting them all
to taste of this dish, or of that; which was quite a new thing in Canada. And
her young chickens! who could refuse to accept one of them, after she had told
their story: how, three months before, in view of this happy day, she had so
cajoled the big black hen to hatch over sixteen eggs in the kitchen; what a
world of trouble she had, when the little dog was coming in, and she (the hen)
was rushing at him! how, many times, she had to stop the combatants, and force
them to live in peace! and what desolation swept over her mind, when, in a dark
night, the rats had dragged into their holes, three of her newly-hatched
chickens! how she had got a cat to destroy the rats; and, how in escaping
Scylla, she was thrown on Charybdis, when, three days after, the cat made his
dinner of two of her dear little chickens; for which crime, committed in open
day, before several witnesses, the sentence of death was passed and executed,
without benefit of clergy.
Now where would they find young chickens in the month of May, in the
neighbourhood of Quebec, when the snow had scarcely disappeared?
These stories, given with an art which no pen can reproduce, were not finished
before the delicate chickens had disappeared in the hungry mouths of he
cheerful guests.
One of the most remarkable features of these dinners was the levity, the
absolute want of seriousness and gravity. Not a word was said in my presence,
there, which could indicate that these men had anything else to do in this
world but to eat and drink, tell and hear merry stories, laugh and lead a jolly
life!
I was the youngest of those priests. Only a few months before, I was in the
Seminary of Nicolet, learning from my grave old superior, lessons of priestly
life, very different from what I had there under my eyes. I had not yet
forgotten the austere preaching of self-denial, mortification, austerity and
crucifixion of the flesh, which were to fill up the days of a priest!
Though, at first, I was pleased with all I saw, heard and tasted; though I
heartily laughed with the rest of the guests, at their bon mots, their spicy
stories about their fair penitents, or at the funny caricatures they drew of
each other, as well as of absent ones, I felt, by turns, uneasy. Now and then
the lessons of priestly life, received from the lips of my venerable and dear
Mr. Leprohon, were knocking hard at the door of my conscience. Some words of
the Holy Scriptures which, more than others, had adhered to my memory, were
also making a strange noise in my soul. My own common sense was telling me,
that this was not quite the way Christ taught His disciples to live.
I made a great effort to stifle these troublesome voices. Sometimes I
succeeded, and then I became cheerful: but a moment after I was overpowered by
them, and I felt chilled, as if I had perceived on the walls of the festive
room, the finger of my angry God, writing "MENE, MENE, TEKEL,
UPHARSIN." Then all my cheerfulness vanished, and I felt so miserable
that, in spite of all my efforts to look happy, the Rev. Mr. Paquette, curate
of St. Gervais, observed it on my face. That priest was probably the one who
most enjoyed everything of that feast. Under the snowy mantle of sixty-five
years, he had kept the warm heart and the joviality of youth. He was considered
one of our most wealthy curates, and he richly deserved the reputation of being
the most epicurean of them all. He was a perfect cook, and with his chaplet or
his breviarium in hand, he used to pass a great part of the day in his kitchen,
giving orders about broiling this beefsteak, or preparing this fricassee, and
that gravy a la Francaise. He was loved by all his confreres, but particularly
by the young priests, who were the objects of his constant attentions. He had
always been exceedingly kind to me, and when in his neighbourhood, I dare say
that my most pleasant hours were those passed in his parsonage.
Looking at me in the very moment when my whole intellectual being was, in spite
of myself, under the darkest cloud, he said: "My dear little Father
Chiniquy, are you falling into the hands of some blue devils, when we are all
so happy? You were so cheerful half-an-hour ago! What is the matter with you
now? Are you sick? You look as grave and anxious as Jonah, when in the big
whale's stomach! What is the matter with you? Has any of your fair penitents
left you, to go to confess to another, lately?"
At these funny questions, the dining-room was shaken with the convulsive
laughter of the priests. I wished I could join in with the rest of my
confreres; for it seemed to me very clear that I was making a fool of myself by
this singularity of demeanor. But there was no help for it; for a moment before
I had seen that the servant girls had blushed; they had been scandalized by a
very improper word from the lips of a young priest about one of his young
female penitents; a word which he would, surely, never have uttered, had he not
drank too much wine. I answered; "I am much obliged to you for your kind
interest, I find myself much honoured to be here in your midst; but as the
brightest days are not without clouds, so it is with us all sometimes. I am
young, and without experience; I have not yet learned to look at certain things
in their proper light. When older, I hope I shall be wiser, and not make an ass
of myself as I do today."
"Tah! tah! tah!" said old Mr. Paquette, "this is not the hour of
dark clouds and blue devils. Be cheerful, as it behooves your age. There will
be hours enough in the rest of your life for sadness and somber thoughts. This
is the hour for laughing and being merry. Sad thoughts for to-morrow." And
appealing to all, he asked, "Is not this correct, gentlemen?"
"Yes, yes," unanimously rejoined all the guests.
"Now," said the old priest, "you see that the verdict of the
jury is unanimously in my favour and against you. Give up those airs of
sadness, which do not answer in the presence of those bottles of champagne.
Your gravity is an anachronism when we have such good wines before us. Tell me
the reason of your grief, and I pledge myself to console you, and make you
happy as you were at the beginning of the dinner."
"I would have liked better that you should have continued to enjoy this
pleasant hour without noticing me," I answered. "Please excuse me if
I do not trouble you with the causes of my personal folly."
"Well, well," said Mr. Paquette, "I see it, the cause of your
trouble is that we have not yet drank together a single glass of sherry. Fill
your glass with that wine, and it will surely drown the blue devil which I see
at its bottom."
"With pleasure," I said; "I feel much honoured to drink with
you," and I put some drops of wine into my glass.
"Oh! oh! what do I see you doing there? Only a few drops in your glass!
This will not even wet the cloven feet of the blue devil which is tormenting
you. It requires a full glass, an over-flowing glass to drown and finish him.
Fill, then, your glass with that precious wine the best I ever tasted in my
whole life."
"But I cannot drink more than those few drops," I said.
"Why not?" he replied.
"Because, eight days before her death, my mother wrote me a letter,
requesting me to promise her that I would never drink more than two glasses of
wine at the same meal. I gave her that promise in my answer, and the very day
she got my pledge, she left this world to convey it, written on her heart, into
heaven, to the feet of her God!"
"Keep that sacred pledge," answered the old curate; "but tell me
why you are so sad when we are so happy?"
"You already know part of my reasons if I had drunk as much wine as my
neighbour, the vicar of St. Gervais, I would probably have filled the room with
my shouts of joy as he does; but you see now that the hands of my deceased,
though always dear mother, are on my glass to prevent me from filling it any
more, for I have already drank two glasses of wine."
"But your sadness, in such a circumstance, is so strange, that we would
all like to know its cause."
"Yes, yes," said all the priests. "You know that we like you,
and we deeply feel for you. Please tell us the reason of this sadness."
I then answered, "It would be better for me to keep my own secret: for I
know I will make a fool of myself here: but as you are unanimous in requesting
me to give you the reasons of the mental agony through which I am just passing,
you will have them.
"You well know that, through very singular circumstances, I have been
prevented, till this day, from attending any of your grand dinners. Twice I had
to go to Quebec on these occasions, sometimes I was not well enough to be
present several times I was called to visit some dying person, and at other
times the weather, or the roads were too bad to travel; this, then is the first
grand dinner, attended by you all, which I have the honour of attending.
"But before going any further, I must tell you that, during the eight
months it has been my privilege to sit at Rev. Mr. Perras's table, I have never
seen anything which could make me suspect that my eyes would see, and my ears
would hear such things in this parsonage, as have just taken place. Sobriety,
moderation, truly evangelical temperance in drink and food were the invariable
rule. Never a word was said which could make our poor servant girls, or the
angels of God blush. Would to God that I had not been here today! For, I tell
you, honestly, that I am scandalized by the epicurean table which is before us;
by the enormous quantity of delicate viands and the incredible number of
bottles of most costly wines, emptied at this dinner.
"However, I hope I am mistaken in my appreciation of what I have seen and
heard I hope you are all right and that I am wrong. I am the youngest of you
all. It is not my business to teach you, but it is my duty to be taught by you.
"Now, I have given you my mind, because you so pressingly requested me to
do it, as honestly as human language will allow me to do. I have the right, I
hope, to request you to tell me, as honestly, if I am, and in what I am wrong
or right!"
"Oh! oh! my dear Chiniquy," replied the old curate, "you hold
the stick by the wrong end. Are we not the children of God?"
"Yes, sir," I answered, "we are the children of God."
"Now, does not a loving father give what he considers the best part of his
goods to his beloved children?"
"Yes, sir," I replied.
"Is not that loving father pleased when he sees his beloved children eat
and drink the good things he has prepared for them?"
"Yes, sir," was my answer.
"Then," rejoined the logical priest, "the more we, the beloved
children of God, eat of these delicate viands, and drink of those precious
wines, which our Heavenly Father puts into our hands, the more He is pleased
with us. The more we, the most beloved one of God, are merry and cheerful, the
more He is Himself and rejoiced in His heavenly kingdom.
"But if God our Father is so pleased with what we have eaten and drunk
today, why are you so sad?"
This masterpiece of argumentation was received by all (except Mr. Perras), with
convulsive cries of approbation, and repeated "Bravo! bravo!"
I was too mean and too cowardly to say what I felt. I tried to conceal my
increased sadness under the forced smiles of my lips, and I followed the whole
party, who left the table, and went to the parlour to drink a cup of coffee. It
was then half-past one p.m. At two o'clock, the whole party went to the church,
where, after kneeling for a quarter of an hour before their wafer God, they
fell on their knees to the feet of each other, to confess their sins, and get
their pardon, in the absolution of their confessors!
At three p.m. they were all gone, and I remained alone with my venerable old
curate Perras. After a few moments of silence, I said to him: "My dear Mr.
Perras, I have no words to express to you my regret for what I have said at
your table. I beg your pardon for every word of that unfortunate and unbecoming
conversation, into which I was dragged in spite of myself; you know it. It does
not do for a young priest, as I am, to criticize those whom God has put so much
above him by their science, their age, and their virtues. But I was forced to
give my mind, and I have given it. When I requested Mr. Paquette to tell me in
what I might be wrong, I had not the least idea that he would hear, from the
lips of one of our veterans in the priesthood, the blasphemous jokes he has
uttered. Epicurus himself would have blushed, had he been among us, in hearing
the name of God connected with such deplorable and awful impieties." Mr.
Perras answered me: "Far from being displeased with what I have heard from
you at this dinner, I must tell you that you have gained much in my esteem by
it. I am, myself, ashamed of that dinner. We priests are the victims, like the
rest of the world, of the fashions, vanities, pride and lust of that world
against which we are sent to preach. The expenditure we make at those dinners
is surely a crime, in the face of the misery of the people by whom we are
surrounded. This is the last dinner I give with such foolish extravagance. The
next time my neighbours will meet here, I will not expose them to stagger, as
the greater part of them did when they rose from the table. The brave words you
have uttered have done me good. They will do them good also; for though they
had all eaten and drunk too much, they were not so intoxicated as not to
remember what you have said."
Then, pressing my hand in his, he said, "I thank you, my good little
Father Chiniquy, for the short but excellent sermon you have given us. It will
not be lost. You have drawn my tears when you have shown us your saintly mother
going to the feet of God in heaven, with your sacred promise written in her
heart. Oh! you must have had a good mother! I knew her when she was very young.
She was then, already, a very remarkable girl, for her wisdom and the dignity
of her manners."
Then he left me alone in the parlour, and he went to visit a sick man in one of
the neighbouring houses.
When alone I fell on my knees, to pray and weep. My soul was filled with
emotions which it is impossible to express. The remembrance of my beloved
mother, whose blessed name had fallen form my lips when her sacred memory
filled my mind with the light and strength I needed in that hour of trial the
gluttony and drunkenness of those priests, whom I was accustomed to respect and
esteem so much their scandalous conversation their lewd expressions and more
than all, their confessions to each other after two such hours of profanity and
drinking, were more than I could endure. I could not contain myself. I wept
over myself, for I felt also the burden of my sins, and I did not find myself
much better than the rest, though I had not eaten or drunk quite so much as
several of them I wept over my friends, whom I had seen so weak; for they were
my friends. I loved them, and I knew they loved me. I wept over my church,
which was served by such poor, sinful priests. Yes! I wept there, when on my
knees, to my heart's content, and it did me good. But my God had another trial
in store for his poor unfaithful servant.
I had not been ten minutes alone, sitting in my study, when I heard strange
cries, and such a noise as if a murderer were at work to strike his victim. A
door had evidently been broken open, upstairs, and someone was running down
stairs as if one was wanting to break down everything. The cries of
"Murder, murder!" reached my ears, and the cries of "Oh! my God!
my God! where is Mr. Perras?" filled the air.
I quickly ran to the parlour to see what was the matter, and there I found
myself face to face with a woman absolutely naked! Her long black hair was
flowing on her shoulders; her face was pale as death her dark eyes fixed in
their sockets. She stretched her hands towards me with a horrible shriek, and
before I could move a step, terrified, and almost paralyzed as I was, she
seized my two arms with her hands, with such a terrible force as if my arms had
been grasped in a vice. My bones were cracking under her grasp, and my flesh
was torn by her nails. I tried to escape, but it was impossible. I soon found
myself as if nailed to the wall, unable to move any further. I cried then to
the utmost compass of my voice for help. But the living spectre cried still
louder: "You have nothing to fear. Be quiet. I am sent by God Almighty and
the blessed Virgin Mary, to give you a message. The priests whom I have known,
without a single exception, are a band of vipers; they destroy their female
penitents through auricular confession. They have destroyed me, and killed my
female child! Do not follow their example!" Then she began to sing with a
beautiful voice, to a most touching tune, a kind of poem she had composed
herself, which I secretly got afterwards from one of her servant maids, the
translation of which is as follows:
.
"Satan's priests have defiled my heart!
Damned my soul! murdered my child!
O my child! my darling child!
From thy place in heaven, dost thou see
Thy guilty mother's tears?
Canst thou come and press me in thine arms? My child! my darling child!
Will never thy smiling face console me?"
When she was singing these words, big tears were rolling down her pale cheeks,
and the tone of her voice was so sad that she could have melted a heart of
stone. She had not finished her song when I cried to the girl: "I am
fainting, for God's sake bring me some water!" The water was only pressed
to my lips, I could not drink. I was choked, and petrified in the presence of
that living phantom! I could not dare to touch her in any way with my hands. I
felt horrified and paralyzed at the sight of that livid, pale, cadaverous,
naked spectre. The poor servant girl had tried in vain, at my request, to drag
her away from me. She had struck her with terror, by crying, "If you touch
me, I will instantly strangle you!"
"Where is Mr. Perras? Where is Mr. Perras and the other servants? For
God's sake call them," I cried out to the servant girl, who was trembling
and beside herself.
"Miss Perras is running to the church after the curate," she
answered, "and I do not know where the other girl is gone."
In that instant Mr. Perras entered, rushed towards his sister, and said,
"Are you not ashamed to present yourselves naked before such a
gentleman?" and with his strong arms he tried to force her to give me up.
Turning her face towards him, with tigress eyes, she cried out "Wretched
brother! what have you done with my child? I see her blood on your hands!"
When she was struggling with her brother, I made a sudden and extreme effort to
get out of her grasp; and this time I succeeded: but seeing that she wanted to
throw herself again upon me, I jumped through a window which was opened.
Quick as lightning she passed out of the hands of her brother, and jumped also
through the window to run after me. She would, surely, have overtaken me; for I
had not run two rods, when I fell headlong, with my feet entangled in my long,
black, priestly robe. Providentially, two strong men, attracted to my cries,
came to my rescue. They wrapped her in a blanket, taken there by her sister,
and brought her back into her upper chambers, where she remained safely locked,
under the guard of two strong servant maids.
The history of that woman is sad indeed. When in her priest-brother's house,
when young and of great beauty, she was seduced by her father confessor, and
became mother of a female child, which she loved with a real mother's heart.
She determined to keep it and bring it up. But this did not meet the views of
the curate. One night, when the mother was sleeping, the child had been taken
away from her. The awakening of the unfortunate mother was terrible. When she
understood that she could never see her child any more, she filled the
parsonage with her cries and lamentations, and, at first, refused to take any
food, in order that she might die. But she soon became a maniac.
Mr. Perras, too much attached to his sister to send her to a lunatic asylum,
resolved to keep her in his own parsonage, which was very large. A room in its
upper part had been fixed in such a way that her cries could not be heard, and
where she would have all the comfort possible in her sad circumstances. Two
servant maids were engaged to take care of her. All this was so well arranged,
that I had been eight months in that parsonage, without even suspecting that
there was such an unfortunate being under the same roof with me. It appears
that occasionally, for many days, her mind was perfectly lucid, when she passed
her time in praying, and singing a kind of poem which she had composed herself,
and which she sang while holding me in her grasp. In her best moments she had
fostered an invincible hatred of the priests whom she had known. Hearing her
attendants often speak of me, she had, several times, expressed the desire to
see me, which, of course, had been denied her. Before she had broken her door,
and escaped from the hands of her keeper, she had passed several days in saying
that she had received from God a message for me which she would deliver, even
if she had to pass on the dead bodies of all in the house.
Unfortunate victim of auricular confession! How many others could sing the sad
words of thy song.
.
"Satan's priests have defiled my heart,
Damned my soul! murdered my child!"
.
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CHAPTER 22 Back to Top
The
grand dinner previously described had its natural results. Several of the
guests were hardly at home, when they complained of various kinds of sickness,
and none was so severely punished as my friend Paquette, the curate of St.
Gervais. He came very near dying, and for several weeks was unable to work. He
requested the Bishop of Quebec to allow me to go to his help, which I did to
the end of May, when I received the following letter:
.
Charlesbourgh, May 25th, 1834
Rev. Mr. C. Chiniquy:
My Dear Sir: My Lord Panet has again chosen me, this year, to accompany him in
his episcopal visit. I have consented, with the condition that you should take
my place, at the head of my dear parish, during my absence. For I will have no
anxiety when I know that my people are in the hands of a priest who, though so
young, has raised himself so high in the esteem of all those who know him.
Please come as soon as possible to meet me here, that I may tell you many
things which will make your ministry more easy and blessed in Charlesbourgh.
His Lordship has promised me that when you pass through Quebec, he will give you
all the powers you want to administer my parish, as if you were its curate
during my absence.
Your devoted brother priest, and friend in the love and heart of Jesus and
Mary,
ANTOINE BEDARD.
I
felt absolutely confounded by that letter. I was so young and so deficient in
the qualities required for the high position to which I was so unexpectedly
called. I know it was against the usages to put a young and untried priest in
such a responsible post. It seemed evident to me that my friends and my superiors
had strangely exaggerated to themselves my feeble capacity.
In my answer to the Rev. Mr. Bedard, I respectfully remonstrated against such a
choice. But a letter received from the bishop himself, ordering me to go to
Charlesbourgh, without delay, to administer that parish during the absence of
its pastor, soon forced me to consider that sudden and unmerited elevation as a
most dangerous, though providential trial of my young ministry. Nothing
remained to be done by me but to accept the task in trembling, and with a
desire to do my duty. My heart, however, fainted within me, and I shed bitter
tears of anxiety. When entering into that parish for the first time, I saw its
magnitude and importance. It seemed, then, more than ever evident to me that
the good Mr. Bedard, and my venerable superiors, had made a sad mistake in
putting such a heavy burden on my young and feeble shoulders. I was hardly
twenty-four years old, and had not more than nine month's experience of the
ministry.
Charlesbourgh is one the most ancient and important parishes of Canada. Its
position, so near Quebec, at the feet of the Laurentide Mountains, is
peculiarly beautiful. It has an almost complete command of the city, and of its
magnificent port, where not less than 900 ships when received their precious
cargoes of lumber. On our left, numberless ranges of white houses extend as far
as the Falls of Montmorency. At our feet the majestic St. Lawrence, dashing its
rapid waters on the beautiful "Isle d' Orleans." To the right, the parishes
of Lorette, St. Foy, Roch, ect., with their high church steeples, reflected the
sun's glorious beams; and beyond, the impregnable citadel of Quebec, with its
tortuous ranges of black walls, its numerous cannon, and its high towers, like
fearless sentinels, presented a spectacle of remarkable grandeur.
The Rev. Mr. Bedard welcomed me on my arrival with words of such kindness that
my heart was melted and my mind confounded. He was a man about sixty-five years
of age, short in stature, with a well-formed breast, large shoulders, bright
eyes, and a face where the traits of indomitable energy were coupled with an
expression of unsurpassed kindness.
One could not look on that honest face without saying to himself, "I am
with a really good and upright man!" Mr. Bedard is one of the few priests
in whom I have found a true honest faith in the Church of Rome. With an
irreproachable character, he believed, with a child's faith, all the
absurdities which the Church of Rome teaches, and he lived according to his
honest and sincere faith.
Though the actions of our daily lives were not subjected to a regular and
inexorable rule in Charlesbourgh's as in St. Charles' parsonage, there was yet
far more life and earnestness in the performance of our ministerial duties.
There was less reading of learned, theological, philosophical, and historical
books, but much more real labour in Mr. Bedard's than in Mr. Perras' parish;
there was more of the old French aristocracy in the latter priest, and more of
the good religious Canadian habitant in the former. Though both could be
considered as men of the most exalted faith and piety in the Church of Rome,
their piety was of a different character. In Mr. Perras' religion there was
real calmness and serenity, while the religion of Mr. Bedard had more of the
flash of lightning and the noise of thunder. The private religious
conversations with the curate of St. Charles were admirable, but he could not
speak common sense for ten minutes when preaching from his pulpit. Only once
did he preach while I was his vicar, and then he was not half through his
sermon before the greater part of his auditors were soundly sleeping. But who
could hear the sermons of Rev. Mr. Bedard without feeling his heart moved and
his soul filled with terror? I never heard anything more thrilling than his
words when speaking of the judgments of God and the punishment of the wicked.
Mr. Perras never fasted, except on the days appointed by the church: Mr. Bedard
condemned himself to fast besides twice every week. The former never drank, to
my knowledge, a single glass of rum or any other strong drink, except his two
glasses of wine at dinner; but the latter never failed to drink full glasses of
rum three times a day, besides two or three glasses of wine at dinner. Mr.
Perras slept the whole night as a guiltless child. Mr. Bedard, almost every
night I was with him, rose up, and lashed himself in the most merciless manner
with leather thongs, at the end of which were small pieces of lead. When
inflicting upon himself those terrible punishments, he used to recite, by
heart, the fifty-first Psalm, in Latin, "Miserere mei, Deus, secundam
magnam misericordiam tuam" (Have mercy upon me, O Lord, according to Thy
lovingkindness); and though he seemed to be unconscious of it, he prayed with such
a loud voice, that I heard every word he uttered; he also struck his flesh with
such violence that I could count all the blows he administered.
One day I respectfully remonstrated against such a cruel self-infliction as
ruining his health and breaking his constitution: "Cher petit Frere"
(dear little brother), he answered, "our health and constitution cannot be
impaired by such penances, but they are easily and commonly ruined by our sins.
I am one of the healthiest men of my parish, though I have inflicted upon
myself those salutary and too well-merited chastisements for many years. Though
I am old, I am still a great sinner. I have an implacable and indomitable enemy
in my depraved heart, which I cannot subdue except by punishing my flesh. If I
do not do those penances for my numberless transgressions, who will do penance
for me? If I do not pay the debts I owe to the justice of God, who will pay
them for me?"
"But," I answered, "has not our Saviour, Jesus Christ, paid our
debts on Calvary? Has He not saved and redeemed us all by His death on the
cross? Why, then, should you or I pay again to the justice of God that which
has been so perfectly and absolutely paid by our Saviour?"
"Ah! my dear young friend," quickly replied Mr. Bedard, "that
doctrine you hold is Protestant, which has been condemned by the Holy Council
of Trent. Christ has paid our debts certainly; but not in such an absolute way
that there is nothing more to be paid by us. Have you never paid attention to
what St. Paul says in his Epistle to the Colossians, `I fill up that which is
behind of the sufferings of Christ in my flesh for His body's sake, which is
the Church.' Though Christ could have entirely and absolutely paid our debts,
if it had been His will, it is evident that such was not His holy will He left
something behind which Paul, you, I, and every one of His disciples, should
take and suffer in our flesh for His Church. When we have taken and
accomplished in our flesh what Christ has left behind, then the surplus of our
merits goes to the treasury of the Church. For instance, when a saint has
accomplished in his flesh what Christ has left behind for his perfect
sanctification, if he accomplishes more than the justice of God requires, that
surplus of merits not being of any use to him, is put by God into the grand and
common treasure, where it makes a fund of merits of infinite value, from which
the Pope and the bishops draw the indulgences which they scatter all over the
world as a dew from heaven. By the mercy of God, the penances which I impose
upon myself, and the pains I suffer from these flagellations, purify my guilty
soul, and raising me up from this polluting would, they bring me nearer and
nearer to my God every day. I am not yet a saint, unfortunately, but if by the
mercy of God, and my penances united to the sufferings of Christ, I arrive at
the happy day when all my debts shall be paid, and my sins cleansed away, then
if I continue those penances and acquire new merits, more than I need, and if I
pay more debts than I owe to the justice of God, this surplus of merits which I
shall have acquired will go to the rich treasure of the Church, from which she
will draw merits to enrich the multitude of good souls who cannot do enough for
themselves to pay their own debts, and to reach that point of holiness which
will deserve a crown in heaven. Then the more we do penance and inflict pains
on our bodies, by our fastings and floggings, the more we feel happy in the
assurance of thus raising ourselves more and more above the dust of this sinful
world, of approaching more and more to that state of holiness of which our
Saviour spoke when He said, `Be holy as I am holy Myself.' We feel an
unspeakable joy when we know that by those self-inflicted punishments we
acquire incalculable merits, which enrich not only ourselves, but our Holy
Church, by filling her treasures for the benefit and salvation of the souls for
which Christ died on Calvary."
When Mr. Bedard was feeding my soul with these husks, he was speaking with
great animation and sincerity. Like myself, he was far away from the good
Father's house. He had never tasted of the bread of the children. Neither of us
knew anything of the sweetness of that bread. We had to accept those husks as
our only food, though it did not remove our hunger.
I answered him: "What you tell me here is what I find in all our ascetic
books and theological treatises, and in the lives of all our saints. I can
hardly reconcile that doctrine with what I read this morning in the 2nd chapter
of Ephesians. Here is the verse in my New Testament: `But God who is rich in
mercy, for His great love wherewith He loved us, even when we were dead in
sins, hath quickened us together with Christ. By grace ye are saved....for by
grace are ye saved, through faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift
of God; not of works, least any man should boast.'
"Now, my dear and venerable Mr. Bedard, allow me respectfully to ask, how
is it possible that your salvation is only by grace, if you have to purchase it
every day by tearing your flesh and lashing your body in such a fearful manner?
Is it not a strange favour a very singular grace which reddens your skin with
your blood, and bruises your flesh every night?"
"Dear little brother," answered Mr. Bedard, "when Mr. Perras spoke
to me, in the presence of the bishop, with such deserved euloqium of your
piety, he did not conceal that you had a very dangerous defect, which was to
spend too much time in reading the Bible, in preference to every other of our
holy books. He told us more than this. He said that you had a fatal tendency to
interpret the Holy Scriptures too much according to your own mind, and in a
sense which is rather more Protestant than Catholic. I am sorry to see that the
curate of St. Charles was but too correct in what he told us of you. But, as he
added that, though your reading too much the Holy Scriptures brought some
clouds in your mind, yet when you were with him, you always ended by yielding
to the sense given by our holy Church. This did not prevent me from desiring to
have you in my place during my absence, and I hope I will not regret it, for we
are sure that our dear young Chiniquy will never be a traitor to our holy
Church."
These words, which were given with a great solemnity, mixed with the good manners
of the most sincere kindness, went through my soul as a two-edged sword. I felt
an inexpressible confusion and regret, and, biting my lips, I said: "I
have sworn never to interpret the Holy Scriptures except according to the
unanimous consent of the Holy Fathers, and with the help of God, I will fulfill
my promise. I regret exceedingly to have differed for a moment from you. You
are my superior by your age, your science and your piety. Please pardon me that
momentary deviation from my duty, and pray that I may be as you are a faithful
and fearless soldier of our holy Church to the end."
At that moment the niece of the curate came to tell us that the dinner was
ready. We went to the modest, though exceedingly well spread table, and to my
great pleasure that painful conversation was dropped. We had not sat at the
table five minutes, when a poor man knocked at the door and asked a piece of
bread for the sake of Jesus and Mary. Mr. Bedard rose from the table, went to
the poor stranger, and said: "Come, my friend, sit between me and our dear
little Father Chiniquy. Our Saviour was the friend of the poor: He was the
father of the widow and the orphan, and we, His priests, must walk after Him.
Be not troubled; make yourself at home. Though I am the curate of Charlesbourgh,
I am your brother. It may be that in heaven you will sit on a higher throne
than mine, if you love our Saviour Jesus Christ and His holy mother Mary, more
than I do."
With these words, the best things that were on the table were put by the good
old priest in the plate of the poor stranger, who with some hesitation finished
by doing honour to the excellent viands.
After this, I need not say that Mr. Bedard was charitable to the poor: he
always treated them as his best friends. So also was my former curate of St.
Charles; and, though his charity was not so demonstrative and fraternal as that
of Mr. Bedard, I had yet never seen a poor man go out of the parsonage of St.
Charles whose breast ought not to have been filled with gratitude and joy.
Mr. Bedard was as exact as Mr. Perras in confessing once, and sometimes twice,
every week; and, rather than fail in that humiliating act, they both, in the
absence of their common confessors, and much against my feelings, several times
humbly knelt at my youthful feet to confess to me.
Those two remarkable men had the same views about the immorality and the want
of religion of the greater part of the priests. Both have told me, in their
confidential conversations, things about the secret lives of the clergy which
would not be believed were I to publish them; and both repeatedly said that
auricular confession was the daily source of unspeakable depravities between
the confessors and heir female as well as male penitents; but neither of them
had sufficient light to conclude from those deeds of depravity that auricular
confession was a diabolical institution. They both sincerely believed as I did
then, that the institution was good, necessary and divine, and that it was a
source of perdition to so many priests only on account of their want of faith
and piety; and principally from their neglect of prayers to the Virgin Mary.
They did not give me those terrible details with a spirit of criticism against
our weak brethren. Their intention was to warn me against the dangers, which
were as great for me as for others. They both invariable finished those
confidences by inviting me more and more to pray constantly to the mother of
God, the blessed Virgin Mary, and to watch over myself, and avoid remaining
alone with a female penitent; advising me also to treat my own body as my most
dangerous enemy, by reducing it into subjection to the law, and crucifying it
day and night.
Mr. Bedard had accompanied the Bishop of Quebec in his episcopal visits during
many years, and had seen with his eyes the unmentionable plague, which was
then, as it is now, devouring the very vitals of the Church of Rome. He very
seldom spoke to me of those things without shedding tears of compassion over
the guilty priests. My heart and my soul were so filled with an unspeakable
sadness when hearing the details of such iniquities. I also felt struck with
terror lest I might perish myself, and fall into the same bottomless abyss.
One day I told him what Mr. Perras had revealed to me about the distress of
Bishop Plessis, when he had found that only three priests besides Mr. Perras
believed in God, in his immense diocese. I asked him if there was not some
exaggeration in this report. He answered, after a profound sigh: "My dear
young friend: the angel could not find ten just men in Sodom my fear is that
they would not find more among the priests! The more you advance in age, the
more you will see that awful truth Ah! let those who stand fear, lest they
fall!"
After these words he burst into tears, and went to church to pray at the feet
of his wafer god!
The revelations which I received from those worthy priests did not in any way
shake my faith in my Church. She even became dearer to me; just as a dear
mother gains in the affection and devotedness of a dutiful son as her trials
and afflictions increase. It seemed to me that after this knowledge it was my
duty to do more than I had ever done to show my unreserved devotedness, respect
and love to my holy and dear mother, the Church of Rome, out of which (I sincerely
believed then) there was no salvation. These revelations became to me, in the
good providence of God, like light-houses raised on the hidden and dreadful
rocks of the sea, to warn the pilot during the dark hours of the night to keep
at a distance, if he does not want to perish.
Though these two priests professed to have a most profound love and respect for
the Holy Scriptures, they gave very little time to their study, and both
several times rebuked me for passing too many hours in their perusal; and
repeatedly warned me against the habit of constantly appealing to them against
certain practices and teachings of our theologians. As good Roman Catholic
priests they had no right to go to the Holy Scriptures alone to know what
"the Lord saith!" The traditions of the Church were their fountain of
science and light! Both of them often distressed me with the facility with
which they buried out of view, under the dark clouds of their traditions, the
clearest texts of Holy Scriptures which I used to quote in defense of my
positions in our conversations and debates.
They both, with an equal zeal, and unfortunately with too much success,
persuaded me that it was right for the Church to ask me to swear that I would
never interpret the Holy Scriptures, except according to the unanimous consent
of the Holy Fathers. But when I showed them that the Holy Fathers had never
been unanimous in anything except in differing from one another on almost every
subject they had treated; when I demonstrated by our Church historians that
some Holy Fathers had very different views from ours on many subjects, they
never answered my questions except by silencing me by the text: "If he
does not hear the Church let him be as a heathen or a publican," and by
giving me long lectures on the danger of pride and self-confidence.
Mr. Bedard had many opportunities of giving me his views about the submission
which an inferior owes to his superiors. He was of one mind with Mr. Perras and
all the theologians who had treated that subject. They both taught me that the
inferior must blindly obey his superior, just as the stick must obey the hand
which holds it; assuring me at the same time that the inferior was not
responsible for the errors he commits when obeying his legitimate superior.
Mr. Bedard and Mr. Perras had a great love for their Saviour, Jesus; but the
Jesus Christ whom they loved and respected and adored was not the Christ of the
Gospel, but the Christ of the Church of Rome.
Mr. Perras and Mr. Bedard had a great fear, as well as a sincere love for their
god, while yet they professed to make him every morning by the act of
consecration. They also most sincerely believed and preached that idolatry was
one of the greatest crimes a man could commit, but they themselves were every
day worshiping an idol of their own creating. They were forced by their Church
to renew the awful iniquity of Aaron, with this difference only, that while
Aaron made his gods of melted gold, and moulded them into the figure of a calf,
they made theirs with flour, baked between two heated and well polished irons,
and in the form of a crucified man.
When Aaron spoke of his golden calf to the people, he said: "These are thy
gods, O Israel, which brought thee out of the land of Egypt." So likewise
Mr. Bedard and Mr. Perras, showing the wafer to the deluded people, said:
"Ecc agnus Dei qui tollit peccata mundi!" ("Behold the Lamb of
God which taketh away the sins of the world!")
These two sincere and honest priests placed the utmost confidence also in
relics and scapularies. I have heard both say that no fatal accident could
happen to one who had a scapular on his breast no sudden death would overtake a
man who was faithful in keeping those blessed scapularies about his person.
Both of them, nevertheless, died suddenly, and that too of the saddest of
deaths. Mr. Bedard dropped dead on the 19th of May, 1837, at a great dinner
given to his friends. He was in the act of swallowing a glass of that drink of
which God says: "Look not upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth its
colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright. At the last it biteth like a
serpent and stingeth like an adder."
The Rev. Mr. Perras, sad to say, became a lunatic in 1845, and died on the 29th
of July, 1847, in a fit of delirium.
.
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CHAPTER 23 Back to Top
I
had not been more than three weeks the administrator of the parish of
Charlesbourgh, when the terrible words, "The cholera morbus is in
Quebec!" sent a thrill of terror from one end to the other of Canada.
The cities of Quebec and Montreal, with many surrounding country places, had
been decimated in 1832 by the same terrible scourge. Thousands upon thousands
had fallen its victims; families in every rank of society had disappeared; for
the most skilful physicians of both Europe and America had been unable to stop
its march and ravages. But the year 1833 had passed without hearing almost of a
single case of that fatal disease: we had all the hope that the justice of God
was satisfied, and that He would no more visit us with that horrible plague. In
this, however, we were to be sadly disappointed.
Charlesbourgh is a kind of suburb of Quebec, the greatest part of its
inhabitants had to go within its walls to sell their goods several times every
week. It was evident that we were to be among the first visited by that
messenger of a just, but angry God. I will never forget the hour after I had
heard: "The cholera is in Quebec!" It was, indeed, a most solemn hour
to me. At a glance, I measured the bottomless abyss which was dug under my
feet. We had no physicians, and there was no possibility of having any one for
they were to have more work than they could do in Quebec. I saw that I would
have to be both the body and soulphysician of the numberless victims of this
terrible disease.
The tortures of the dying, the cries of the widows and of the orphans, the
almost unbearable stench of the houses attacked by the scourge, the desolation
and the paralyzing fears of the whole people, the fatherless and motherless
orphans by whom I was to be surrounded, the starving poor for whom I would have
to provide food and clothing when every kind of work and industry was stopped;
but above all, the crowds of penitents whom the terrors of an impending death
would drag to my feet to make their confessions, that I might forgive their
sins, passed through my mind as so many spectres. I fell on my knees, with a
heart beating with emotions that no pen can describe, and prostrating myself
before my too justly angry God, I cried for mercy: with torrents of tears I
asked Him to take away my life as a sacrifice for my people, but to spare them:
raising my eyes towards a beautiful statue of Mary, whom I believed to be then
the Mother of God, I supplicated her to appease the wrath of her Son.
I was still on my knees, when several knocks at the door told me that some one
wanted to speak to me a young woman was there, bathed in tears and pale as
death, who said to me: "My father has just returned from Quebec, and is
dying from the cholera please come quick to hear his confession before he
expires!"
No tongue will ever be able to tell half of the horrors which strike the eyes
and the mind the first time one enters the house of a man struggling in the
agonies of death from cholera. The other diseases seem to attack only one part
of the body at once, but the cholera is like a furious tiger whose sharp teeth
and nails tear his victim from head to feet without sparing any part. The hands
and the feet, the legs and the arms, stomach, the breast and the bowels are at
once tortured. I had never seen anything so terrible as the fixed eyes of that
first victim whom I had to prepare for death. He was already almost as cold as
a piece of ice. He was vomiting and ejecting an incredible quantity of a watery
and blackish matter, which filled the house with an unbearable smell. With a
feeble voice he requested me to hear the confession of his sins, and I ordered
the family to withdraw and leave me alone, that they might not hear the sad
story of his transgressions. But he had not said five words before he cried
out: "Oh my God! what horrible cramps in my leg! For God's sake, rub
it." And when I had given up hearing his confession to rub the leg, he
cried again: "Oh!what horrible cramps in my arms! in my feet! in my
shoulders! in my stomach!" And to the utmost of my capacity and my
strength, I rubbed his arms, his feet, his shoulders, his breast, till I felt
so exhausted and covered with perspiration, that I feared I should faint.
During that time the fetid matter ejected from his stomach, besmeared me almost
from head to foot. I called for help, and two strong men continued with me to
rub the poor dying man.
It seemed evident that he could not live very long: his sufferings looked so
terrible and unbearable! I administered him the sacrament of extreme unction.
But I did not leave the house after that ceremony as it is the custom of the
priests. It was the first time that I had met face to face with that giant
which had covered so many nations with desolation and ruin, caused so many
torrents of tears to flow. I had heard so much of him! I knew that, till then,
nothing had been able to stop his forward march! He had scornfully gone through
the obstacles which the most powerful nations had placed before him to retard
his progress. He had mocked the art and science of the most skilful physicians
all over the world! In a single step he had gone from Moscow to Paris! and in
another month he had crossed the bottomless seas which the hands of the
Almighty have spread between Europe and America! That king of terrors, after
piling in their graves, by millions, the rich and the poor, the old and the
young, whom he had met on his march through Asia, Africa, Europe, and America,
was now before me! Nay, he was torturing, before my eyes, the first victim he
had chosen among my people! But the more I felt powerless in the presence of
that mighty giant, the more I wanted to see him face to face. I had a secret
pleasure, a holy pride, in daring him. I wanted to tell him: "I do not
fear you! You mercilessly attack my people, but with the help of God, in the
strength of the One who died on Calvary for me, and who told me that nothing is
more sweet and glorious than to give my life for my friends, I will meet and
fight you everywhere when you attack any one of those sheep who are dearer to
me than my own life!"
Standing by the bedside of the dying man whilst I rubbed his limbs to alleviate
his tortures, I exhorted him to repent. But I closely watched that hand-to-hand
battle that merciless and unequal struggle between the giant and his poor
victim. His agony was long and terrible, for he was a man of great bodily
strength. But after several hours of the most frightful pains, he quietly
breathed his last. The house was crowded with the neighbours and relations,
who, forgetful of the danger of catching the disease, had come to see him. We
all knelt and prayed for the departed soul, after which I gave them a few words
about the necessity of giving up their sins and keeping themselves ready to die
and go at the Master's call.
I then left that desolated house with feelings of distress which no pen can
portray. When I got back to the parsonage, after praying and weeping alone in
my chamber, I took a bath, and washed myself with vinegar and a mixture of
camphor, as a preventive against the epidemic. The rest of the day, till ten at
night, was spent in hearing the confessions of a great number of people whom
the fear of death had dragged around my confessional box that I might forgive
their sins. This hearing of confession was interrupted only at ten o'clock at
night, when I was called to the cemetery to bury the first victim of the
cholera in Charlesbourgh. A great number of people had accompanied the corpse
to his last resting-place: the night was beautiful, the atmosphere balmy, and
the moon and stars had never appeared to me so bright. The stillness of the
night was broken only by the sobs of the relations and friends of the deceased.
It was one of the best opportunities God had ever given me of exhorting the people
to repentance. I took for my text: "Therefore, be ye also ready; for in
such an hour as ye think not, the Son of Man cometh." The spectacle of
that grave, filled by a man who, twenty-four hours before, was full of health
and life in the midst of his happy family, was speaking more eloquently than
the words of my lips, to show that we must be always ready. And never any
people entered the threshold of their homes with more solemn thoughts than
those to whom I spoke, that night, in the midst of the graveyard.
The history of that day is the history of the forty days which followed for not
a single one of them passed without my being called to visit a victim of the
cholera more than one hundred people were attacked by the terrible disease,
nearly forty of whom died!
I cannot sufficiently thank my merciful God for having protected me in such a
marvelous way that I had not a single hour of disease during those two months
of hard labours and sore trials. I had to visit the sick not only as a priest,
but as physician also; for seeing, at first, the absolute impossibility of
persuading any physician from Quebec to give up their rich city patients for
our more humble farmers, I felt it was my duty to make myself as expert as I
could in the art of helping the victims of that cruel and loathsome disease: I
studied the best authors on that subject, consulted the most skilful
physicians, got a little pharmacy which would have done honour to an old
physician, and I gave my care and my medicine gratis. Very soon the good people
of Charlesbourgh put as much, if not more confidence, in my medical care, as in
any other of the best physicians of the country. More than once I had to rub
the limbs of so many patients in the same day, that the skin of my hands was
taken away, and several times the blood came out from the wounds. Dr.
Painchaud, one of the ablest physicians of Quebec, who was my personal friend,
told me after, that it was a most extraordinary thing that I had not fallen a
victim to that disease.
I would never have mentioned what I did, in those never-to-be-forgotten days of
the cholera of 1834, when one of the most horrible epidemics which the world
has ever seen spread desolation and death almost all over Canada, if I had been
alone to work as I did; but I am happy and proud to say that, without a single
exception, the French Canadian priests, whose parishes were attacked by that
pestilence, did the same. I could name hundreds of them who, during several
months, also, day after day and night after night, bravely met and fought the
enemy, and fearlessly presented their breast to its blows. I could even name
scores of them who heroically fell and died when facing the foe on that
battlefield!
We must be honest and true towards the Roman Catholic priests of Canada. Few
men, if even any, have shown more courage and self-denial in the hour of danger
than they did. I have seen them at work during the two memorable years of 1832
and 1834, with a courage and self-denial worthy of the admiration of heaven and
earth. Though they know well that the most horrible tortures and death might be
the price of their devotedness, I have not known a single one of them who ever
shrank before the danger. At the first appeal, in the midst of the darkest and
stormiest nights, as well as in the light of the brightest days, they were
always ready to leave their warm and comfortable beds to run to the rescue of
the sick and dying.
But, shall we conclude from that, as the priests of Rome want us to do, that
their religion is the true and divine religion of Christ? Must we believe that
because the priests are brave, admirably brave, and die the death of heroes on
the battlefields, they are the true, the only priests of Christ, the successors
of the apostles the ministers of the religion out of which there is no
salvation? No!
Was it because his religion was the divine and only true one that the
millionaire, Stephen Gerard, when in 1793 Philadelphia was decimated by a most
frightful epidemic, went from house to house, visiting the sick, serving, washing
them with his own hands, and even helping to put them into their coffins? I ask
it again, is it because his religion was the divine religion of Jesus that that
remarkable man, during several months, lived among the dying and the dead, to
help them, when his immense fortune allowed him to put a whole world between
him and the danger? No; for every one knows that Stephen Gerard was a deist,
who did not believe in Christ.
Was it because they followed the true religion that, in the last war between
Russia and Turkey, a whole regiment of Turks heroically ran to a sure death to
obey the order of their general, who commanded them to change bayonets on a
Russian battery, which was pouring upon them a real hail of bullets and
canister? No! surely no!
These Turks were brave, fearless, heroic soldiers, but nothing more. So the
priests of the Pope, who expose themselves in the hour of danger, are brave,
fearless, heroic solders of the Pope but they are nothing more.
Was it because they were good Christians that the soldiers of a French
regiment, at Austerlitz, consented to be slaughtered to the last, at the head
of a bridge where Napoleon had ordered them to remain, with these celebrated
words: "Soldiers! stand there and fight to the last; you will all be
killed, but you will save the army, and we will gain the day!"
Those soldiers were admirably well disciplined they loved their flag more than
their lives they knew only one thing in the world: "Obey the command of
Napoleon!" They fought like giants, and died like heroes. So the priests
are a well disciplined band of soldiers; they are trained to love their church
more than their own life; they also know only one thing: "Obey your
superior, the Pope!" they fight the battle of their church like giants,
and they die like heroes!
Who has not read the history of the renowned French man-of-war, the
"Tonnant?" When she had lost her masts, and was so crippled by the
redhot shot of the English fleet that there was no possibility of escape, what
did the soldiers and mariners of that ship answer to the cries of
"Surrender!" which came from the English admiral? "We die, but
do not surrender!"
They all went to the bottom of the sea, and perished rather than see their
proud banners fall into the hands of the foe!
It is because those French warriors were good Christians that they preferred to
die rather than give up their flag? No! But they knew that the eyes of their
country, the eyes of the whole world were upon them. Life became to them a
trifle: it became nothing when placed in the balance against what they
considered their honour, and the honour of their fair and noble country; nay,
life became an undesirable thing, when it was weighted against the glory of
dying at the post of duty and honour.
So it is with the priest of Rome. He knows that the eyes of his people, and of
his superiors the eyes of his whole church are upon him. He knows that if he
shrinks in the hour of danger, he will for ever lose their confidence and their
esteem; that he will lose his position and live the life of a degraded man!
Death seems preferable to such a life.
Yes! let the people of Canada read the history of "La Nouvelle
France," and they will cease from presenting to us the courage of their
priests as an indication of the divinity of their religion. For there they will
see that the worshipers of the wooden gods of the forests have equaled, if not
surpassed, in courage and self-denial in the face of death, the courage and
self-denial of the priests of the wafer god of Rome.
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CHAPTER 24 Back to Top
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 humour 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 to feminine. His skin was
very white for a man, but his fine short whiskers, which he knew so well how to
trim, gave his whole mien a manly and pleasant appearance.
He was the finest penman I ever saw; and by far the most skilful 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 like 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 a while 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 in 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 to 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 port these last
few days, and added that that general must be very rich, since he has so many
ships on he 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, and so I shall give only one more.
On one of the coldest days of 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 dollars.
Mr. Tetu was anxious to buy the 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 has 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
addressed 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: "Godfathers 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, asked: "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!
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CHAPTER 25 Back to Top
In
one of the pleasant hours which we used invariably to pass after dinner, in the
comfortable parlour of our parsonage, one of the vicars, Mr. Louis Parent, said
to the Rev. Mr. Tetu, "I have handed this morning more than one hundred
dollars to the bishop, as the price of the masses which my pious penitents have
requested me to celebrate, the greatest part of them for the souls in
purgatory. Every week I have to do the same thing, just as each of you, and
every one of the hundreds of priests in Canada have to do. Now I would like to
know how the bishops can dispose of all these masses, and what they do with the
large sums of money which go into their hands from every part of the country to
have masses said. This question vexes me, and I would like to know your mind
about it."
The good curate answered in a joking manner, as usual: "If the masses paid
into our hands, which go to the bishop, are all celebrated, purgatory must be
emptied twice a day. For I have calculated that the sums given for those masses
in Canada cannot be less than 4,000 dollars every day, and, as there are three
times as many Catholics in the United States as here, and as those Irish
Catholics are more devoted to the souls in purgatory than the Canadians, there
is no exaggeration in saying that they give as much as our people; 16,000
dollars at least will thus be given every day in these two countries to throw
cold water on the burning flames of that fiery prison. Now these 16,000 dollars
given every day, multiplied by the 365 days of the year, make the handsome sum
of 5,840,000 dollars paid for that object in low masses every year. But, as we
all know, that more than twice as much is paid for high masses than for the
low, it is evident that more than 10,000,000 dollars are expended to help the
souls of purgatory end their tortures every twelve months, in North America
alone. If those millions of dollars do not benefit the good souls in purgatory,
they at all events are of some benefit to our pious bishops and holy popes, in
whose hands the greatest part must remain till the day of judgment. For there
is not a sufficient number of priests in the world to say all the masses which
are paid for by the people. I do not know any more than you do about what the
bishops do with those millions of dollars; they keep that among their secret
good works. But it is evident there is a serious mystery here. I do not mean to
say that the Yankee and the Canadian bishops swallow those huge piles of
dollars as sweet oranges; or that they are a band of big swindlers, who employ
smaller ones, called Revs. Tetu, Bailargeon, Chiniquy, Parent, ect., to fill
their treasures. But, if you want to know my mind on that delicate subject, I
will tell you that the least we think and speak of it the better it is for us.
Every time my thoughts turn to those streams of money which day and night flow
from the small purses of our pious and unsuspecting people into our hands, and
from ours into those of the bishops, I feel as if I were choking. If I am at
the table I can neither eat nor drink, and if in my bed at night, I cannot
sleep. But as I like to eat, drink, and sleep, I reject those thoughts as much
as possible, and I advise you to do the same thing."
The other vicars seemed inclined, with Mr. Parent, to accept that conclusion;
but, as I had not said a single word, they requested me to give them my views
on that vexatious subject, which I did in the following brief words:-
"There are many things in our holy church which look like dark spots; but
I hope that this is due only to our ignorance. No doubt these very things would
look as white as snow, were we to see and know them just as they are. Our holy
bishops, with the majority of the Catholic priests of the United States and
Canada, cannot be that band of thieves and swindlers whose phantoms chill the
blood of our worthy curate. So long as we do not know what the bishops do with
those numberless masses paid into their hands, I prefer to believe that they
act as honest men."
I had hardly said these few words, when I was called to visit a sick
parishioner, and the conversation was ended.
Eight days later, I was alone in my room, reading the "L'Ami de la
Religion et du Roi," a paper which I received from Paris, edited by Picot.
My curiosity was not a little excited, when I read, at the head of a page, in
large letters: "Admirable Piety of the French Canadian People." The
reading of that page made me shed tears of shame, and shook my faith to its
foundation. Unable to contain myself, I ran to the rooms of the curate and the
vicars, and said to them: "A few days ago we tried, but in vain, to find
what becomes of the large sums of money which pass from the people, through our
hands, into those of the bishop, to say masses; but here is the answer, I have
the key to that mystery, which is worthy of the darkest ages of the Church. I
wish I were dead, rather than see with my own eyes such abominations." We
then read that long chapter, the substance of which was that the venerable
bishops of Quebec had sent not less than one hundred thousand francs, at
different times, to the priests of Paris, that they might say four hundred
thousand masses at five cents each! Here we had the sad evidence that our
bishops had taken four hundred thousand francs from our poor people, under the
pretext of saving the souls from purgatory! That article fell upon us as a
thunderbolt. For a long time we looked at each other without being able to
utter a single word; our tongues were as paralyzed by our shame: we felt as
vile criminals when detected on the spot.
At last, Baillargeon, addressing the curate, said: "Is it possible that
our bishops are swindlers, and we, their tools to defraud our people? What
would that people say, if they knew that not only we do not say the masses for
which they constantly fill our hands with their hard-earned money, but that we
send those masses to be said in Paris for five cents! What will our good people
think of us all when they know that our bishop pockets twenty cents out of
every mass they ask us to celebrate according to their wishes."
The curate answered: "it is very lucky that the people do not know that
sharp operation of our bishops, for they would surely throw us all into the
river. Let us keep that shameful trade as secret as possible. For what is the
crime of simony if this be not an instance of it?"
I replied: "How can you hope to keep that traffic of the body and blood of
Christ a secret, when not less than 40,000 copies of this paper are circulated
in France, and more than 100 copies come to the Untied States and Canada! The
danger is greater than you suspect; it is even at our doors. It is not on
account of such public and undeniable crimes and vile tricks of the clergy of
France, that the French people in general, not only have lost almost every
vestige of religion, but, not half a century ago, condemned all the bishops and
priests of France to death as public malefactors?
"But that sharp mercantile operation of our bishops takes a still darker
colour, when we consider that those `five-cent masses' which are said in Paris
are not worth a cent. For who among us is ignorant of the fact that the
greatest part of the priests of Paris are infidels, and that many of them live
publicly with concubines? Would our people put their money in our hands if we
were honest enough to tell them that their masses would be said for five cents
in Paris by such priests? Do we not deceive them when we accept their money,
under the well understood condition that we shall offer the holy sacrifice
according to their wishes? But, instead of that, we get it sent to France, to
be disposed of in such a criminal way. But, if you allow me to speak a little
more, I have another strange fact to consider with you, which is closely
connected with this simoniacal operation?"
"Yes! speak, speak!" answered all four priests.
I then resumed: "Do you remember how you were enticed into the `Three
Masses Society'? Who among us had the idea that the new obligations we were
then assuming were such that the greatest part of the year would be spent in saying
masses for the priests, and that it would thus become impossible to satisfy the
pious demands of the people who support us? We already belonged to the
societies of the Blessed Virgin Mary and of St. Michael, which raised to five
the number of masses we had to celebrate for the dead priests. Dazzled by the
idea that we would have two thousand masses said for us at our death, we bit at
the bait presented to us by the bishop as hungry fishes, without suspecting the
hook. The result is that we have had to say 165 masses for the 33 priests who
died during the past year, which means that each of us has to pay forty-one
dollars to the bishop for masses which he has had said in Paris for eight
dollars. Each mass which we celebrate for a dead priest here, is a mass which
the more priests he enrolls in his society of `Three Masses,' the more twenty
cents he pockets from us and from our pious people. Hence his admirable zeal to
enroll every one of us. It is not the value of the money which our bishop so
skillfully got from our hands which I consider, but I feel desolate when I see
that by these societies we become the accomplices of his simoniacal trade. For,
being forced the greatest part of the year to celebrate the holy sacrifice for
the benefit of the dead priests, we cannot celebrate the masses for which we
are daily paid by the people, and are therefore forced to transfer them into
the hands of the bishop, who sends them to Paris, after spiriting away twenty
cents from each of them. However, why should we lament over the past? It is no
more within our reach. There is no remedy for it. Let us then learn from the
past errors how to be wise in the future."
Mr. Tetu answered: "You have shown us our error. Now, can you indicate any
remedy?"
"I cannot say that the remedy we have in hand is one of those patented
medicines which will cure all the diseases of our sickly church in Canada, but
I hope it will help to bring a speedy convalescence. That remedy is to abolish
the society of `Three Masses,' and to establish another of `One Mass,' which
will be said at the death of every priest. In that way it is true that instead
of 2,000 masses, we shall have only 1,200 at our death. But if 1,200 masses do
not open to us the gates of heaven, it is because we shall be in hell. By that
reduction we shall be enabled to say more masses at the request of our people,
and shall diminish the number of five cent masses said by the priests of Paris
at the request of our bishop. If you take my advice, we will immediately name
the Rev. Mr. Tetu president of the new society, Mr. Parent will be its
treasurer, and I consent to act as your secretary, if you like it. When our
society is organized, we will send our resignations to the president of the
other society, and we shall immediately address a circular to all the priests,
to give them the reason for the change, and respectfully ask them to unite with
us in this new society, in order to diminish the number of masses which are
celebrated by the five cents priests of Paris."
Within two hours the new society was fully organized, the reasons of its
formation written in a book, and our names were sent to the bishop, with a
respectful letter informing him that we were no more members of the `Three
Masses Society.' That letter was signed, C. Chiniquy, Secretary. Three hours
later, I received the following note from the bishop's palace:
.
"My Lord Bishop of Quebec wants to see you immediately
upon important affairs. Do not fail to come without delay.
Truly yours,
"Charles F. Cazeault, Secy."
I showed the missive to the curate and the vicars, and told them: "A big
storm is raging on the mountain; this is the first peal of thunder the
atmosphere looks dark and heavy. Pray for me that I may speak and act as an
honest and fearless priest, when in the presence of the bishop."
In the first parlour of the bishop I met my personal friend, Secretary
Cazeault. He said to me: "My dear Chiniquy, you are sailing on a rough sea
you must be a lucky mariner if you escape the wreck. The bishop is very angry
at you; but be not discouraged, for the right is on your side." He then
kindly opened the door of the bishop's parlour, and said:
"My lord, Mr. Chiniquy is here, waiting for your orders."
"Let him come, sir," answered the bishop.
I entered and threw myself at his feet, as it is the usage of the priests. But,
stepping backward, he told me in a most excited manner: "I have no
benediction for you till you give me a satisfactory explanation of your strange
conduct."
I arose to my feet and said: "My lord, what do you want from me?"
"I want you, sir, to explain to me the meaning of this letter signed by
you as secretary of a new-born society called, `One Mass Society.'" At the
same time he showed me my letter.
I answered him: "My lord the letter is in good French your lordship must
have understood it well. I cannot see how any explanation on my part could make
it clearer."
"What I want to know from you, is what you mean, and what is your object
in leaving the old and respectable `Three Mass Society'? Is it not composed of
your bishops and of all the priests of Canada? Did you not find yourself in
sufficiently good company? Do you object to the prayers said for the souls in
purgatory?"
I replied: "My lord, I will answer by revealing to your lordship a fact
which was not sufficiently attracted your attention. The great number of masses
which we have to say for the souls of the dead priests makes it impossible for
us to say the masses for which the people pay into our hands; and then instead
of having these holy sacrifices offered by the good priests of Canada, your
lordship has recourse to the priests of France, where you get them said for
five cents. We see two great evils in this: First, our masses are said by
priests in whom we have not the least confidence; and though the masses they
say are very cheap, they are too dearly purchased; for between you and me, we
can say that, with very few exceptions, the masses said by the priests of
France, particularly of Paris, are not worth one cent. The second evil is still
greater, for in our eyes, it is one of the greatest crimes which our holy
church has always condemned, the crime of simony."
"Do you mean to say," indignantly replied the bishop, "that I am
guilty of the crime of simony?"
"Yes! my lord; it is just what I mean to say, and I do not see how your
lordship does not understand that the trade in masses by which you gain 400,000
francs on a spiritual merchandise, which you get for 100,000, is not
simony."
"You insult me! You are the most impudent man I ever saw. If you do
retract what you have said, I will suspend and excommunicate you!"
"My suspension and my excommunication will not make the position of your
lordship much better. For the people will know that you have excommunicated me
because I protested against your trade in masses. They will know that you
pocket twenty cents on every mass, and that you get them said for five cents in
Paris by priests, the greatest part of whom live with concubines, and you will
see that there will be only one voice in Canada to bless me for my protest and
to condemn you for your simoniacal trade on such a sacred thing as the holy and
tremendous sacrifice of the body, blood, soul and divinity of Jesus
Christ."
I uttered these words with such perfect calmness that the bishop saw that I had
not the least fear of his thunders. He began to pace the room, and he heaped on
my devoted head all the epithets by which I could learn that I was an insolent,
rebellious and dangerous priest.
"It is evident to me," he said, "that you aim to be a reformer,
a Luther, au petit pied, in Canada. But you will never be anything else than a
monkey!"
I saw that my bishop was beside himself, and that my perfect calmness added to
his irritation. I answered him: "If Luther had never done anything worse
than I do today, he ought to be blessed by God and man. I respectfully request
your lordship to be calm. The subject on which I speak to you is more serious
than you think. Your lordship, by asking twenty-five cents for a mass which can
be said for five cents, does a thing which you would condemn if it were done by
another man. You are digging under your own feet, and under the feet of your
priests the same abyss in which the Church of France nearly perished, not half
a century ago. You are destroying with your own hands every vestige of religion
in the hearts of the people, who will sooner or later know it. I am your best
friend, your most respectful priest, when I fearlessly tell you this truth
before it is too late. Your lordship knows that he has not a priest who loves
and cherishes him more than I do God knows, it is because I love and respect
you, as my own father, that I profoundly deplore the illusions which prevent
you from seeing the terrible consequences that will follow, if our pious people
learn that you abuse their ignorance and their good faith, by making them pay
twenty-five cents for a thing which costs only five. Woe to your lordship! Woe
to me, woe to our holy church, the day that our people know that in our holy
religion the blood of Christ is turned into merchandise to fill the treasury of
the bishops and popes!"
It was evident that these last words, said with the most perfect
self-possession, had not all been lost. The bishop had become calmer. He
answered me: "You are young and without experience; your imagination is
easily fed with phantoms; when you know a little more, you will change your
mind and will have more respect for your superiors. I hope your present error
is only a momentary one. I could punish you for this freedom with which you have
dared to speak to your bishop, but I prefer to warn you to be more respectful
and obedient in future. Though I deplore for your sake, that you have requested
me to take away your name from the `Three Mass Society' you and the four
simpletons who have committed the same act of folly, are the only losers in the
matter. Instead of two thousand masses said for the deliverance of your souls
from the flames of Purgatory, you will have only twelve hundred. But, be sure
of it, there is too much wisdom and true piety in my clergy to follow your
example. You will be left alone, and I fear, covered with ridicule. For they
will call you the `little reformer.'"
I answered the bishop: "I am young, it is true, but the truths I have said
to your lordship are as old as the Gospel. I have such confidence in the
infinite merits of the holy sacrifice of the mass, that I sincerely believe,
that twelve hundred masses said by good priests, are enough to cleanse my soul
and extinguish the flames of purgatory. But, besides, I prefer twelve hundred
masses said by one hundred sincere Canadian priests, to a million said by the
five cent priests of Paris."
These last words, spoken with a tone half serious, half jocose, brought a
change on the face of my bishop. I thought it was a good moment to get my
benediction and take leave of him. I took my hat, knelt at his feet, obtained
his blessing, and left.
.
.
.
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CHAPTER 26 Back to Top
The
hour of my absence had been one of anxiety for the curate and the vicars. But
my prompt return filled them with joy.
"What news?" they all exclaimed.
"Good news," I answered; "the battle has been fierce but short.
We have gained the day;; and if we are only true to ourselves, another great
victory is in store for us. The bishop is so sure that we are the only ones who
think of that reform, that he will not move a finger to prevent the other
priests from following us. This security will make our success infallible. But
we must not lose a moment. Let us address our circular to every priest in
Canada."
One hour later there were more than twenty writers at work, and before
twenty-four hours, more than three hundred letters were carried to all the
priests, giving them the reasons why we should try, by all fair means, to put
an end to the shameful simoniacal trade in masses which was going on between
Canada and France.
The week was scarcely ended, when letters came from almost all curates and
vicars to the bishop, respectfully requesting him to withdraw his name from
"The Society of the Three Masses." Only fifty refused to comply with
our request.
Our victory was more complete than we had expected. But the Bishop of Quebec,
hoping to regain his lost ground, immediately wrote to the Bishop of Montreal,
my Lord Telemesse, to come to his help and show us the enormity of the crime we
had committed, in rebelling against the will of our ecclesiastical superiors.
A few days later, to my great dismay, I received a short and very cold note
from the bishop's secretary, telling me that their lordships, the Bishops of
Montreal and Quebec, wanted to see me at the palace, without delay. I had never
seen the Bishop of Montreal, and my surprise and disappointment were great in
finding myself in the presence of a man, my idea of whom was of gigantic
proportions, when in reality, he was very small. But I felt exceedingly well
pleased by the admirable mixture of firmness, intelligence, and honesty of his
whole demeanor. His eyes were piercing as the eagle's; but when fixed on me, I
saw in them the marks of a noble and honest heart.
The motions of his head were rapid, his sentences short, and he seemed to know
only one line, the straight one, when approaching a subject or dealing with a
man. He had the merited reputation of being one of the most learned and
eloquent men of Canada. The Bishop of Quebec had remained on his sofa, and left
the Bishop of Montreal to receive me. I fell at his feet and asked his
blessing, which he gave me in the most cordial way. Then, putting his hand upon
my shoulder, he said, in a Quaker style: "Is it possible that thou art
Chiniquy that young priest who makes so much noise? How can such a small man
make so much noise?"
There being a smile on his countenance as he uttered these words, I saw at once
that there was no anger or bad feeling in his heart; I replied: "My lord;
do you not know that the most precious pearls and perfumes are put up in the
smallest vases?"
The bishop saw that this was a compliment to his address; he smilingly replied:
"Well, well, if thou art a noisy priest, thou art not a fool. But, tell
me, why dost thou want to destroy our `Three Mass Society' and establish that
new one on its ruins, in spite of thy superiors?"
"My lord, my answer will be as respectful, short, and plain as possible. I
have left the `Three Mass Society' because it was my right to do it, without
anybody's permission. I hope our venerable Canadian bishops do not wish to be
served by slaves!"
"I do not say," replied the bishop, "that you wert bound in
conscience to remain in the `Three Mass Society;' but, can I know why thou hast
left such a respectable association, at the head of which thou seest thy
bishops and the most venerable priests in Canada?"
"I will again be plain in my answer, my lord. If your lordship wants to go
to hell with your venerable priests by spiriting away twenty cents from every
one of our honest and pious penitents, for masses which you get said for five,
by bad priests in Paris, I will not follow you. Moreover, if your lordship
wants to be thrown into the river by the furious people, when they know how
long and how cunningly we have cheated them, with our simoniacal trade in
masses, I do not want to follow you into the cold stream."
"Well! well, answered the bishop, "let us drop that matter for
ever."
He uttered this short sentence with such an evidence of sincerity and honesty,
that I saw he really meant it. He had, at a glance, seen that his ground was
untenable, in the presence of priests who knew their rights, and had a mind to
stand by them.
My joy was great indeed at such a prompt and complete victory. I fell again at
the bishop's feet, and asked his benediction before taking leave of him I then
left to go and tell the curates and vicars the happy issue of our interview
with the bishop of Montreal.
From that time till now, at the death of every priest, the Clerical Press never
failed mentioning whether the deceased priest belonged to the "Three"
or "One Mass Society."
We had, to some extent, diminished the simoniacal and infamous trade in masses;
but unfortunately we had not destroyed it; and I know that today it has
revived. Since I left the Church of Rome, the Bishops of Quebec have raised the
"Three Mass Society" from its grave.
It is a public fact, that no priest will dare deny, that the trade in masses is
still conducted on a large scale with France. There are in Paris and other
large cities in that country, public agencies to carry on that shameful
traffic. It is, generally, in the hands of booksellers or merchants of church
ornaments. Every year their houses send a large number of prospectuses through
France and Belgium and other catholic countries, in which they say that, in
order to help the priests, who having received money for their masses, don't
know where to have them said; they offer a premium of twenty-five or thirty per
cent to those who will send them the surplus of the money they have in hand, to
offer the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.
The priests who have such surplus, tempted by that premium, which is usually
paid with a watch or a chain, or a chalice, disgorge a part, or the whole of
the large sums they possess, into the hands of the pious merchants, who take
this money and use it as they please.
But they never pay the masses in money, they give only merchandise. For
instance, that priest will receive a watch, if he promises to celebrate one or
two hundred masses, or a chalice to celebrate three or four hundred masses. I
have, here in my hand, several of the contracts or promissory notes sent by
those merchants of masses to the priests. The public will, no doubt, read the
following documents with interest. They were handed me by a priest lately
converted from the Church of Rome:
.
RUE DE REIMES - PARIS
Ant. Levesques, editor of the works of Mr. Dufriche - Desgenettes.
Cure of Notre Dame des Victories.
Delivered to the Rev. Mr. Camerle, curate of Ansibeau (Basses Alpes). Paris,
October 12, 1874.
10 metres of Satin Cloth at 22 francs.................... 220.
8" of Merino, all wool.................................. 123.
Month of May............................................. 2.
History of Mary Christina................................ 1.40
Life of St. Stanislas Koska.............................. 2.
Meditations of the Soul.................................. 4.
Jesus Christ, the Light of the World..................... 2.
Packing and Freight...................................... 9.30
Total......................................................... 363.70
Mr. Curate; We have the honour of informing you that the packages containing
the articles you have ordered on the 4th of October, were shipped on the 12th
of October, to Digne, where we respectfully request you to go and ask for them.
For the payment of these articles, we request you to say the following masses:
58 ad intentionem of the giver, for the discharge of Rev. Mr. Montet.
58 ad intentionem of the givers, for the discharge of Rev. Mr. Hoeg.
100 - 188 for the dead, for the discharge of Rev. Mr. Wod.
Mr. Curate: Will you be kind enough to say or have said all those masses in the
shortest time possible, and answer these Revd. gentlemen, if they make any
inquiries about the acquittal of those masses.
Respectfully yours,
(Signed) Ant. Levesques.
Paris, November 11th, 1874.
Rev. Mr. Camerle; We have the honour of addressing you the invoice of what we
forwarded to you on the 12th of October. On account we have put to your credit
188 masses. We respectfully request you to get said the following intentions:
73 for the dead, to the acquittal of Rev. Mr. Watters,
70 pro defuncto, For the discharge of
20 ad intentionem donatis, Rev. Mr. C.
13 ad intentionem donatis, ____ 176
Mr. Curate; Be kind enough to say these masses, or have them said as soon as
possible, and answer the reverend gentleman who may inquire from you about
their acquittal. The 188 masses mentioned in our letter of the 3rd inst., added
to the 176 here mentioned, make 364 francs, the value of the goods sent you. We
thought you would like to have the pamphlets of propaganda we address you.
Respectfully your,
(signed) Ant. Levesques.
Hence,
it is that priests, in France and elsewhere, have gold watches, rich house
furniture, and interesting books, purchased with the money paid by our poor
deluded Canadian Catholics to their priests, for masses which are turned into
mercantile commodities in other places. It would be difficult to say who makes
the best bargain between those merchants of masses, the priests to whom they
are sold, or those from whom they are bought at a discount of twenty-five to
thirty per cent.
The only evident thing is the cruel deception practiced on the credulity and
ignorance of the Roman Catholics by their priests and bishops. Today, the
houses of Dr. Anthony Levesques in Paris are the most accredied in France. In
1874, the house of Mesme was doing an immense business with its stock of
masses, but in an evil day, the government suspected that the number of masses
paid into their hands, exceeded the number of those celebrated through their
hired priests. The suspicions soon turned into certainty when the books were
examined. It was then found that an incredible number of masses, which were to
empty the large room of purgatory, never reached their destination, but only
filled the purse of the Parisian mass merchant; and so the unlucky Mesme was
unceremoniously sent to the penitentiary to meditate on the infinite merits of
the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, which had been engulfed in his treasures.
But these facts are not known by the poor Roman Catholics of Canada, who are
fleeced more and more by their priests, under the pretext of saving souls from
purgatory.
A new element of success in the large swindling operations of the Canadian
priests has lately been discovered. It is well known that in the greater part
of the United States, the poor deluded Irish pay one dollar to their priest,
instead of a shilling, for a low mass. Those priests whose conscience are
sufficiently elastic (as is often the case), keep the money without ever
thinking of having the masses said, and soon get rich. But there are some whose
natural honesty shrinks from the idea of stealing; but unable to celebrate all
the masses paid for and requested at their hands, they send the dollars to some
of their clerical friends in Canada, who, of course, prefer these one dollar
masses to the twentyfive cent ones paid by the French Canadians. However, they
keep that secret and continue to fill their treasury.
There are, however, many priests in Canada who think it less evil to keep those
large sums of money in their own hands, than to give them to the bishops to
traffic with the merchants of Paris. At the end of one of the ecclesiastical
retreats in the seminary of St. Sulpice in 1850, Bishop Bourget told us that
one of the priests who had lately died, had requested him, in the name of Jesus
Christ, to ask every priest to take a share in the four thousand dollars which
he had received for masses he never said. We refused to grant him that favour,
and those four thousand dollars received by that priest, like the millions put
into the hands of other priests and the bishops, turned to be nothing less than
an infamous swindling operation under the mask of religion.
To understand what the priests of Rome are, let the readers note what is said
in the Roman Catholic Bible, of the priest of Babylon: -
"And King Astyges was gathered to his fathers, and Cyrus, of Persia,
received his kingdom, and Daniel conversed with the king, and was honoured
above all his friends. Now the Babylonians had an idol, called Bel, and there
were spent upon him, every day, twelve measures of fine flour, and forty sheep
and six vessels of wine. And the king worshipped it and went daily to adore:
but Daniel worshipped his own God, and the king said unto him: `Why dost thou
not worship Bel?' who answered and said: `Because I may not worship idols made
with hands, but the living God, who hath created the heavens and the earth, and
hath sovereignty over all flesh.' Then the king said: `Thinkest thou not that
Bel is a living God! Seest thou not how much he eateth and drinketh every day?'
"Then Daniel smiled and said: `Oh, king! be not deceived; for this is but
clay within and brass without, and did never eat or drink anything.'
"So that king was wroth, and called for his priests and said: `If ye tell
me not who this is that devoureth these expenses, ye shall die; but if ye can
certify me that Bel devoureth them, then Daniel shall die, for he has spoken
blasphemy against Bel.' And Daniel said unto the king; `Let it be according to
thy word."
"Now the priests of Bel were three score and ten, besides their wives and
children.
"And the king went with Daniel to the temple of Bel so Bel's priests said:
`Lo! we got out, but thou, O king, set on the meat, and make ready the wine,
and shut the door fast, and seal it with thine own signet; and to-morrow when
thou comest in, if thou findest not that Bel had eaten up all, we will suffer
death; or else, Daniel, that speaketh falsely against Bel, shall die and they
little regarded it, for under the table they had made a privy entrance, whereby
they entered continually and consumed those things.'
"So when they were gone forth, the king set meats before Bel.
"Now Daniel had commanded his servants to bring ashes, and those they
strewed throughout all the temple, in the presence of the king alone: then went
they out, and shut the door, and sealed it with the king's signet, and so
departed.
"Now in the night came the priests, with their wives and children, as they
were wont to do, and did eat and drink up all.
"In the morning betimes the king arose, and Daniel with him.
"And the king said, `Daniel, are the seals whole?' And he said, `Yea, O
king, they be whole.' And as soon as they had opened the door, the king looked
upon the table, and cried with a loud voice: `Great art thou, O Bel! and with
thee there is no deceit at all.' Then laughed Daniel, and held the king that he
should not go in, and said: `Behold now the pavement, and mark well whose
footsteps are these.' And the king said: `I see the footprints of men, women,
and children.' And then the king was angry, and took the priests, with their
wives and children, who showed him the privy doors, where they came in and
consumed such things as were on the tables.
"Therefore the king slew them, and delivered Bel into Daniel's power, who
destroyed him and his temple."
Who does not pity the king of Babylon, who, when looking at his clay and brass
god, exclaimed: "Great art thou, O Bel, and with thee there is no
deceit!"
But, is the deception practiced by the priests of the Pope on their poor,
deluded dupes, less cruel and infamous? Where is the difference between that
Babylonian god, made with brass and baked clay, and the god of the Roman
Catholics, made with a handful of wheat and flour, baked between two hot
polished irons?
How skilful were the priests in keeping the secret of what became of the rich
daily offerings brought to the hungry god! Who could suspect that there was a
secret trap through which they came with their wives and children to eat the
rich offerings?
So, today, among the simple and blind Roman Catholics, who could suppose that
the immense sums of money given every day to the priests to glorify God, purify
the souls of men, and bring all kinds of blessings upon the donors, were, on
the contrary, turned into the most ignominious and swindling operation the
world has ever seen?
Though the brass god of Babylon was a contemptible idol, is not the wafer god
of Rome still more so? Though the priests of Bel were skilful deceivers, are
they not surpassed in the art of deception by the priests of Rome! Do not these
carry on their operations on a much larger scale than the former?
But, as there is always a day of retribution for the great iniquities of this
world, when all things will be revealed; and just as the cunning of the priests
of Babylon could not save them, when God sent His prophet to take away the
mask, behind which they deceived their people, so let the priests of Rome know
that God will, sooner or later, send His prophet, who will tear off the mask,
behind which they deceive the world. Their big, awkward, and flat feet will be
seen and exposed, and the very people whom they keep prostrated before their
idols, crying: "O God! with Thee there is no deceit of all!" will
become the instruments of the justice of God in the great day of retribution.
.
.
.
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CHAPTER 27 Back to Top
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 labours, and my lot gave me
the north-east 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 today. Having no
place there to celebrate mass and keep the Holy Sacrament, I soon found myself
in presence of a difficulty 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 Charlesbourgh 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 in 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 brethren
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 honours 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 honouring 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 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 expression of my love and
adoration. It was my custom, then, to repeat the 103rd or 50th Psalm of David,
or the Te Deum, or some other beautiful hymn, or the Pange Lingua, 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 commonplace talks, so common everywhere.
With the utmost efforts, I had then to put a smiling mask on my face, in order
to conceal the expressions 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 for ever the power of Protestant England over us! Then we
should be free again, to give our Saviour all the public honours which were due
to 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 honourably 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 honoured in Canada, as one of the most industrious
and honest merchants of our young country. His name was James Buteau. He had
built a magnificent house, and furnished it in a princely style. In order to
celebrate 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 that party was
to be more of a 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
been called to carry the "good god" to a dying woman.
Mr. Parent was born, and has 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
eau de cologne surrounded him with an atmosphere of the sweetest odours. 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 that 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 death-bed 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 Mr. 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 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 moris,
and the exhortations to the dying, and the people gathered from the
neighbourhood 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 parlour 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 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 found a chance to say to
him: "We all feared lest your dying patient may deprive us of the pleasure
of your company the greatest 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 despatched 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 had 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
preferred to attribute them to the sweet champagne he had drank 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 I was only making a fool of myself by remaining any longer in their
midst. Angry with myself for any 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.
.
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CHAPTER 28 Back to Top
God
controls the greatest as well as the smallest of the events of this world. Our
business during the few days of our pilgrimage, then, is to know His will and
do it. Our happiness here, as in heaven, rests on this foundation, just as the
success and failures of our lives come entirely from the practical knowledge or
ignorance of this simplest and sublimest truth. I dare say that there is not a
single fact of my long and eventful life which has not taught me that there is
a special providence in our lives. Particularly was this apparent in the
casting of the lots by which I became the first chaplain of the Quebec Marine
Hospital. After the other vicars had congratulated each other for having
escaped the heavy burden of work and responsibilities connected with that chaplaincy,
they kindly gave me the assurance of their sympathies for what they called my
bad luck. In thanking them for their friendly feeling, I confessed that this
occurrence appeared to me in a very different light. I was sure that God had
directed this for my good and His own glory, and I was right. In the beginning
of November, 1834, a slight indisposition having kept me a few days at home,
Mr. Glackmayer, the superintendent of the hospital, came to tell me that there
was an unusually large number of sick, left by the Fall fleets, in danger of
death, who were day and night calling for me. He added, in a secret way, that
there were several cases of small-pox of the worst type; that several had
already died, and many were dying from the terrible cholera morbus, which was
still raging among the sailors.
This sad news came to me as an order from heaven to run to the rescue of my
dear sick seamen. I left my room, despite my physician, and went to the
hospital.
The first man I met was Dr. Douglas, who was waiting for me at Mr. C.
Glackmayer's room. He confirmed what I had known before of the number of sick,
and added that the prevailing diseases were of the most dangerous kind.
Dr. Douglas, who was one of the founders and governors of the hospital, had the
well-merited reputation of being one of the ablest surgeons of Quebec. Though a
staunch Protestant by birth and profession, he honoured me with his confidence
and friendship from the first day we met. I may say I have never known a nobler
heart, a larger mind and a truer philanthropist.
After thanking him for the useful though sad intelligence he had given me, I
requested Mr. Glackmayer to give me a glass of brandy, which I immediately
swallowed.
"What are you doing there?" said Dr. Douglas.
"You see," I answered; "I have drunk a glass of excellent
brandy."
"But please tell me why you drank that brandy."
"Because it is a good preservative against the pestilential atmosphere I
will breathe all day," I replied. "I will have to hear the
confessions of all those people dying form small-pox or cholera, and breathe
the putrid air which is around their pillows. Does not common sense warn me to
take some precautions against the contagion?"
"Is it possible," rejoined he, "that a man for whom I have such
a sincere esteem is so ignorant of the deadly workings of alcohol in the human
frame? What you have just drank is nothing but poison; and, far from protecting
yourself against the danger, you are now more exposed to it than before you
drank that beverage."
"You poor Protestants," I answered, in a jocose way, "are a band
of fanatics, with your extreme doctrines on temperance; you will never convert
me to your views on that subject. Is it for the use of the dogs that God has
created wine and brandy? No; it is for the use of men who drink them with
moderation and intelligence."
"My dear Mr. Chiniquy, you are joking; but I am in earnest when I tell you
that you have poisoned yourself with that glass of brandy," replied Dr.
Douglas. "If good wine and brandy were poisons," I answered,
"you would be long ago the only physician in Quebec, for you are the only
one of the medical body whom I know to be an abstainer. But, though I am much
pleased with your conversation, excuse me if I leave you to visit my dear sick
sailors, whose cries for spiritual help ring in my ears."
"One word more," said Dr. Douglas, "and I have done. Tomorrow
morning we will make the autopsy of a sailor who has just died suddenly here.
Have you any objection to come and see with your eyes, in the body of that man,
what your glass of brandy has done in your own body."
"No, sir; I have no objection to see that," I replied. "I have
been anxious for a long time to make a special study of anatomy. It will be my
first lesson; I cannot get it from a better master."
I then shook hands with him and went to my patients, with whom I passed the
remainder of the day and the greater part of the night. Fifty of them wanted to
make general confessions of all the sins of their whole lives; and I had to
give the last sacraments to twenty-five who were dying from small-pox or
cholera morbus. The next morning I was, at the appointed hour, by the corpse of
the dead man, when Dr. Douglas kindly gave me a very powerful microscope, that
I might more thoroughly follow the ravages of alcohol in every part of the
human body.
"I have not the least doubt," said he, "that this man has been
instantly killed by a glass of rum, which he drank one hour before he fell
dead. That rum has caused the rupture of the aorta" (the big vein which
carries the blood to the heart).
While talking thus the knife was doing its work so quickly that the horrible
spectacle of the broken artery was before our eyes almost as the last word fell
from his lips.
"Look here," said the doctor, "all along the artery, and you
will see thousands, perhaps millions, of reddish spots, which are as many holes
perforated through it by alcohol. Just as the musk rats of the Mississippi
river, almost every spring, did little holes through the dams which keep that
powerful river within its natural limits, and cause the waters to break through
the little holes, and thus carry desolation and death along its shores, so
alcohol every day causes the sudden death of thousands of victims by
perforating the veins and opening small issues through which the blood rushes
out of its natural limits. It is not only this big vein which alcohol
perforates; it does the same deadly work in the veins of the lungs and the
whole body. Look at the lungs with attention, and count, if you can, the thousands
and thousands of reddish, dark and yellow spots, and little ulcers with which
they are covered. Every one of them is the work of alcohol, which has torn and
cut the veins and caused the blood to go out of its canals, to carry corruption
and death all over these marvelous organs. Alcohol is one of the most dangerous
poisons I dare say it is the most dangerous. It has killed more men than all
the other poisons together. Alcohol I cannot be changed or assimilated to any
part or tissue or our body, it cannot go to any part of the human frame without
bringing disorder and death to it. For it cannot in any possible way unite with
any part of our body. The water we drink, and the wholesome food and bread we
eat, by the laws and will of God are transformed into different parts of the
body, to which they are sent through the millions of small canals which take
them from the stomach to every part of our frame. When the water has been
drunk, or the bread we have eaten is, for instance, sent to the lungs, to the brain,
the nerves, the muscles, the bones wherever it goes it receives, if I can so
speak, letters of citizenship; it is allowed to remain there in peace and work
for the public good. But it is not so with alcohol. The very moment it enters
the stomach it more or less brings disorder, ruin and death, according to the
quantity taken. The stomach refuses to take it, and makes a supreme effort to
violently throw it out, either through the mouth, or by indignantly pushing it
to the brain or into the numberless tubes by which it discharges its contents
to the surface through all the tissues. But will alcohol be welcome in any of
these tubes or marvelous canals, or in any part or tissue of the body it will
visit on its passage to the surface? No! Look here with your microscope, and
you will see with your own eyes that everywhere alcohol has gone in the body
there has been a hand-to-hand struggle and a bloody battle fought to get rid of
it. Yes! every place where King Alcohol has put his foot has been turned into a
battlefield, spread with ruin and death, in order to ignominiously turn it out.
By a most extraordinary working of nature, or rather by the order of God, every
vein and artery through which alcohol has to pass suddenly contracts, as if to
prevent its passage or choke it as a deadly foe. Every vein and artery has
evidently heard the voice of God: "Wine is a mocker; it bites like a
serpent and stings as an adder!" Every nerve and muscle which alcohol
touched, trembled and shook as if in the presence of an implacable and
unconquerable enemy. Yes, at the presence of alcohol every nerve and muscle
loses its strength, just as the bravest man, in the presence of a horrible
monster or demon, suddenly loses his natural strength, and shakes from head to
foot."
I cannot repeat all I heard that day from the lips of Dr. Douglas, and what I
saw with my own eyes of the horrible workings of alcohol through every part of
that body. It would be too long. Suffice to say that I was struck with horror
at my own folly, and at the folly of so many people who make use of
intoxicating drinks.
What I learned that day was like the opening of a mysterious door, which
allowed me to see the untold marvels of a new and most magnificent world. But
though I was terror-stricken with the ravages of strong drink in that dead man,
I was not yet convinced of the necessity of being a total abstainer from wine
and beer, and a little brandy now and then, as a social habit. I did not like
to expose myself to ridicule by the sacrifice of habits which seemed then, more
than now, to be among the sweetest and most common links of society. But I
determined to lose no opportunity of continuing the study of the working of
alcohol in the human body. At the same time I resolved to avail myself of every
opportunity of making a complete study of anatomy under the kind and learned
Dr. Douglas.
It was from the lips and works of Dr. Douglas that I learned the following
startling facts:
1st. The heart of man, which is only six inches long by four inches wide, beats
seventy times in a minute, 4,200 in one hour, 100,300 in a day, 36,792,000 in a
year. It ejects two ounces and a half of blood out of itself every time it
beats, which makes 175 ounces every minute, 656 pounds every hour, seven tons
and three-quarters of blood which goes out of the heart every day! The whole
blood of a man runs through his heart in three minutes.
2nd. The skin is composed of three parts placed over each other, whose
thickness varies from a quarter to an eighth of a line. Each square inch contains
3,500 pores, through which the sweat goes out. Every one of them is a pipe a
quarter of an inch long. All those small pipes united together would form a
canal 201,166 feet long equal to forty miles, or nearly thirteen leagues!
3rd. The weight of the blood in an ordinary man is between thirty and forty
pounds. That blood runs through the body in 101 seconds, or one minute and
forty-one seconds. Eleven thousand (11,000) pints of blood pass through the
lungs in twenty-four hours.
4th. There are 246 bones in the human body; 63 of them are in the head, 24 in
the sides, 16 in the wrist, 14 in the joints, and 108 in the hands and feet!
The heart of a man who drinks nothing but pure water beats about 100,300 a day,
but will beat from 25,000 to 30,000 times more if he drinks alcoholic drinks.
Those who have not learned anatomy know little of the infinite power, wisdom,
love and mercy of God. No book except the Bible, and no science except the
science of astronomy is like the body of man to tell us what our God is, and
what we are. The body of man is a book written by the hand of God, to speak to
us of Him as no man can speak. After studying the marvelous working of the
heart, the lungs, the eyes and the brain of man, I could not speak; I remained
mute, unable to say a single word to tell my admiration and awe. I wept as
overwhelmed with my feelings. I should have like to speak of those things to
the priests with whom I lived, but I saw at first they could not understand me;
they thought I was exaggerating. How many times, when alone with God in my
little closet, when thinking of those marvels, I fell on my knees and said:
"Thou are great, O my God! The works of Thy hands are above the works of
man! But the works of Thy love and mercy are above all Thy other works!"
During the four years I was chaplain of the Marine Hospital, more than one
hundred corpses were opened before me, and almost as many outside the hospital.
For when, by the order of the jury and the coroner, an autopsy was to be made,
I seldom failed to attend. In that way I have had a providential opportunity of
acquiring the knowledge of one of the most useful and admirable sciences as no
priest or minister probably ever had on this continent. It is my conviction
that the first thing a temperance orator ought to do is to study anatomy; get
the bodies of drunkards, as well as those of so called temperate drinkers,
opened before him, and study there the working of alcohol in the different
organs of man. So long as the orators on temperance will not do that, they
cannot understand the subject on which they speak. Though I have read the best
books written by the most learned physicians of England, France, and United
States on the ravages of rum, wines and beer of every kind and name in the body
of men, I have never read anything which enlightened me so much, and brought
such profound convictions to my intelligence, as the study I have made of the
brain, the lungs, the heart, veins, arteries, nerves and muscles of a single
man or woman. These bodies, opened before me, were books written by the hand of
God Himself, and they spoke to me as no man could speak. By the mercy of God,
to that study is due the irresistible power of my humble efforts in persuading
my countrymen to give up the use of intoxicating drinks. But here is the time
to tell how my merciful God forced me, His unprofitable and rebellious servant,
almost in spite of myself, to give up the use of intoxicating drinks.
Among my penitents there was a young lady belonging to one of the most respectable
families of Quebec. She had a child, a girl, almost a year old, who was a real
beauty. Nothing this side of heaven could surpass the charms of that earthly
angel. Of course that young mother idolized her; she could hardly consent to be
without her sweet angel, even to go to church. She carried her everywhere, to
kiss her at every moment and press her to her heart. Unfortunately that lady,
as it was then and is till now often the case, even among the most refined, had
learned in her father's house, and by the example of he own mother, to drink
wine at the table, and when receiving the visits of her friends or when
visiting them herself. Little by little she began to drink, when alone, a few
drops of wine, at first by the advice of her physician, but soon only to
satisfy the craving appetite, which grew stronger day by day. I was the only
one, excepting her husband, who knew this fact. He was my intimate friend, and
several times, with tears trickling down his cheeks, he had requested me, in
the name of God, to persuade her to abstain from drinking. That young man was
so happy with his accomplished wife and his incomparably beautiful child! He
was rich, had a high position in the world, numberless friends, and a palace
for his home! Every time I had spoken to that young lady, either when alone or
in the presence of her husband, she had shed tears of regret; she had promised
to reform, and take only the few glasses prescribed by her doctor. But, alas!
that fatal prescription of the doctor was like the oil poured on burning coals;
it was kindling a fire which nothing could quench. One day, which I will never
forget, a messenger came in haste and said: "Mr. A. Wants you to come to
his home immediately. A terrible misfortune has just happened his beautiful child
has just been killed. His wife is half crazy; he fears lest she will kill
herself."
I leaped into the elegant carriage drawn by two fine horses, and in a few
minutes I was in the presence of the most distressing spectacle I ever saw. The
young lady, tearing her robes into fragments, tearing her hair with her hands,
and cutting her face with the nails of her fingers, was crying, "Oh! for
God's sake, give me a knife that I may cut my throat? I have killed my child!
My darling is dead! I am the murderess of my own dear Lucy! My hands are
reddened with her blood. Oh! may I die with her!"
I was thunderstruck, and at first remained mute and motionless. The young
husband, with two other gentlemen, Dr. Blanchet and Coroner Panet, were trying
to hold the hands of his unfortunate wife. He did not dare to speak. At last
the young wife, casting her eyes upon me, said: "Oh, dear Father Chiniquy,
for God's sake give me a knife that I may cut my throat! When drunk, I took my
precious darling in my arms to kiss her; but I fell her head struck the sharp
corner of the stove. Her brain and blood are there spread on the floor! My
child! my own child is dead! I have killed her! Cursed liquor! cursed wine! My
child is dead! I am damned! Cursed drink!"
I could not speak, but I could weep and cry. I wept, and mingled my tears with
those of that unfortunate mother. Then, with an expression of desolation which
pierced my soul as with a sword, she said: "Go and see." I went to
the next room, and there I saw that once beautiful child, dead, her face
covered with her blood and brains! There was a large gap made in the right
temple. The drunken mother, falling with her child in her arms, had caused the
head to strike with such a terrible force on the stove that it upset on the
floor. The burning coals were spread on every side, and the house had been very
nearly on fire. But that very blow, with the awful death of her child, had
suddenly brought her to her senses, and put an end to her intoxication. At a
glance she saw the whole extent of her misfortune. Her first thought had been
to run to the sideboard, seize a large, sharp knife, and cut her own throat.
Providentially, her husband was on the spot. With great difficulty, and after a
terrible struggle, he took the knife out of her hands, and threw into the
street through the window. It was then about five o'clock in the afternoon.
After an hour passed in indescribable agony of mind and heart, I attempted to
leave and go back to the parsonage. But my unfortunate young friend requested
me, in the name of God, to spend the night with him. "You are the only
one," he said, "who can help us in this awful night. My misfortune is
great enough, without destroying our good name by spreading it in public. I
want to keep it as secret as possible. With our physician and coroner, you are
the only many on earth whom I trust to help me. Please pass the night with
us."
I remained, but tried in vain to calm the unfortunate mother. She was
constantly breaking our hearts with her lamentations her convulsive efforts to
take her own life. Every minute she was crying, "My child! my darling
Lucy! Just when thy little arms were so gently caressing me, and thy angelic
kisses were so sweet on my lips, I have slaughtered thee! When thou wert
pressing me on thy loving heart and kissing me, I, thy drunken mother, gave
thee the death-blow! My hands are reddened with thy blood! My breast is covered
with thy brains! Oh! for God's sake, my dear husband, take my life. I cannot
consent to live a day longer! Dear Father Chiniquy, give me a knife that I may
mingle my blood with the blood of my child! Oh that I could be buried in the
same grave with her!"
In vain I tried to speak to her of the mercies of God towards sinners; she
would not listen to anything I could say; she was absolutely deaf to my voice.
At about ten o'clock she had a most terrible fit of anguish and terror. Though
we were four men to keep her quiet, she was stronger than we all. She was
strong as a giant. She slipped from our hands and ran to the room where the dear
child was lying in her cradle. Grasping the cold body in her hands, she tore
the bands of white linen which had been put round the head to cover the
horrible wound, and with cries of desolation she pressed her lips, her cheeks,
her very eyes on the horrible gap from which the brain and blood were oozing,
as if wanting to heal it and recall the poor dear one to life.
"My darling, my beloved, my own dear Lucy," she cried, "open
they eyes look again at thy mother! Give me a kiss! Press me again to thy bosom!
But thine eyes are shut! thy lips are cold! Thou dost not smile on me any
longer! Thou art dead, and I, thy mother, have slaughtered thee! Canst thou
forgive me thy death? Canst thou ask Jesus Christ, our Saviour, to forgive me?
Canst thou ask the blessed Virgin Mary to pray for me? Will I never see thee
again? Ah, no! I am lost I am damned! I am a drunken mother who has murdered
her own darling Lucy! There is no mercy for the drunken mother, the murderess
of her own child."
And when speaking thus to her child she was sometimes kneeling down, then
running around the room as if flying before a phantom.
But even then she was constantly pressing the motionless body to her bosom or
convulsively passing her lips and cheeks over the horrible wound, so that her
lips, her whole face, her breast and hands were literally besmeared with the
blood flowing from the wound. I will not say that we were all weeping and
crying, for the words "weeping and crying" cannot express the
desolation the horror we felt. At about eleven o'clock, when on her knees,
clasping her child to her bosom, she lifted her eyes towards me, and said;
"Dear Father Chiniquy, why is it that I have not followed your charitable
advice when, still more with your tears than with words, you tried so often to
persuade me to give up the use of those cursed intoxicating wines? How many
times you have given me the very words which come from heaven: 'Wine is a
mocker; it bites as a serpent, and stings as an adder!' How many times, in the
name of my dear child, in the name of my dear husband, in the name of God, you
have asked me to give up the use of those cursed drinks! But listen now to my
prayer. Go all over Canada; tell all the fathers never to put any intoxicating
drink before the eyes of their children. It was at my father's table that I
first learned to drink that wine which I will curse during all eternity! Tell
all the mothers never to taste these abominable drinks. It was my mother who
first taught me to drink that wine which I will curse as long as God is!
"Take the blood of my child, and go redden with it the top of the doors of
every house in Canada, and say to all those who dwell in those houses that that
blood was shed by the hand of a murderess mother when drunk. With that blood
write on the walls of every house in Canada that 'wine is a mocker.' Tell the
French Canadians how, on the dead body of my child, I have cursed that wine
which has made me so wretchedly miserable and guilty."
She then stopped, as if to breathe a little for a few minutes. She added:
"In the name of God, tell me, can my child forgive me her death? Can she
ask God to look upon me with mercy? Can she cause the blessed Virgin Mary to
pray for me and obtain my pardon?"
Before I could answer, she horrified us by the cries, "I am lost! When
drunk I killed my child! Cursed wine!"
And she fell a corpse on the floor. Torrents of blood were flowing from her
mouth on her dead child, which she was pressing to her bosom even after her
death!
That terrible drama was never revealed to the people of Quebec. The coroner's
verdict was that the child's death was accidental, and that the distressed
mother died from a broken heart six hours after. Two days later the unfortunate
mother was buried, with the body of her child clasped in her arms.
After such a terrible storm I was in need of solitude and rest, but above
everything I was in need of praying. I shut myself in my little room for two
days, and there, alone, in the presence of God, I meditated on the terrible
justice and retribution which He had called me to witness. That unfortunate
woman had not only been my penitent: she had been, with her husband, among my
dearest and most devoted friends. It was only lately that she had become a
slave to drunkenness. Before that, her piety and sense of honour were of the
most exalted kind known in the Church of Rome. Her last words were not the
commonplace expressions which ordinary sinners proffer at the approach of
death; her words had a solemnity for me which almost transformed them into
oracles of God in my mind. Each of them sounded in my ears as if an angel of
God had touched the thousand strings of my soul, to call my attention to a
message from heaven. Sometimes they resembled the terrible voice of thunder;
and again it seemed as if a seraph, with his golden harp, were singing them in
my ears, that I might prepare to fight faithfully for the Lord against His
gigantic enemy, alcohol.
In the middle of that memorable night, when the darkness was most profound and
the stillness fearful, was I awake, was I sleeping? I do not know. But I saw a
calm, beautiful, and cherished form of my dear mother standing by me, holding
by the hand the late murderess, still covered with the blood of her child. Yes!
my beloved mother was standing before me; and she said, with power and
authority which engraved every one of her words on my soul, as if written with
letters of tears, blood, and fire: "Go all over Canada; tell every father
of a family never to put any intoxicating drink before his children. Tell all
the mothers never to take a drop of those cursed wines and drinks. Tell the
whole people of Canada never to touch nor look at the poisoned cup, filled with
those cursed intoxicating drinks. And thou, my beloved son, give up for ever
the use of those detestable beverages, which are cursed to hell, in heaven, and
on earth. It bites like a serpent; it stings like an adder."
When the sound of that voice, so sweet and powerful, was hushed, and my soul
had ceased seeing that strange vision of the night, I remained for some time
exceedingly agitated and troubled. I said to myself, "Is it possible that
the terrible things I have seen and heard these last few days will destroy my
mind, and send me to the lunatic asylum?"
I had hardly been able to take any sleep or food for the last three days and
nights, and I seriously feared lest the weakness of my body would cause me to
lose my reason. I then threw myself on my knees to weep and pray. This did me
good. I soon felt myself stronger and calmer.
Raising again my mind to God, I said: "O my God, let me know Thy holy
will, and grant me the grace to do it. Do the voices I have just heard come
from Thee? Hast Thou really sent one of the angels of Thy mercy, under the form
of my beloved mother? or is all this nothing but the vain dreams of my
distressed mind?
"Is it Thy will, O my God, that I should go and tell my country what Thou
hast so providentially taught me of the horrible and unsuspected injuries which
wine and strong drink cause to the bodies as well as the souls of men? Or is it
Thy will that I should conceal from the eyes of the world the wonderful things
Thou has made known to me, and that I might bury them with me in my
grave?"
As quick as lightning the answer was suggested to me. "What I have taught
thee in secret, go and tell it to the housetops!" Overwhelmed with an
unspeakable emotion, and my heart filled with a power which was not mine, I
raised my hands towards heaven and said to my God:
"For my dear Saviour Jesus' sake, and for the good of my country, O my God,
I promise that I will never make any use of intoxicating drinks; I will,
moreover, do all in my power to persuade the other priests and the people to
make the same sacrifice?"
Fifty years have passed since I took that pledge, and, thanks be to God, I have
kept it.
For the next two years I was the only priest in Canada who abstained from the
use of wine and other intoxicating drinks; and God only knows what I had to
suffer all that time what sneers, and rebukes and insults of every kind I had
silently to bear! How many times the epithets of fanatic, hypocrite, reformer,
half-heretic, have been whispered into my ear, not only by the priests, but
also by the bishops. But I was sure that my God knew the motives of my actions,
and by His grace I remained calm and patient. In His infinite mercy He has
looked down upon His unprofitable servant and has taken his part. He had
Himself chosen the day when I saw those same priests and bishops, at the head
of their people, receiving the pledge and blessing of temperance from my hands.
Those very bishops who had unanimously, at first, condemned me, soon invited
the first citizens of their cities to present me with a golden medal, as a
token of their esteem, after giving me, officially, the title of "Apostle
of Temperance of Canada." The Governor and the two Chambers of Parliament
of Canada voted me public thanks in 1851, and presented me $500 as a public
testimony of their kind feeling for what had been done in the cause of
temperance. It was the will of my God that I should see, with my own eyes, my
dear Canada taking the pledge of temperance and giving up the use of
intoxicating drinks. How many tears were dried in those days! Thousands and
thousands of broken hearts were consoled and filled with joy. Happiness and abundance
reigned in many once desolate homes, and the name of our merciful God was
blessed everywhere in my beloved country. Surely this was not the work of poor
Chiniquy!
It was the Lord's work, for the Lord, who is wonderful in all His doings, had
once more chosen the weakest instrument to show His mercy towards the children
of men. He has called the most unprofitable of His servants to do the greatest
work of reform Canada has ever seen, that the praise and glory might be given
to Him, and Him alone!
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CHAPTER 29 Back to Top
"Out
of the Church of Rome there is no salvation," is one of the doctrines
which the priests of Rome have to believe and teach to the people. That dogma, once
accepted, caused me to devote all my energies to the conversion of Protestants.
To prevent one of those immortal and precious souls from going into hell seemed
to me more important and glorious than the conquest of a kingdom. In view of
showing them their errors, I filled my library with the best controversial
books which could be got in Quebec, and I studied the Holy Scriptures with the
utmost attention. In the Marine Hospital, as well as in my intercourse with the
people of the city, I had several occasions of meeting Protestants and talking
to them; but I found at once that, with very few exceptions, they avoided
speaking with me on religion. This distressed me. Having been told one day that
the Rev. Mr. Anthony Parent, superior of the Seminary of Quebec, had converted
several hundred Protestants during his long ministry, I went to ask him if this
were true. For answer he showed me the list of his converts, which numbered
more than two hundred, among whom were some of the most respectable English and
Scotch families of the city. I looked upon that list with amazement; and from
that day I considered him the most blessed priest of Canada. He was a perfect
gentleman in his manners, and was considered our best champion on all points of
controversy with Protestants. He could have been classed also among the
handsomest men in his time, had he not been so fat. But, when the high classes
called him by the respectable name of "Mr. Superior of the Seminary,"
the common people used to name him Pere Cocassier ("Cock-fighting
Father"), on account of his long-cherished habit of having the bravest and
strongest fighting-cocks of the country. In vain had the Rev. Mr. Renvoyze,
curate of the "Good St. Anne," that greatest miracle-working saint of
Canada, expended fabulous sums of money in ransacking the whole country to get
a cock who would take away the palm of victory from the hands of the Superior
of the Seminary of Quebec. He had almost invariably failed; with very few
exception his cocks had fallen bruised, bleeding, and dead on the many
battlefields chosen by those two priests. However, I feel happy in
acknowledging that, since the terrible epidemic of cholera, that cruel and
ignominious passe temps has been entirely given up by the Roman Catholic clergy
of this country. Playing cards and checkers is now the most usual way the
majority of curates and vicars have recourse to spend their long and many idle
hours, both of the week and Sabbath days.
After reading over and over again that long list of converts, I said to Mr.
Parent: "Please tell me how you have been able to persuade these
Protestant converts to consent to speak with you on the errors of their
religion. Many times I have tried to show the Protestants whom I met that they
would be lost if they do not submit to our holy church, but, with few
exceptions, they laughed at me as politely as possible, and turned the
conversation to other matters. You must have some secret way of attracting
their attention and winning their confidence. Would you not be kind enough to
give me that secret, that I may be able also to prevent some of those precious
souls from perishing?"
"You are right when you think that I have a secret to open the doors of
the Protestants, and conquer and tame their haughty minds," answered Mr.
Parent. "But that secret is of such a delicate nature, that I have never
revealed it to anybody except my confessor. Nevertheless, I see that you are so
in earnest for the conversion of Protestants, and I have such a confidence in
your discretion and honour, that for the sake of our holy church I consent to
give you my secret; only you must promise that you will never reveal it, during
my lifetime, to anybody and even after my death you will not mention it, except
when you are sure it is for the greatest glory of God. You know that I was the
most intimate friend your father ever had; I had no secret from him, and he had
none from me. But God knows that the friendly feelings and the confidence I had
in him are now bestowed upon you, his worthy son. If you had not in my heart
and esteem the same high position your father occupied, I would not trust you
with my secret."
He then continued: "The majority of Protestants in Quebec have Irish Roman
Catholic servant girls; these, particularly before the last few years, used to
come to confess to me, as I was almost the only priest who spoke English. The
first thing I used to ask them, when they were confessing, was if their masters
and mistresses were truly devoted and pious Protestants, or if they were
indifferent and cold in performing their duties. The second thing I wanted to
know was if they were on good terms with their ministers? whether or not they
were visited by them? From the answers of the girls I knew both the moral and
immoral, the religious or irreligious habits of their masters as perfectly as
if I had been an inmate of their households. It is thus that I learned that
many Protestants have no more religion and faith than our dogs. They awake in
the morning and go to bed at night without praying to God any more than the
horses in their stables. Many of them go to church on the Sabbath day more to
laugh at their ministers and criticize their sermons than for anything else. A
part of the week is passed in turning them into ridicule; nay, through the
confessions of these honest girls, I learned that many Protestants liked the
fine ceremonies of our Church; that they often favourably contrasted them with
the cold performances of their own, and expressed their views in glowing terms
about the superiority of our educational institutions, nunneries, ect., over
their own high schools or colleges. Besides, you know that a great number of
our most respectable and wealthy Protestants trust their daughters to our good
nuns for their education. I took notes of all these things, and formed my plans
of battle against Protestantism, as a general who knows his ground and weak
point of his adversaries, and I fought as a man who is sure of an easy victory.
The glorious result you have under your eyes is the proof that I was correct in
my plans. My first step with the Protestants whom I knew to be without any
religion, or even already well disposed towards us, was to go to them with
sometimes $5, or even $25, which I presented to them as being theirs. They, at
first, looked at me with amazement, as a being coming from a superior world.
The following conversation then almost invariable took place between them and
me:
"'Are you positive, sir, that this money is mine?'
"'Yes, sir,' I answered, 'I am certain that this money is yours.'
"'But,' they replied, 'please tell me how you know that it belongs to me?
It is the first time I have the honour of talking with you, and we are perfect
strangers to each other.'
"I answered: 'I cannot say, sir, how I know that this money is yours,
except by telling you that the person who deposited it in my hands for you has
given me your name and your address so correctly that there is no possibility
of any mistake.'
"'But can I not know the name of the one who has put that money into your
hands for me?' rejoined the Protestant.
"'No, sir; the secret of confession is inviolable,' I replied. 'We have no
example that it has ever been broken; and I, with every priest in our Church,
would prefer to die rather than betray our penitents and reveal their confession.
We cannot even act from what we have learned through their confession, except
at their own request.'
"'But this auricular confession must then be a most admirable thing,'
added the Protestant; 'I had no idea of it before this day.'
"'Yes, sir, auricular confession is a most admirable thing,' I used to
reply, 'because it is a divine institution. But, sir, please excuse me; my
ministry calls me to another place. I must take leave of you, to go where my
duty calls me.'
"'I am very sorry that you go so quickly,' generally answered the
Protestant. 'Can I have another visit from you? Please do me the honour of
coming again. I would be so happy to present you to my wife; and I know she
would be happy also, and much honoured to make your acquaintance.'
"'Yes, sir, I accept with gratitude your invitation. I will feel much
pleased and honoured to make the acquaintance of the family of a gentleman
whose praises are in the mouth of everyone, and whose industry and honesty are
an honour to our city. If you allow me, next week, at the same hour, I will
have the honour of presenting my respectful homage to your lady.'
"The very next day all the papers reported that Mr. So-and-So had received
$5, or $10, or even $25 as a restitution, through auricular confession, and
even the staunch Protestant editors of those papers could not find words
sufficiently eloquent to praise me and our sacrament of penance.
"Three or four days later I was sure that the faithful servant girls were
in the confessional box, glowing with joy to tell me that now their masters and
mistresses could not speak of anything else than the amiability and honesty of
the priests of Rome. They raised them a thousand miles over the heads of their
own ministers. From those pious girls they invariably learned that they had not
been visited by a single friend without making the eulogium of auricular
confession, and even sometimes expressing the regret that the reformers had
swept away such a useful institution.
"Now, my dear young friend, you see how, by the blessing of God, the
little sacrifice of a few pounds brought down and destroyed all the prejudices
of those poor heretics against auricular confession and our holy church in
general. You understand how the doors were opened to me, and how their hearts and
intelligences were like fields prepared to receive the good seed. At the
appointed hour I never failed from paying the requested visit, and I was
invariably received like a Messiah. Not only the gentlemen, but the ladies
overwhelmed me with marks of the most sincere gratitude and respect; even the
dear little children petted me, and threw their arms around my neck to give
their sweetly angelic kisses. The only topic on which we could speak, of
course, was the great good done by auricular confession. I easily showed them
how it words as a check to all the evil passions of the heart; how it is
admirably adapted to all the wants of the poor sinners, who find a friend, a
counselor, a guide, a father, a real saviour in their confessor.
"We had not talked half an hour in that way, when it was generally evident
to me that they were more than half way out of their Protestant errors. I very
seldom left those houses without being sure of a new, glorious victory for our
holy religion over its enemies. It is very seldom that I do not succeed in
bringing that family to our holy church before one or two years; and if I fail
from gaining the father or mother, I am nearly sure to persuade them to send
their daughters to our good nuns and their boys to our colleges, where they
sooner or later become our most devoted Catholics. So you see that the few
dollars I spend every year for that holy cause are the best investments ever
made. They do more to catch the Protestants of Quebec than the baits of the
fishermen do to secure the cod fishes of the Newfoundland banks."
In ending this last sentence, Mr. Parent filled his room with laughter.
I thanked him for these interesting details. But I told him: "Though I
cannot but admire your perfect skill and shrewdness in breaking the barriers
which prevent Protestants from understanding the divine institution of
auricular confession, will you allow me to ask you if you do not fear to be
guilty of an imposture and a gross imposition in the way you make them believe
that the money you hand they has come to you through auricular
confession?"
"I have not the least fear of that," promptly answered the old
priest, "for the good reason, that if you had paid attention to what I
have told you, you must acknowledge that I have not said positively that the
money was coming from auricular confession. If those Protestants have been
deceived, it is only due t their own want of a more perfect attention to what I
said. I know that there were things that I kept in my mind which would have
made them understand the matter in a very different way if I had said them. But
Liguori and all our theologians, among the most approved of our holy church,
tell us that these reservations of the mind (mentis reservationes) are allowed,
when they are for the good of souls and the glory of God."
"Yes," answered I, "I know that such is the doctrine of Liguori,
and it is approved by the popes. I must confess that this seems to me entirely
opposed to what we read in the sublime gospel. The simple and sublime 'Yea,
yea' and 'Nay, nay' of our Saviour seems to me in contradiction with the art of
deceiving, even when not saying absolute and direct falsehoods; and if I submit
myself to those doctrines, it is always with a secret protest in my inmost
soul."
In an angry manner, Mr. Parent replied: "Now, my dear young friend, I
understand the truth of what the Rev. Messrs. Perras and Bedard told me lately
about you. Though these remarkable priests are full of esteem for you, they see
a dark cloud on your horizon; they say that you spend too much time in reading
the Bible, and not enough in studying the doctrines and holy traditions of the
Church. You are too much inclined also to interpret the Word of God according
to your own fallible intelligence, instead of going to the Church alone for
that interpretation. This is the dangerous rock on which Luther and Calvin were
wrecked. Take my advice. Do not try to be wiser than the Church. Obey her voice
when she speaks to you through her holy theologians. This is your only
safeguard. The bishop would suspend you at once were he aware of your want of
faith in the Church."
These last words were said with such emphasis, that they seemed more like a
sentence of condemnation from the lips of an irritated judge than anything
else. I felt that I had again seriously compromised myself in his mind; and the
only way of preventing him from denouncing me to the bishop as a heretic and a
Protestant was to make an apology, and withdraw from the dangerous ground on
which I had again so imprudently put myself. He accepted my explanation, but I
saw that he bitterly regretted having trusted me with his secret. I withdrew
from his presence, much humiliated by my want of prudence and wisdom. However,
though I could not approve of all the modus operandi of the Superior of Quebec,
I could not but admire then the glorious results of his efforts in converting
Protestants; and I took the resolution of devoting myself more than ever to
show them their errors and make them good Catholics. In this I was too
successful; for during my twenty-five years of priesthood I have persuaded
ninety-three Protestants to give up their gospel light and truth in order to
follow the dark and lying traditions of Rome. I cannot enter into the details
of their conversions, or rather perversions; suffice to say that I soon found
that my only chance of success in that proselytizing work was among the
Ritualists. I saw at first that Calvin and Knox had dug a really impassable
abyss between the Presbyterians, Methodists, Baptists, and the Church of Rome.
If these Ritualists remain Protestants, and do not make the very short step
which separates them from Rome, it is a most astonishing fact, when they are
logical men. Some people are surprised that so many eminent and learned men, in
Great Britain and America, give up their Protestantism to submit to the Church
of Rome; but my wonder is that there are so few among them who fall into that
bottomless abyss of idolatry and folly, when they are their whole life on the
very brink of the chasm. Put millions of men on the very brink of the Falls of
Niagara, force them to cross to and from in small canoes between both shores,
and you will see that, every day, some of them will be dragged, in spite of
themselves, into the yawning abyss. Nay, you will see that, sooner or later,
those millions of people will be in danger of being dragged in a whole body, by
the irresistible force of the dashing waters, into the fathomless gulf. Through
a sublime effort the English people helped by the mighty and merciful hand of God,
has come out from the abyss of folly, impurity, ignorance, slavery, and
idolatry, called the Church of Rome. But many, alas! in the present day,
instead of marching up to the high regions of unsullied Gospel truth and light
instead of going up to the high mountains where true Christian simplicity and
liberty have for ever planted their glorious banners have been induced to walk
only a few steps out of the pestiferous regions of Popery. They have remained
so near the pestilential atmosphere of the stagnant waters of death which flow
from Rome, that the atmosphere they breathe is still filled with the deadly
emanations of that modern Sodom. Who, without shedding tears of sorrow, can
look at those misguided ministers of the Gospel who believe and teach in the
Episcopal Church that they have the power to make their God with a wafer, and
who bow down before that wafer God and adore him! Who can refrain from
indignation at the sight of so many Episcopal ministers who consent to have
their ears, minds, and souls polluted at the confessional by the stories of
their penitents, whom in their turn they destroy by their infamous and
unmentionable questions? When I was lecturing in England in 1860, the late
Archbishop of Canterbury, then Bishop of London, invited me to his table, in
company with Rev. Mr. Thomas, now Bishop of Goulburn, Australia, and put to me
the following questions, in the presence of his numerous and noble guests:-
"Father Chiniquy, when you left the Church of Rome, why did you not join
the Episcopalian rather than the Presbyterian Church?"
I answered: "Is it the desire of your lordship that I should speak my mind
on that delicate subject?"
"Yes, yes," said the noble lord bishop.
"Then, my lord, I must tell you that my only reason is that I find in your
Church several doctrines which I have to condemn in the Church of Rome."
"How is that?" replied his lordship.
"Please," I answered, "let me have one of your Common Prayer
Books."
Taking the book, I read slowly the article on the visitation of the sick:
"Here shall the sick person be moved to make a special confession of his
sins, if he feel his conscience troubled with any weighty matter. After which
confession the priest shall absolve him if he humbly and heartily desire it
after this sort: 'Our Lord Jesus Christ, who hath left power to His Church to
absolve all sinners who repent and believe in Him, of His great mercy forgive
thee thine offenses: and, by His authority committed to me, I absolve thee from
all thy sins, in the name of the Father and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.
Amen.'" I then added: "Now, my Lord, where is the difference between
the errors of Rome and your Church on this subject?"
"The difference is very great," he answered. "The Church of Rome
is constantly pressing the sinners to come to her priests all their lifetime,
when we subject the sinner to this humiliation only once in his life, when he
is near his last hour."
"But, my lord, let me tell you that it seems to me the Church of Rome is
much more logical and consistent in this than the Episcopal Church. Both
churches believe and teach that they have received from Christ the power to
forgive the sins of those who confess to their priests, and you think yourself
wiser because you invite the sinner to confess and receive His pardon only when
he is tied to a bed of suffering, at the last hour before his death. But will
your lordship be kind enough to tell me when I am in danger of death? If I am
constantly in danger of death, must you not, with the Church of Rome, induce me
constantly to confess to your priests, and get my pardon and make my peace with
God? Has our Saviour said anywhere that it was only for the dying, at the last
extremity of life, that He gave the power to forgive my sins? Has He not warned
me many times to be always ready; to have always our peace made with God, and
not to wait till the last day, to the last hour?" The noble bishop did not
think fit to give me any other answer than these very words: "We all agree
that this doctrine ought never to have been put in our Common Prayer Book. But
you know that we are at work to revise that book, and we hope that this clause,
with several others, will be taken away."
"Then," I answered in a jocose way, "my lord, when this
obnoxious clause has been removed from your Common Prayer Book it will be time
for me to have the honour of belonging to your great and noble Church."
When the Church of England went out of the Church of Rome, she did as Rachel,
the wife of Jacob, who left the house of her father Laban and took his gods
with her. So the Episcopal Church of England, unfortunately, when she left
Rome, concealed in the folds of her mantle some of the false gods of Rome; she
kept to her bosom some vipers engendered in the marshes of the modern Sodom.
Those vipers, if not soon destroyed, will kill her. They are already eating up
her vitals. They are covering her with most ugly and mortal wounds. They are
rapidly taking away her life. May the Holy Ghost rebaptize and purify that
noble Church of England, that she may be worthy to march at the head of the
armies of the Lord to the conquest of the world, under the banners of the great
Captain of our Salvation.
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CHAPTER 30 Back to Top
The
three years which followed the cholera will be long remembered in Quebec for
the number of audacious thefts and the murders which kept the whole population
in constant terror. Almost every week the public press had to give us the
account of the robbery of the houses of some of our rich merchants or old
wealthy widows.
Many times the blood was chilled in our veins by the cruel and savage
assassinations which had been committed by the thieves when resistance had been
offered. The number of these crimes, the audacity with which they were
perpetrated, the ability with which the guilty parties escaped from all the
researches of the police, indicated that they were well organized, and had a
leader of uncommon shrewdness.
But in the eyes of the religious population of Quebec, the thefts of the 10th
February, 1835, surpassed all the others by its sacrilegious character. That
night the chapel dedicated to the blessed Virgin Mary was entered, a silver
statue of the Virgin the gift of the King of France a massive lamp, a silver
candlestick, and the silver vases which contained the bread which the Roman
Catholics believe to be the body, blood, and divinity of Jesus Christ, were
stolen, and the holy sacrament impiously thrown and scattered on the floor.
Nothing can express the horror and indignation of the whole Catholic population
at this last outrage. Large sums of money were offered in order that the
brigands might be detected. At last five of them Chambers, Mathieu, Gagnon,
Waterworth, and Lemonie, were caught in 1836, tried, found guilty, and
condemned to death in the month of March, 1837.
During the trial, and when public attention was most intensely fixed on its
different aspects, in a damp, chilly, dark night, I was called to visit a sick
man. I was soon ready, and asked the name of the sick from the messenger. He
answered that it was Francis Oregon. As a matter of course, I said that the
sick man was a perfect stranger to me, and that I had never heard that there
was even such a man in the world. But when I was near the carriage which was to
take me, I was not a little surprised to see that the first messenger left
abruptly and disappeared. Looking with attention, then, at the faces of the two
men who had come for me in the carriage, it seemed that they both wore masks.
"What does this mean?" I said; "each of you wear a mask. Do you
mean to murder me?"
"Dear Father Chiniquy," answered one of them, in a low, trembling
voice, and in a supplicating tone, "fear not. We swear before God that no
evil will be done to you. On the contrary, God and man will, to the end of the
world, praise and bless you if you come to our help and save our souls, as well
as our mortal bodies. We have in our hands a great part of the silver articles
stolen these last three years. The police are on our track, and we are in great
danger of being caught. For God's sake come with us. We will put all those
stolen things in your hands, that you may give them back to those who have lost
them. We will then immediately leave the country, and lead a better life. We
are Protestants, and the Bible tell us that we cannot be saved if we keep in
our hands what is not ours. You do not know us, but we know you well. You are
the only man in Quebec to whom we can so trust our lives and this terrible
secret. We have worn these masks that you may not know us, and that you may not
be compromised if you are ever called before a court of justice."
My first thought was to leave them and run back to the door of the parsonage;
but such an act of cowardice seemed to me, after a moment's reflection,
unworthy of a man. I said to myself, these two men cannot come to steal from
me: it is well known in Quebec that I keep myself as poor as a church mouse, by
giving all I have to the poor. I have never offended any man in my life, that I
know. They cannot come to punish or murder me. They are Protestants, and they
trust me. Well, well, they will not regret to have put their trust in a
Catholic priest."
I then answered them: "what you ask from me is of a very delicate, and
even dangerous nature. Before I do it, I want to take the advice of one whom I
consider the wisest man of Quebec the old Rev. Mr. Demars, expresident of the
seminary of Quebec. Please drive me as quickly as possible to the seminary. If
that venerable man advises me to go with you I will go; but I cannot promise to
grant you your request if he tells me not to go."
"All right," they both said, and in a very short time I was knocking
at the door of the seminary. A few moments after I was alone in the room of Mr.
Demars. It was just half-past twelve at night.
"Our little Father Chiniquy here on this dark night, at half-past twelve!
What does this mean? What do you want from me?" said the venerable old
priest.
"I come to ask your advice," I answered, "on a very strange
thing. Two Protestant thieves have in their hands a great quantity of the
silver ware stolen these last three years. They want to deposit them in my
hands, that I may give them back to those from whom they have been stolen,
before they leave the country and lead a better life. I cannot know them, for
they both wear masks. I cannot even know where they take me, for the carriage
is so completely wrapped up by curtains that it is impossible to see outside.
Now, my dear Mr. Demars, I come to ask your advice. Shall I go with them or
not? But remember that I trust you with these things under the seal of
confession, that neither you nor I may be compromised."
Before answering me the venerable priest said: "I am very old, but I have
never heard of such a strange thing in my life. Are you not afraid to go alone
with these two thieves in that covered carriage?"
"No, sir," I answered; "I do not see any reason to fear anything
from these two men."
"Well! well," rejoined Mr. Demars, "If you are not afraid under
such circumstances, your mother has given you a brain of diamond and nerves of
steel."
"Now, my dear sir," I answered, "time flies, and I may have a
long way to travel with these two men. Please, in the shortest possible way,
tell me your mind? Do you advise me to go with them?"
He replied, "You consult me on a very difficult matter; there are so many
considerations to make, that it is impossible to weigh them all. The only thing
we have to do is to pray God and His Holy Mother for wisdom. Let us pray."
We knelt and said the "Veni Sancte Spiritus;" "Come Holy
Spirit," ect., which prayer ends by an invocation to Mary as Mother of
God.
After the prayer Mr. Demars again asked me: "Are you not afraid?"
"No, sir, I do not see any reason to be afraid. But, please, for God's
sake, hurry on, tell me if you advise me to go and accept this message of mercy
and peace."
"Yes! go! go! If you are not afraid," answered the old priest, with a
voice full of emotion, and tears in his eyes.
I fell on my knees and said, "Before I start, please, give me your
blessing, and pray for me, when I shall be on the way to that strange, but, I
hope, good work."
I left the seminary and took my seat at the right hand of one of my unknown
companions, while the other was on the front seat driving the horse.
Not a word was said by any of us on the way. But I perceived that the stranger
who was at my left, was praying to God; though in such a low voice that I
understood only these words twice repeated: "O Lord! have mercy upon me
such a sinner!" These words touched me to the heart, and brought to my
mind the dear Saviour's words: "The publicans and harlots shall go into
the kingdom of God before you," and I also prayed for that poor repenting
sinner and for myself, by repeating the sublime 50th psalm:
"Have mercy upon me, O Lord!"
It took about half an hour to reach the house. But, there, again, it was
impossible for me to understand where I was. For the carriage was brought so
near the door that there was no possibility of seeing anything beyond the
carriage and the house through the terrible darkness of that night.
The only person I saw, when in the house, was a tall woman covered with a long
black veil, whom I took to be a disguised man, on account of her size and her
strength; for she was carrying very heavy bags with as much ease as if they had
been a handful of straw.
There was only a small candle behind a screen, which gave so little light that
everything looked like phantoms around us. Pictures and mirrors were all turned
to the wall, and presented the wrong side to view. The sofa and the chairs were
also upset in such a way that it was impossible to identify anything of what I
had seen. In fact, I could see nothing in that house. Not a word was said,
except by one of my companions, who whispered in a very low voice,
"Please, look at the tickets which are on every bundle; they will indicate
to whom these things belong."
There were eight bundles.The heaviest of which was composed of the melted
silver of the statue of the virgin, the candlesticks, the lamp of the chapel,
the ciborium, a couple of chalices, and some dozens of spoons and forks. The
other bundles were made up of silver plates, fruit baskets, tea, coffee, cream
and sugar pots, silver spoons and forks, ect.
As soon as these bundles were put into the carriage we left for the parsonage,
where we arrived a little before the dawn of day. Not a word was exchanged
between us on the way, and my impression was, that my penitent companions were
sending their silent prayers, like myself, to the feet of that merciful God who
has said to all sinners, "Come unto Me, all ye who are heavy laden, and I
will give you rest."
They carried the bundles into my trunk, which I locked with peculiar attention.
When all was over I accompanied them to the door to take leave of them. Then,
each seizing one of my hands, by a spontaneous movement of gratitude and joy,
they pressed them on their lips, shedding tears, and saying in a low voice:
"God bless you a thousand times for the good work you have just performed.
After Christ, you are our saviour."
As these two men were speaking, it pleased God to send forth into my soul one
of those rays of happiness which He gives us only at great intervals.
I believe our fragile existence would soon be broken up were we by such joys
incessantly inundated. These two men had ceased to be robbers in my eyes. They
were dear brethren, precious friends, such as are seldom to be seen. The narrow
and shameful prejudices of my religion were silent before the fervent prayers
that I had heard from their lips; they disappeared in those tears of
repentance, gratitude and love, which fell from their eyes on my hands. Night
surrounded us with its deepest shades; but our souls were illuminated by a
light purer than the rays of the sun. The air that we breathed was cold and
damp; but one of these sparks brought down from heaven by Jesus to warm the
earth, had fallen into our hearts, and we were all penetrated by its glow. I
pressed their hands in mine, saying to them:
"I thank and bless you for choosing me as the confident of your
misfortunes and repentance. To you I owe three of the most precious hours of my
life. Adieu! We shall see one another no more on this earth; but we shall meet
in heaven. Adieu!"
It is unnecessary to add that it was impossible to sleep the remainder of that
memorable night. Besides, I had in my possession more stolen articles than
would have caused fifty men to be hanged. I said to myself: "What would
become of me if the police were to break in on me, and find all that I have in
my hands. What could I answer if I were asked, how all these had reached
me?"
Did I not go beyond the bounds of prudence in what I have just done? Have I
not, indeed, slipped a rope around my neck?
Though my conscience did not reproach me with anything, especially when I had
acted on the advice of a man as wise as Mr. Demars, yet was I not without some
anxiety, and I longed to get rid of all the things I had by giving them to
their legitimate owners.
At ten o'clock in the morning I was at Mr. Amiot's, the wealthiest goldsmith of
Quebec, with my heavy satchel of melted silver. After obtaining from him the
promise of secrecy, I handed it over to him, giving him at the same time its
history. I asked him to weigh it, keep its contents, and let me have its value,
which I was to distribute according to its label.
He told me that there was in it a thousand dollars worth of melted silver,
which amount he immediately gave me. I went down directly to give about half of
it to Rev. Mr. Cazeault, chaplain of the congregation which had been robbed,
and who was then the secretary of the Archbishop of Quebec; and I distributed
the remainder to the parties indicated on the labels attached to this enormous
ingot.
The good Lady Montgomery could scarcely believe her eyes when, after obtaining
also from her the promise of the most inviolable secrecy on what I was going to
show her, I displayed on her table the magnificent dishes of massive silver,
fruit baskets, tea and coffee pots, sugar bowls, cream jugs, and a great
quantity of spoons and forks of the finest silver, which had been taken from
her in 1835. It seemed to her a dream which brought before her eyes these
precious family relics.
She then related in a most touching manner what a terrible moment she had
passed, when the thieves, having seized her, with her maid and a young man,
rolled them in carpets to stifle their cries, whilst they were breaking locks,
opening chests and cupboards to carry off their rich contents. She had told me
how nearly she had been stifled with her faithful servants under the enormous
weight of carpets heaped upon them by the robbers.
This excellent lady was a Protestant, and it was the first time in my life that
I met a Protestant whose piety seemed so enlightened and sincere. I could not
help admiring her.
When she had most sincerely thanked and blessed me for the service I had done
for her, she asked if I would have any objection to pray with her, and to aid
her in thanking God for the favour He had just shown her. I told her, I should
be happy in uniting with her to bless the Lord for His mercies. Upon this she
gave me a Bible, magnificently bound, and we read each in turn a verse, slowly
and on our knees the sublime Psalm 103: "Bless the Lord, O my soul," ect.
As I was about to take leave of her she offered me a purse containing one
hundred dollars in gold, which I refused, telling her that I would rather lose
my two hands than receive a cent for what I had done.
"You are," said she, "surrounded with poor people. Give them
this that I offer to the Lord as a feeble testimony of my gratitude, and be
assured that as long as I live I will pray God to pour His most abounding
favours upon you."
In leaving that house I could not hide from myself that my soul had been embalmed
with the true perfume of a piety that I had never seen in my own church.
Before the day closed I had given back to their rightful owners the effects
left in my hands, whose value amounted to more than 7,000 dollars, and had my
receipts in good form.
I am glad to say here, that the persons, most of whom were Protestants, to whom
I made these restitutions, were perfectly honourable, and that not a single one
of them ever said anything to compromise me in this matter, nor was I ever
troubled on this subject.
I thought it my duty to give my venerable friend, the Grand Vicar Demars, a
detailed account of what had just happened. He heard me with the deepest
interest, and could not retain his tears when I related the touching scene of
my separation from my two new friends that night, one of the darkest which,
nevertheless, has remained one of the brightest of my life.
My story ended, he said: "I am, indeed, very old, but I must confess that
never did I hear anything so strange and so beautiful as this story. I repeat,
however, that your mother must have given you a brain harder than diamond and
nerves more solid than brass, not to have been afraid during this very singular
adventure in the night."
After the fatigues and incidents of the last twenty-four hours, I was in great
need of rest, but it was impossible for me to sleep a single instant during the
night which followed. For the first time I stood face to face with that
Protestantism which my Church had taught me to hate and fight with all the
energy that heaven had bestowed on me, and when that faith had been, by the
hand of Almighty God, placed in the scale against my own religion, it appeared
to me as a heap of pure gold opposite a pile of rotten rags. In spite of
myself, I could hear incessantly the cries of grief of that penitent thief:
"Lord, have mercy on me, so great a sinner!"
Then, the sublime piety of Lady Montgomery, the blessings she had asked God to
pour on me, His unprofitable servant, seemed, as so many coals of fire heaped
upon my head by God, to punish me for having said so much evil of Protestants,
and so often decried their religion.
A secret voice arose within me: "Seest thou not how these Protestants,
whom thou wishest to crush with thy disdain, know how to pray, repent, and make
amends for their faults much more nobly than the unfortunate wretches whom thou
holdest as so many slaves at thy feet by means of the confessional?
"Understandest thou not that the Spirit of God, the grace and love of
Jesus Christ, produces effectually in the hearts and minds of these Protestants
a work much more durable than thy auricular confession? Compare the miserable
wiles of Mr. Parent, who makes false restitutions, to cast dust into the eyes
of the unsuspecting multitude, with the straightforwardness, noble sincerity,
and admirable wisdom of these Protestants, in making amends for their wrongs
before God and men, and judge for thyself which of those two religions raise,
in order to save, and which degrades, in order to destroy the guilty.
"Has ever auricular confession worked as efficiently on sinners as the
Bible on these thieves to change their hearts?
"Judge, this day, by their fruits, which of the two religions is led by
the spirit of darkness, or the Holy Ghost?"
Not wishing to condemn my religion, nor allow my heart to be attracted by
Protestantism during the long hours of that restless night, I remained anxious,
humiliated, and uneasy.
It is thus, O my God, that Thou madest use of everything, even these thieves,
to shake the wonderful fabric of errors, superstitions, and falsehoods that
Rome had raised in my soul. May Thy name be for ever blessed for Thy mercies
towards me, Thy unproffitable servant.
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 31 Back to Top
A
few days after the strange and providential night spent with the repentant
thieves, I received the following letter signed by Chambers and his unfortunate
criminal friends:
"Dear Father Chiniquy:We are condemned to death. Please come and help us
to meet our sentence as Christians."
I will not attempt to say what I felt when I entered the damp and dark cells
where the culprits were enchained. No human words can express those things.
Their tears and their sobs were going through my heart as a two-edged sword.
Only one of them had, at first, his eyes dried, and kept silent: Chambers, the
most guilty of all.
After the others had requested me to hear the confession of their sins, and
prepare them for death, Chambers said: "You know that I am a Protestant.
But I am married to a Roman Catholic, who is your penitent. You have persuaded
my two so dear sisters to give up their Protestantism and become Catholics. I
have many times desired to follow them. My criminal life alone has prevented me
from doing so. But now I am determined to do what I consider to be the will of
God in this important matter. Please, tell me what I must do to become a
Catholic."
I was a sincere Roman Catholic priest, believing that out of the Church of Rome
there was no salvation. The conversion of that great sinner seemed to me a
miracle of the grace of God; it was for me a happy distraction in the
desolation I felt in that dungeon.
I spent the next eight days in hearing their confessions, reading the lives of
some saints, with several chapters of the Bible, as the Seven Penitential
Psalms, the sufferings and death of Christ, the history of the Prodigal Son,
ect. And I instructed Chambers, as well as the shortness of the time allowed
me, in the faith of the Church of Rome. I usually entered the cells at about 9
a.m., and left them only at 9 p.m.
After I had spent much time in exhorting them, reading and praying, several
times, I asked them to tell me some of the details of the murders and thefts
they had committed, which might be to me as a lesson of human depravity, which
would help me when preaching on the natural corruption and malice of the human
heart, when once the fear and the love, or even the faith in God, were
completely set aside.
The facts I then heard very soon convinced me of the need we have of a
religion, and what would become of the world if the atheists could succeed in
sweeping away the notions of a future punishment after death, or the fear and
the love of God from among men.
When absolutely left to his own depravity, without any religion to stop him on
the rapid declivity of his uncontrollable passions, man is more cruel than the
wild beasts. The existence of society would be impossible without a religion
and a God to protect it.
Though I am in favour of liberty of conscience in its highest sense, I think that
the atheist ought to be punished like the murderer and the thief for his
doctrines tend to make a murderer and a thief of every man. No law, no society
is possible if there is no God to sanction and protect them.
But the more we were approaching the fatal day, when I had to go on the
scaffold with those unfortunate men, and to see them launched into eternity,
the more I felt horrified. The tears, the sobs, and the cries of those
unfortunate men had so melted my heart, my soul, and my strong nerves, they had
so subdued my unconquerable will, and that stern determination to do my duty at
any cost, which had been my character till then, that I was shaking from head
to feet, when thinking of that awful hour.
Besides that, my constant intercourse with those criminals these last few days,
their unbounded confidence in me, their gratitude for my devotedness to them,
their desolation, and their cries when speaking of their fathers or mothers,
wives or children, had filled my heart with a measure of sympathy which I would
vainly try to express. They were no more thieves and murderers to me, whose
bloody deeds had at first chilled the blood in my veins; they were the friends
of my bosom the beloved children whom cruel beasts had wounded. They were
dearer to me than my own life not only I felt happy to mix my tears with
theirs, and unite my ardent prayers to God for mercy with them, but I would
have felt happy to shed my blood in order to save their lives. As several of
them belonged to the most reputable families of Quebec and vicinity, I thought
I could easily interest the clergy and the most respectable citizens to sign a
petition to the governor, Lord Gosford, asking him to change their sentence of
death into one of perpetual exile to the distant penal colony of Botany Bay in
Australia. The governor was my friend. Colonel Vassal, who was my uncle, and
the adjutant-general of the militia of the whole country, had introduced me to
his Excellency, who many times had overloaded me with the marks of his interest
and kindness, and my hope was that he would not refuse me the favour I was to
ask him, when the petition would be signed by the Bishop, the Catholic priests,
the ministers of the different Protestant denominations of the city, and
hundreds of the principal citizens of Quebec. I presented the petition myself,
accompanied by the secretary of the Archbishop. But to my great distress the
Governor answered me that those men had committed so many murders, and kept the
country in terror for so many years, that it was absolutely necessary they
should be punished according to the sentence of the court. Who can tell the
desolation of those unfortunate men, when, with a voice choked by my sobs and
my tears, I told them that the governor had refused to grant the favour I had asked
him for them. They fell on the ground and filled their cells with cries which
would have broken the hardest heart. From those very cells we were hearing the
noise of the men who were preparing the scaffold where they were to be hanged
the next day. I tried to pray and read, but I was unable to do so. My
desolation was too great to utter a single word. I felt as if I were to be
hanged with them and to say the whole truth, I think I would have been glad to
hear that I was to be hanged the next day to save their lives. For there was a
fear in me, which was haunting me as a phantom from hell, the last three days.
It seemed that, in spite of all my efforts, prayers, confessions, absolutions,
and sacraments, these men were not converted, and that they were to be launched
into eternity with all their sins.
When I was comparing the calm and true repentance of the two thieves, with whom
I spent the night a few weeks before in the carriage, with the noisy
expressions of sorrow of those newly converted sinners, I could not help
finding an immeasurable distance between the first and second of those
penitents. No doubt had remained in my mind about the first, but I had serious
apprehensions about the last. Several circumstances, which it would be too long
and useless to mention here, were distressing me by the fear that all my
chaplets, indulgences, medals, scapulars, holy waters, signs of the cross,
prayers to the Virgin, auricular confession, absolutions, used in the
conversion of these sinners, had not the divine and perfect power of a simple
book to the dying Saviour on the cross. I was saying to myself with anxiety:
"Would it be possible that those Protestants, who were with me in the
carriage, had the true ways of repentance, pardon, peace, and life eternal in that
simple look to the great victim, and that we Roman Catholics with our signs of
the cross and holy waters, our crucifixes and prayers to the saints, our
scapulars and medals, our so humiliating auricular confession, were only
distracting the mind, the soul, and the heart of the sinner from the true and
only source of salvation, Christ!" In the midst of those distressing
thoughts I almost regretting having helped Chambers in giving up his
Protestantism for my Romanism.
At about 4 p.m. I made a supreme effort to shake off my desolation, and nerve
myself for the solemn duties God had entrusted to me. I put a few questions to
those desolated men, to see if they were really repentant and converted. Their
answers added to my fear that I had spoken too much of the virgins and the
saints, the indulgences, medals and scapulars, integrity of confession, and not
enough of Christ dying on the cross for them. It is true I had spoken of Christ
and His death to them, but this had been so much mixed up with exhortation to
trust in Mary, put their confidence in their medals, scapulars, confessions,
ect., that it became almost evident to me that in our religion Christ was like
a precious pearl lost in a mountain of sand and dust. This fear soon caused my
distress to be unbearable.
I then went to the private, neat little room, which the gaoler had kindly
allotted to me, and I fell on my knees to pray God for myself and for my poor
convicts. Though this prayer brought some calm to my mind, my distress was
still very great. It was then that the thought came again to my mind to go the
governor and make a new and supreme effort to have the sentence of death
changed into that of perpetual exile to Botany Bay, and without a moment of
delay I went to his palace.
It was about 7 p.m. when he reluctantly admitted me to his presence, telling
me, when shaking hands, "I hope, Mr. Chiniquy, you are not coming to renew
your request of the morning, for I cannot grant it."
Without a word to answer I fell on my knees, and for more than ten minutes I
spoke as I had never spoken before. I spoke as we speak when we are the
ambassadors of God in a message of mercy. I spoke with my lips. I spoke with my
tears. I spoke with my sobs and my cries. I spoke with my supplicating hands
lifted to heaven. For some time the governor was mute and as if stunned. He was
not only a noble-minded man, but he had a most tender, affectionate, and kind
heart. His tears soon began to flow with mine, and his sobs mixed with my sobs;
with a voice halfsuffocated by his emotion, he extended his friendly hand and
said:
"Father Chiniquy, you ask me a favour which I ought not to give, but I
cannot resist your arguments, when your tears, your sobs, and your cries are
like arrows which pierce and break my heart. I will give you the favour you
ask."
It was nearly 10 p.m. when I knocked at the door of the gaoler, asking his
permission to see my dear friends in their cells, to tell them that I had
obtained their pardon, that they would not die. That gentleman could hardly
believe me. It was only after reading twice the document I had in my hands that
he saw that I told him the truth.
Looking at that parchment again, he said: "Have you noticed that it is
covered and almost spoiled by the spots evidently made with the tears of the governor.
You must be a kind of sorcerer to have melted the heart of such a man, and have
wrenched from his hands the pardon of such convicts; for I know he was
absolutely unwilling to grant the pardon."
"I am not a sorcerer," I answered. "But you remember that our
Saviour Jesus Christ had said, somewhere, that He had brought a fire from
heaven well, it is evident that He has thrown some sparks of that fire into my
poor heart, for it was so fiercely burning when I was at the feet of the
governor, that I think I would have died at his feet, had he not granted me
that favour. No doubt that some sparks of that fire have also fallen on his
soul and in his heart when I was speaking, for his cries, his tears, and his
sobs were filling his room, and showing that he was suffering as much as
myself. It was that he might not be consumed by that fire that he granted my
request. I am now the most happy man under heaven. Please, make haste. Come
with me and open the cells of those unfortunate men that I may tell what our merciful
God has done for them." When entering their desolated cells I was unable
to contain myself; I cried out: "Rejoice and bless the Lord, my dear
friends! You will not die to-morrow!I bring you your pardon with me!"
Two of them fainted, and came very near dying from excess of surprise and joy.
The others, unable to contain their emotions, were crying and weeping for joy.
They threw their arms around me to press me to their bosom, kiss my hands and
cover them with their tears of joy. I knelt with them and thanked God, after
which I told them how they must promise to God to serve Him faithfully after
such a manifestation of His mercies. I read to them the 100th, 101st, 102nd,
and 103rd Psalms, and I left them after twelve o'clock at night to go and take some
rest. I was in need of it after a whole day of such work and emotions.
The next day I wanted to see my dear prisoners early, and I was with them
before 7 a. m. As the whole country had been glad to hear that they were to be
hanged that very day, the crowds were beginning to gather at that early hour to
witness the death of those great culprits. The feelings of indignation were
almost unmanageable when they heard that they were not to be hanged, but only
to be exiled for their life to Botany Bay. For a time it was feared that the
mob would break the doors of the gaol and lynch the culprits. Though very few
priests were more respected and loved by the people, they would have probably
torn me to pieces when they heard that it was I who had deprived the gibbet of
its victims that day. The chief of police had to take extraordinary measures to
prevent the wrath of the mob from doing mischief. He advised me not to show
myself for a few days in the streets.
More than a month passed before all the thieves and murderers in Canada, to the
number of about seventy, who had been sentenced to be exiled to Botany Bay,
could be gathered into the ship which was to take them into that distant land.
I thought it was my duty during that interval to visit my penitents in gaol
every day, and instruct them on the duties of the new life they were called
upon to live. When the day of their departure arrived I gave a Roman Catholic
New Testament, translated by De Sacy, to each of them to read and meditate on
their long and tedious journey, and I bade them adieu, recommending them to the
mercy of God, and the protection of the Virgin Mary and all the Saints. Some
months later I heard, that on the sea Chambers had broken his chains and those
of some of his companions, with the intention of taking possession of the ship,
and escaping on some distant shore. But he had been betrayed, and was hanged on
his arrival at Liverpool.
I had almost lost sight of those emotional days of my young years of
priesthood. Those facts were silently lying among the big piles of the daily
records which I had faithfully kept since the very days of my collegiate life
at Nicolet, when, in 1878, I was called by the grand English colony of
Australia, formerly known by me only as the penal colony of Botany Bay.
Some time after my arrival, when I was lecturing in one of the young and
thriving cities of that country, whose future destinies promise to be so great,
a rich carross, drawn by two splendid English horses, with two men in livery,
stopped before the house where I had put up for a few days. A venerable
gentleman alighted from the carriage and knocked at the door as I was looking
at him from the window. I went to the door, to save trouble to my host, and I
opened it. In saluting me, the stranger said: "Is Father Chiniquy
here?"
"Yes, sir," I answered. "Father Chiniquy is the guest of this
family."
"Could I have the honour of a few minutes' conversation with him?"
replied the old gentleman.
"As I am Father Chiniquy, I can at once answer you that I will feel much
pleasure in granting your request."
"Oh, dear Father Chiniquy," quickly replied the stranger, "is it
possible that it is you? Can I be absolutely alone with you for half an hour,
without any one to see and hear us?"
"Certainly," I said; "my comfortable rooms are upstairs, and I
am absolutely alone there.Please, sir, come and follow me."
When alone with me the stranger said:
"Do you not know me?"
"How can I know you, sir?" I answered. "I do not even remember
ever having seen you?"
"You have not only seen me, but you have heard the confession of my sins
many times; and you have spent many hours in the same room with me,"
replied the old gentleman.
"Please tell me where and when I have seen you, and also be kind enough to
give me your name; for all those things have escaped from my memory."
"Do you remember the murderer and thief, Chambers, who was condemned to
death in Quebec, in 1837, with eight of his accomplices?" asked the
stranger.
"Yes, sir; I remember well Chambers and the unfortunate men he was leading
in the ways of iniquity," I replied.
"Well, dear Father Chiniquy, I am one of the criminals who filled Canada
with terror for several years, and who were caught and rightly condemned to
death. When condemned, we selected you for our father confessor, with the hope
that through your influence we might escape the gallows; and we were not
disappointed. You obtained our pardon; the sentence of death was commuted into
a life of exile to Botany Bay. My name in Canada was A , but here they call me B
.God has blessed me since in many ways; but it is to you I owe my life, and all
the privileges of my present existence. After God, you are my saviour. I come
to thank and bless you for what you have done for me."
In saying that, he threw himself into my arms, pressed me to his heart, and
bathed my face and my hands with his tears of joy and gratitude.
But his joy did not exceed mine, and my surprise was equal to my joy to find
him apparently in such good circumstances. After I had knelt with him to thank
and bless God for what I had heard, I asked him to relate to me the details of
his strange and marvelous story. Here is a short resume of his answer:
"After you had given us your last benediction when on board the ship which
was to take us from Quebec to Botany Bay, the first thing I did was to open the
New Testament you had given me and the other culprits, with the advice to read
it with a praying heart. It was the first time in my life I had that book in my
hand. You were the only priest in Canada who would put such a book in the hands
of common people. But I must confess that its first reading did not do me much
good, for I read it more to amuse myself and satisfy my curiosity than through
any good and Christian motive. The only good I received from that first reading
was that I clearly understood, for the first time, why the priests of Rome fear
and hate that book, and why they take it out of the hands of their parishioners
when they hear that they have it. It was in vain that I looked for mass, indulgences,
chaplets, purgatory, auricular confession, Lent, holy water, the worship of
Mary, or prayers in an unknown tongue. I concluded from my first reading of the
Gospel that our priests were very wise to prevent us from reading a book which
was really demolishing our Roman Catholic Church, and felt surprised that you
had put in our hands a book which seemed to me so opposed to the belief and
practice of our religion as you taught it to us when in gaol, and my confidence
in your good judgment was much shaken. To tell you the truth, the first reading
of the Gospel went far to demolish my Roman Catholic faith, and to make a wreck
of the religion taught me by my parents and at the college, and even by you.
For a few weeks I became more of a skeptic than anything else. The only good
that first reading of the Holy Book did me was to give me more serious
thoughts, and prevent me from uniting myself to Chambers and his conspirators
in their foolish plot for taking possession of the ship and escaping to some
unknown and distant shore. He had been shrewd enough to conceal a very small
but exceedingly sharp saw between his toes before coming to the ship, with
which he had already cut the chains of eighteen of the prisoners, when he was
betrayed, and hanged on his arrival at Liverpool.
"But if my first reading of the Gospel did not do me much good, I cannot
say the same thing of the second. I remember that, when handing to us that holy
book, you had told us never to read it except after a fervent prayer to God for
help and light to understand it. I was really tired of my former life. In
giving up the fear and the love of God I had fallen into the deepest abyss of
human depravity and misery, till I had come very near ending my life on the
scaffold. I felt the need of a change. You had often repeated to us the words
of our Saviour, 'Come unto Me, all ye who are weary and heavy laden, and I will
give you rest;' but, with all the other priests, you had always mixed those
admirable and saving words with the invocation to Mary, the confidence in our
medals, scapulars, signs of the cross, holy waters, indulgences, auricular
confessions, that the sublime appeal of Christ had always been, as it always
will be, drowned in the Church of Rome by those absurd and impious
superstitions and practices.
"One morning, after I had spent a sleepless night, and feeling as pressed
down under the weight of my sins, I opened my Gospel book, after an ardent
prayer for light and guidance, and my eyes fell on these words of John,
'Behold, the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sin of the world!' (John i. 29).
These words fell upon my poor guilty soul with a divine, irresistible power.
With tears and cries of an unspeakable desolation I spent the day in crying, 'O
Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world, have mercy on me! Take away
my sins!' The day was not over when I felt and knew that my cries had been
heard at the mercyseat. The Lamb of God had taken away my sins! He had changed
my heart and made quite a new man of me. From that day the reading of the
Gospel was to my soul what bread is to the poor hungry man, and what pure and
refreshing waters are to the thirsty traveler. My joy, my unspeakable joy, was
to read the holy book and speak with my companions in chains of the dear
Saviour's love for the poor sinners; and, thanks be to God, a good number of
them have found Him altogether precious, having been sincerely converted in the
dark holes of that ship. When working hard at Sydney with the other culprits, I
felt my chains to be as light as feathers when I was sure that the heavy chains
of my sins were gone; and though working hard under a burning sun from morning
till night, I felt happy, and my heart was full of joy when I was sure that my
Saviour had prepared a throne for me in His kingdom, and that He had bought a
crown of eternal glory for me by dying on the cross to redeem my guilty soul.
"I had hardly spent a year in Australia, in the midst of the convicts,
when a minister of the Gospel, accompanied by another gentleman, came to me and
said: 'Your perfectly good behavoiur and your Christian life have attracted the
attention and admiration of the authorities, and the governor sends us to hand
you this document, which says that you are no more a criminal before the law,
but that you have your pardon, and you can live the life of an honourable
citizen, by continuing to walk in the ways of God.' After speaking so, the
gentleman put one hundred dollars in my hands, and added: 'Go and be a faithful
follower of the Lord Jesus, and God Almighty will bless you and make you
prosper in all your ways.' All this seemed to me as a dream or vision from
heaven. I would hardly believe my ears or my eyes. But it was not a dream, it
was a reality. My merciful Heavenly Father had again heard my humble supplications;
after having taken away the heavy chains of my sins, He had mercifully taken
away the chains which wounded my feet and my hands. I spent several days and
nights in weeping and crying for joy, and in blessing the God of my salvation,
Jesus the Redeemer of my soul and my body.
"Some years after that we heard of the discoveries of the rich gold mines
in several parts of Australia. "After having prayed God to guide me, I
bought a bag of hard crackers, a ham and cheese, and started for the mines in
company with several who were going, like myself, in search of gold. But I soon
preferred to be alone. For I wanted to pray and to be united to my God, even
when walking. After a long march, I reached a beautiful spot, between three
small hills, at the foot of which a little brook was running down towards the
plain below. The sun was scorching, there was no shade, and I was much tired, I
sat on a flat stone to take my dinner, and quenching my thirst with the water
of the brook, I was eating and blessing my God at the same time for His
mercies, when suddenly my eyes fell on a stone by the brook, which was about
the size of a goose egg. But the rays of the sun was dancing on the stone, as
if it had been a mirror. I went and picked it up. The stone was almost all gold
of the purest kind! It was almost enough to make me rich. I knelt to thank and
bless God for this new token of His mercy toward me, and I began to look around
and see if I would not find some new piece of the precious metal, and you may
imagine my joy when I found that the ground was not only literally covered with
pieces of gold of every size from half an inch to the smallest dimensions, but
that the very sand was in great part composed of gold. In a very short time it
was the will of God that I could carry to the bank particles of gold to the
value of several thousand pounds. I continued to cover myself with rags, and
have old boots on in order not to excite the suspicion of any one of the
fortune which I was accumulating so rapidly. When I had about $80,000 deposited
in the banks, a gentleman offered me $80,000 more for my claim, and I sold it.
The money was invested by me on a piece of land which soon became the site of
an important city, and I soon became one of the wealthy men of Australia. I then
begun to study hard and improve the little education I had received in Canada.
I married, and my God has made me father of several children. The people where
I settled with my fortune and wife, not knowing my antecedents, have raised me
to the first dignities of the place. Please, dear Mr. Chiniquy, come and take
dinner with me to-morrow, that I may show you my house and some of my other
properties, and also that I may introduce you to my wife and children. Let me
ask the favour not to make them suspect that you have known me in Canada, for
they think that I am an European." When telling me his marvelous
adventures, which I am obliged to condense and abridge, his voice was many
times choked by his emotion, his tears and sobs, and more than once he had to
stop. As for me, I was absolutely beside myself with admiration at the
mysterious ways through which God leads His elect in all ages. "Now, I
understood why my God had given me such a marvelous power over the Governor of
Canada when I wrenched your pardon from his hands almost in spite of
himself." I said: "That merciful God willed to save you, and you are
saved! May His name be for ever blessed."
The next day, it was my privilege to be with his family, at dinner. And never
in my life, have I seen a more happy mother, and a more interesting family. The
long table was actually surrounded by them. After dinner he showed me his
beautiful garden and his rich palace, after which, throwing himself into my
arms, he said: "Dear Father Chiniquy, all those things belong to you. It
is to you after God that I owe my wife, all the blessings of a large and
Christian family, and the honour of the high position I have in this country.
May the God of heaven for ever bless you for what you have done for me." I
answered him: "Dear friend, you owe me nothing, I have been nothing but a
feeble instrument of the mercies of God towards you. To that great merciful God
alone be the praise and the glory. Please ask your family to come here and join
with us in singing to the praise of God the 103rd Psalm." And we sang
together: "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me bless His
holy name. He hath not dealt with us after our sins; not rewarded us according
to our iniquities. For as the heaven is high above the earth, so great is His
mercy toward them that fear Him. As far as the east is from the west, so far
hath Here moved our transgressions from us. Like as a father pitieth his
children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him." After the singing of
that Psalm, I bade him adieu for the second time, never to meet him again
except in that Promised Land, where we shall sing the eternal Hallelujah around
the throne of the Lamb, who was slain for us, and who redeemed us in His blood.
.
.
.
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CHAPTER 32 Back to Top
The
merchant fleet of the Fall of 1836 has filled the Marine Hospital of Quebec
with the victims of a ship-typhoid fever of the worst kind, which soon turned
into an epidemic. Within the walls of that institution Mr. Glackmeyer, the
superintendent, with two of the attending doctors, and the majority of the
servants were swept away during the winter months.
I was, in the spring of 1837, almost the only one spared by that horrible pest.
In order not to spread terror among the citizens of Quebec, the physicians and
I had determined to keep that a secret. But, at the end of May, I was forced to
reveal it to Bishop Signaie, of Quebec; for I felt in my whole frame the first
symptoms of the merciless disease. I prepared myself to die, as very few who
had been attacked by it had escaped. I went to the bishop, told him the truth
about the epidemic, and requested him to appoint a priest immediately, as
chaplain in my place; for, I added, "I feel the poison running through my
veins, and it is very probable that I have not more than ten or twelve days to
live."
The young Mons. D. Estimanville was chosen, and though I felt very weak, I
thought it was my duty to initiate him in his new and perilous work. I took him
immediately to the hospital, where he never had been before, and when at a few
feet from the door, I said: "My young friend, it is my duty to tell you
that there is a dangerous epidemic raging in that house since last Fall,
nothing has been able to stop it. The superintendent, two physicians, and most
of the servants have been its victims. My escape till now is almost miraculous.
But these last ten hours I feel the poison running through my whole body. You
are called by God to take my place; but before you cross the threshold of that
hospital, you must make the generous sacrifice of your life; for you are going
on the battle-field from which only few have come out with their lives."
The young priest turned pale, and said, "Is it possible that such a deadly
epidemic is raging where you are taking me?" I answered, "Yes; my
dear young brother, it is a fact, and I consider it my duty to tell you not to
enter that house, if you are afraid to die!" A few minutes of silence
followed, and it was a solemn silence indeed! He then took his handkerchief and
wiped away some big drops of sweat which were rolling from his forehead on his
cheeks, and said: "Is there a more holy and desirable way of dying than in
ministering to the spiritual and temporal wants of my brethren? No! If it is
the will of God that I should fall when fighting at this post of danger, I am
ready. Let His holy will be done."
He followed me into the pestilential house with the heroic step of the soldier
who runs at the command of his general to storm an impregnable citadel when he
is sure to fall. It took me more than an hour to show him all the rooms, and
introduce him to the poor, sick, and dying mariners.
I felt then so exhausted that two friends had to support me on my return to the
parsonage of St. Roche. My physicians were immediately called (one of them, Dr.
Rosseau, is still living), and soon pronounced my case so dangerous that three
other physicians were called in consultation. For nine days I suffered the most
horrible tortures in my brains, and the very marrow of my bones, from the fever
which so devoured my flesh as to seemingly leave but the skin. On the ninth
day, the physicians told the bishop who had visited me, that there was no hope
of my recovery. The last sacraments were administered tome, and I prepared
myself to die, as taught by the Church of Rome. The tenth day I was absolutely
motionless, and not able to utter a word. My tongue was parched like a piece of
dry wood.
Through the terrible ravage on the whole system, my very eyes were so turned
inside their orbits, the white part only could be seen; no food could be taken
from the beginning of he sickness, except a few drops of cold water, which were
dropped through my teeth with much difficulty. But though all my physical
faculties seemed dead, my memory, intelligence, and soul were full of life, and
acting with more power than ever. Now and then, in the paroxysms of the fever,
I used to see awful visions. At one time, suspended by a thread at the top of a
high mountain, with my head down over a bottomless abyss; at another, surrounded
by merciless enemies, whose daggers and swords were plunged through my body.
But these were of short duration, though they have left such an impression on
my mind that I still remember the minutest details. Death had, at first, no
terror for me. I had done, to the best of my ability, all that my Church had
told me to do, to be saved. I had, every day, given my last cent to the poor,
fasted and done penance almost enough to kill myself; made my confessions with
the greatest care and sincerity; preached with such zeal and earnestness as to
fill the whole city with admiration.
My pharisaical virtues and holiness, in a word, were of such a glaring and
deceitful character, and my ecclesiastical superiors were so taken by them,
that they made the greatest efforts to persuade me to become the first Bishop
of Oregon and Vancouver.
One after the other, all the saints of heaven, beginning with the Holy Virgin
Mary, were invoked by me that they might pray God to look down upon me in mercy
and save my soul. On the thirteenth night, as the doctors were retiring, they
whispered to the Revs. Balillargeon and Parent, who were at my bedside:
"He is dead, or if not, he has only a few minutes to live. He is already
cold and breathless, and we cannot feel his pulse." Though these words had
been said in a very low tone, they fell upon my ears as a peal of thunder. The
two young priests, who were my devoted friends, filled the room with such cries
that the curate and the priest who had gone to rest, rushed to my room and mingled
their tears and cries with theirs.
The words of the doctor, "He is dead!" were ringing in my ears as the
voice of a hurricane. I suddenly saw that I was in danger of being buried
alive; no words can express the sense of horror I felt at that idea. A cold icy
wave began to move slowly, but it seemed to me, with irresistible force, from
the extremities of my feet and hands towards the heart, as the first symptoms
of approaching death. At that moment I made a great effort to see what hope I
might have of being saved, invoking the help of the blessed Virgin Mary. With
lightning rapidity, a terrible vision struck my mind; I saw all my good works
and penances, in which my Church had told me to trust for salvation, in the
balance of the justice of God. These were in one side of the scales, and my
sins on the other. My good works seemed only as a grain of sand compared with
the weight of my sins.*
This awful vision entirely destroyed my false and pharisaical security, and
filled my soul with an unspeakable terror. I could not cry to Jesus Christ, nor
to God, His Father, for mercy; for I sincerely believed what my Church had
taught me on that subject, that they were both angry with me on account of my
sins. With much anxiety I turned my thoughts, my soul, and hopes, towards St.
Anne and St. Philomene. The first was the object of my confidence, since the
first time I had seen the numberless crutches and other "Fx Votis"
which covered the church of "La Bonne St. Anne du Nord," and the
second was the saint a la mode. It was said that her body had lately been
miraculously discovered, and the world was filled with the noise of the
miracles wrought through her intercession. Her medals were on every breast, her
pictures in every house, and her name on all lips. With entire confidence in
the will and power of these two saints to obtain any favour for me, I invoked
them to pray God to grant me a few years more of life; and with the utmost
honesty of purpose, I promised to add to my penances, and to live a more holy
life, by consecrating myself with more zeal than ever to the service of the
poor and the sick. I added to my former prayer the solemn promise to have a
painting of the two saints put in St. Anne's Church, to proclaim to the end of
the world their great power in heaven, if they would obtain my cure and restore
my health. Strange to say! The last words of my prayer were scarcely uttered,
when I saw above my head St. Anne and St. Philomene sitting in the midst of a
great light, on a beautiful golden cloud. St. Anne was very old and grave, but
St. Philomene was very young and beautiful. Both were looking at me with great
kindness.
However, the kindness of St. Anne was mixed with such an air of awe and gravity
that I did not like her looks; while St. Philomene had such an expression of
superhuman love and kindness that I felt myself drawn to here by a magnetic
power, when she said, distinctly: "You will be cured," and the vision
disappeared.
But I was cured, perfectly cured! At the disappearance of the two saints, I
felt as though an electric shock went through my whole frame; the pains were
gone, the tongue was untied, the nerves were restored to their natural and
usual power; my eyes were opened, the cold and icy waves which were fast going
from the extremities to the regions of my heart, seemed to be changed into a
most pleasant warm bath, restoring life and strength to every part of my body.
I raised my head, stretched out my hands, which I had not moved for three days,
and looking around, I saw the four priests. I said to them: "I am cured,
please give me something to eat, I am hungry."
Astonished beyond measure, two of them threw their arms around my shoulders to
help me to sit a moment, and change my pillow; when two others ran to the
table, which the kind nuns of Quebec had covered with delicacies in case I
might want them. Their joy was mixed with fear, for they all confessed to me
afterwards that they had at once thought that all this was nothing but the last
brilliant flash of light which the flickering lamp gives before dying away. But
they soon changed their minds when they saw that I was eating ravenously, and
that I was speaking to them and thanking God with a cheerful, though very
feeble voice. "What does this mean?" they all said. "The doctors
told us last evening that you were dead; and we have passed the night not only
weeping over your death, but praying for your soul, to rescue it from the
flames of purgatory, and now you look so hungry, so cheerful and well."
I answered: "It means that I was not dead, but very near dying, and when I
felt that I was to die, I prayed to St. Anne and St. Philomene to come to my
help and cure me; and they have come. I have seen them both, there above my
head. Ah! if I were a painter, what a beautiful picture I could make of that
dear old St. Anne and the still dearer Philomene! for it is St. Philomene who
has spoken to me as the messenger of the mercies of God. I have promised to
have their portraits painted and put into the church of The Good St. Anne du
Nord."
While I was speaking thus, the priests, filled with admiration and awe, were
mute; they could not speak except with tears of gratitude. They honestly
believed with me that my cure was miraculous, and consented with pleasure to
sing that beautiful hymn of gratitude, the "Te Deum."
The next morning, the news of my miraculous cure spread through the whole city
with the rapidity of lightning, for besides a good number of the first citizens
of Quebec who were related to me by blood, I had not less than 1,800 penitents
who loved and respected me as their spiritual father.
To give an idea of the kind of interest of the numberless friends whom God had
given me when in Quebec, I will relate a single fact. The citizens who were
near our parsonage, having been told, by a physician, that the inflammation of
my brain was so terrible that the least noise, even the passing of carriages or
the walking of horses on the streets, was causing me real torture, they
immediately covered all the surrounding streets with several inches of straw to
prevent the possibility of any more noise.
The physicians, having heard of my sudden cure, hastened to come and see what
it meant. At first, they could scarcely believe their eyes. The night before
they had given me up for dead, after thirteen days' suffering with the most
horrible and incurable of diseases! And, there I was, the very next morning,
perfectly cured! No more pain, not the least remnant of fever, all the
faculties of my body and mind perfectly restored! They minutely asked me all
the circumstances connected with that strange, unexpected cure; and I told them
simply but plainly, how, at the very moment I expected to die, I had fervently
prayed to St. Anne and St. Philomene, and how they had come, spoken to me and
cured me. Two of my physicians were Roman Catholics, and three Protestants.
They at first looked at each other without saying a word. It was evident they
were not all partakers of my strong faith in the power of the two saints. While
the Roman Catholic doctors, Messrs. Parent and Rousseau, seemed to believe in
my miraculous cure, the Protestants energetically protested against that view
in the name of science and common sense.
Dr. Douglas put me the following questions, and received the following answers.
He said:
"Dear Father Chiniquy, you know you have not a more devoted friend in
Quebec than I, and you know me too well to suspect that I want to hurt your
religious feelings when I tell you that there is not the least appearance of a
miracle in your so happy and sudden cure. If you will be kind enough to answer
my questions, you will see that you are mistaken in attributing to a miracle a
thing which is most common and natural. Though you are perfectly cured, you are
very weak; please answer only 'yes' or 'no' to my questions, in order not to
exhaust yourself. Will you be so kind as to tell us if this is the first vision
you have had during the period of that terrible fever?"
Ans. "I have had many other visions, but I took them as being the effect
of the fever."
Doctor. "Please make your answers shorter, or else I will not ask you
another question, for it would hurt you. Tell us simply, if you have not seen
in those visions, at times, very frightful and terrible, and at others, very
beautiful things."
Ans. "Yes, sir."
Doctor. "Have not those visions stamped themselves on your mind with such
a power and vividness that you never forget them, and that you deem them more
realities than mere visions of a sickly brain?"
Ans. "Yes, sir."
Doctor. "Did you not feel sometimes much worse, and sometimes much better
after those visions, according to their nature?"
Ans. "Yes, sir."
Doctor. "When at ease in your mind during that disease, were you not used
to pray to the saints, particularly to St. Anne and St. Philomene."
Ans. "Yes, sir."
Doctor. "When you considered that death was very near (and it was indeed)
when you had heard my imprudent sentence that you had only a few minutes to
live, were you not taken suddenly, by such a fear of death as you never felt
before?"
Ans. "Yes, sir."
Doctor. "Did you not then make a great effort to repel death from
you?"
Ans. "Yes, sir."
Doctor. "Do you know that you are a man of an exceedingly strong will, and
that very few men can resist you when you want to do something? Do you not know
that your will is such an exceptional power that mountains of difficulties have
disappeared before you, here in Quebec? Have you not seen even me, with many
others, yielding to your will almost in spite of ourselves, to do what you
wanted?"
With a smile I answered, "Yes, sir."
Doctor. "Do you not remember seeing, many times, people suffering
dreadfully from toothache coming to us to have their teeth extracted, who were
suddenly cured at the sight of the knives and other surgical instruments we put
upon the table to use?"
I answered with a laugh, "Yes, sir. I have seen that very often, and it
has occurred to me once."
Doctor. "Do you think that there was a supernatural power, then, in the
surgical implements, and that those sudden cures of toothache were
miraculous?"
Ans. "No, sir!"
Doctor. "Have you not read the volume of the 'Medical Directory' I lent
you on typhoid fever, where several cures exactly like yours are
reported?"
Ans. "Yes, sir."
Then addressing the physicians, Doctor Douglas said to them:
"We must not exhaust our dear Father Chiniquy. We are too happy to see him
full of life again, but from his answers you understand that there is no
miracle here. His happy and sudden cure is a very natural and common thing. The
vision was what we call the turning-point of the disease, when the mind is
powerfully bent on some very exciting object, when that mysterious thing of
which we know so little as yet, called the will, the spirit, the soul, fights
as a giant against death, in which battle, pains, diseases, and even death are
put to flight and conquered.
"My dear Father Chiniquy, from your own lips, we have it; you have fought,
last night, the fever and approaching death, as a giant. No wonder that you won
the victory, and I confess, it is a great victory. I know it is not the first
victory you have gained, and I am sure it will not be the last. It is surely
God who has given you that irresistible will. In that sense only does your cure
come from Him. Continue to fight and conquer as you have done last night, and
you will live a long life. Death will long remember its defeat of last night,
and will not dare approach you any more, except when you will be so old that
you will ask it to come as a friend to put an end to the miseries of this
present life. Good-bye."
And with friendly smiles, all the doctors pressed my hand and left me just as
the bishop and curate of Quebec, Mons. Ballargeon, my confessor, were entering
the room.
An old proverb says: "There is nothing so difficult as to persuade a man
who does not want to be persuaded." Though the reasoning and kind words of
the doctor ought to have been gladly listened to by me, they had only bothered
me. It was infinitely more pleasant, and it seemed then, more agreeable to God,
and more according to my faith in the power of the saints in heaven, to believe
that I had been miraculously cured. Of course, the bishop, with his coadjutor
and my Lord Turgeon, as well as my confessor, with the numberless priests and
Roman Catholics who visited me during my convalescence, confirmed me in my
views.
The skillful painter, Mr. Plamonon, recently from Rome, was called and painted,
at the price of two hundred dollars ($200) the tableau I had promised to put in
the church of St. Anne du Nord. It was one of the most beautiful and remarkable
paintings of that artist, who had passed several years in the Capital of Fine
Arts in Italy, where he had gained a very good reputation for his ability.
Three months after my recovery, I was at the parsonage of the curate of St.
Anne, the Rev. Mr. Ranvoize, a relative of mine. He was about sixtyfive years
of age, very rich, and had a magnificent library. When young, he had enjoyed
the reputation of being one of the best preachers in Canada. Never had I been
so saddened and scandalized as I was by him on this occasion. It was evening
when I arrived with my tableau. As soon as we were left alone, the old curate
said: "Is it possible, my dear young cousin, that you will make such a
fool of yourself tomorrow? That socalled miraculous cure is nothing but
'naturoe suprema vis,' as the learned of all ages have called it. Your
so-called vision was a dream of your sickly brain, as it generally occurs in
the moment of the supreme crisis of the fever. It is what is called 'the
turning-point' of the disease, when a desperate effort of nature kills or cures
the patient. As for the vision of that beautiful girl, whom you call St.
Philomene, who had done you so much good, she is not the first girl, surely,
who has come to you in your dreams, and done you good!" At these words he
laughed so heartily that I feared he would split his sides. Twice he repeated
this unbecoming joke.
I was, at first, so shocked at this unexpected rebuke, which I considered as
bordering on blasphemy, that I came very near taking my hat without answering a
word, to go and spend the night at his brother's; but after a moment's
reflection, I said to him: "How can you speak with such levity on so
solemn a thing? Do you not believe in the power of the saints, who being more
holy and pure than we are, see God face to face, speak to Him and obtain
favours which He would refuse us rebels? Are you not the daily witness of the
miraculous cures wrought in your own church, under your own eyes? Why those
thousands of crutches which literally cover the walls of your church?" My
strong credulity, and the earnestness of my appeal to the daily miracles of
which he was the witness, and above all, the mention of the numberless crutches
suspended all over the walls of his church, brought again from him such a Homeric
laugh, that I was disconcerted and saddened beyond measure. I remained
absolutely mute; I wished I had never come into such company.
When he had laughed at me to his heart's content, he said: "My dear
cousin, you are the first one to whom I speak in this way. I do it because,
first: I consider you a man of intelligence, and hope you will understand me.
Secondly: because you are my cousin. Were you one of those idiotic priests,
real blockheads, who form the clergy today; or, were you a stranger to me, I
would let you go your way, and believe in those ridiculous, degrading
superstitions of our poor ignorant and blind people, but I know you from your
infancy, and I have known your father, who was one of my dearest friends; the
blood which flows in your veins, passes thousands of times every day through my
heart. You are very young and I am old. It is a duty of honour and conscience
in me to reveal to you a thing which I have thought better to keep till now, a
secret between God and myself. I have been here more than thirty years, and
though our country is constantly filled with the noise of the great and small
miracles wrought in my church every day, I am ready to swear before God, and to
prove to any man of common sense, that not a single miracle has been wrought in
my church since I have come here. Every one of the facts given to the Canadian
people as miraculous cures are sheer impositions, deceptions, the work of
either fools, or the work of skillful impostors and hypocrites, whether priests
or laymen. Believe me, my dear cousin, I have studied carefully the history of
all those crutches. Ninety-nine out of a hundred have been left by poor, lazy
beggars, who, at first, thought with good reason that by walking from door to
door with one or two crutches, they would create more sympathy and bring more
into their purses; for how many will indignantly turn out of doors a lazy,
strong and healthful beggar, who will feel great compassion, and give largely
to a man who is crippled, unable to work, and forced to drag himself painfully
on crutches? Those crutches are then passports from door to door, they are the
very keys to open both the hearts and purses. But the day comes when that
beggar has bought a pretty good farm with his stolen alms; or when he is really
tired, disgusted with his crutches and wants to get rid of them! How can he do
that without compromising himself? By a miracle! Then he will sometimes travel
again hundreds of miles from door to door, begging as usual, but this time he
asks the prayers of the whole family, saying: 'I am going to the "good St.
Anne du Nord" to ask her to cure my leg (or legs). I hope she will cure
me, as she had cured so many others. I have great confidence in her power!'
Each one gives twice, nay, ten times as much as before to the poor cripple,
making him promise that if he is cured, he will come back and show himself,
that they may bless the good St. Anne with him. When he arrives here, he gives
me sometimes one, sometimes five dollars, to say mass for him. I take the money,
for I would be a fool to refuse it when I know that his purse has been so well
filled. During the celebration of the mass, when he receives the communion, I
hear generally, a great noise, cries of joy! A miracle! A miracle!! The
crutches are thrown on the floor, and the cripple walks well as you or I! And
the last act of that religious comedy is the most lucrative one, for he fulfill
his promise of stopping at every house he had ever been seen with his crutches.
He narrates how he was miraculously cured, how his feet and legs became
suddenly all right. Tears of joy and admiration flow from eye to eye. The last
cent of that family is generally given to the impostor, who soon grows rich at
the expense of his dupes. This is the plain but true story of ninety-nine out
of every hundred of the cures wrought in my church. The hundredth, is upon
people as honest, but, pardon me the expression, as blind and superstitious as
you are; they are really cured, for they were really sick. But their cures are
the natural effects of the great effort of the will. It is the result of a
happy combination of natural causes which work together on the frame, and kill
the pain, expel the disease and restore the health, just as I was cured of a
most horrible toothache, some years ago. In the paroxysm I went to the dentist
and requested him to extract the affected tooth. Hardly had his knife and other
surgical instruments come before my eyes than the pain disappeared. I quietly
took my hat and left, bidding a hearty 'good-bye' to the dentist, who laughed
at me every time we met, to his heart's content.
"One of the weakest points of our religion is in the ridiculous, I venture
to say, diabolical miracles, performed and believed every day among us, with
the so-called relics and bones of the saints. But, don't you know that, for the
most part, these relics are nothing but chickens' or sheeps' bones. And what
could I not say, were I to tell you what I know of the daily miraculous
impostures of the scapulars, holy water, chaplets and medals of every kind.
Were I a pope, I would throw all these mummeries, which come from paganism, to
the bottom of the sea, and would present to the eyes of the sinners, nothing
but Christ and Him crucified as the object of their faith, invocation and hope,
for this life and the next, just as the Apostles Paul, Peter and James do in
their Epistles."
I cannot repeat here, all that I heard that night from that old relative,
against the miracles, relics, scapulars, purgatory, false saints and ridiculous
practices of the Church of Rome. It would take too long, for he spoke three
hours as a real Protestant. Sometimes what he said seemed to me according to
common sense, but as it was against the practices of my church, and against my
personal practices, I was exceedingly scandalized and pained, and not at all
convinced. I pitied him for having lost his former faith and piety. I told him
at the end, without ceremony: "I heard, long ago, that the bishops did not
like you, but I knew not why. However, if they could hear what you think and
say here about the miracles of St. Anne, they would surely interdict you."
'Will you betray me?" he added, "and will you report our conversation
to the bishop?" "No," my cousin, " I replied, "I would
prefer to be burnt to ashes. I will not sell your kind hospitality for the
traitor's money." It was two o'clock in the morning when we parted to go
to our sleeping rooms. But that night was again a sleepless one to me. Was it
not too sad and strange for me to see that that old and learned priest was
secretly a Protestant!
The next morning the crowds began to arrive, not by hundreds, but by thousands,
from the surrounding parishes. The channel between "L'Isle d'Orleans"
and St. Anne, was literally covered with boats of every size, laden with men
and women who wanted to hear from my own lips, the history of my miraculous
cure, and see, with their own eyes, the picture of the two saints who had
appeared to me. At ten a.m., more than 10,000 people were crowded inside and
outside the wall of the church.
No words can give an idea of my emotion and of the emotion of the multitude
when, after telling them in a single and plain way, what I then considered a
miraculous fact, I disclosed the picture, and presented it to their admiration
and worship. There were tears rolling on every cheek and cries of admiration
and joy from every lip. The picture represented me dying in my bed of
sufferings, and the two saints seen at a distance above me and stretching their
hands as if to say: "You will be cured." It was hung on the walls, in
a conspicuous place, where thousands and thousands have come to worship it from
that day to the year 1858, when the curate was ordered by the bishop to burn
it, for it had pleased our merciful God that very year, to take away the scales
which were on my eyes and show me His saving light, and I had published all
over Canada, my terrible, though unintentional error, in believing in that
false miracle. I was so honest in my belief in a miraculous cure, and the
apparition of the two saints had left such a deep impression on my mind, that,
I confess it to my shame, the first week after my conversion, I very often said
to myself: "How is it that I now believe that the Church of Rome is false,
when such a miracle has been wrought on me as one of her priests?" But,
our God, whose mercies are infinite, knowing my honesty when a slave of Popery,
was determined to give me the full understanding of my errors in this way.
About a month after my conversion, in 1858, I had to visit a dying Irish convert
from Romanism, who had caught in Chicago, the same fever which so nearly killed
me at the Marine Hospital of Quebec. I again caught the disease, and during
twelve days, passed through the same tortures and suffered the same agonies as
in 1837. But this time, I was really happy to die; there was no fear for me to
see the good works as a grain of sand in my favour, and the mountains of my
iniquities in the balance of God against me. I had just given up my pharisaical
holiness of old; it was no more in my good works, my alms, my penances, my
personal efforts, I was trusting to be saved; it was in Jesus alone. My good
works were no more put by me in the balance of the justice of God to pay my
debts, and to appeal for mercy. It was the blood of Jesus, the Lamb slain from
the foundation of the world for me, which was in the balance. It was the tears
of Jesus, the nails, the crown of thorns, the heavy cross, the cruel death of
Jesus only, which was there to pay my debts and to cry for mercy. I had no fear
then, for I knew that I was saved by Jesus, and that that salvation was a
perfect act of His love, His mercy, and His power; consequently I was glad to
die.
But when the doctor had left me, the thirteenth day of my sufferings, saying
the very same words of the doctors of Quebec: "He had only a few minutes
to live, if he be not already dead," the kind friends who were around my
bed, filled the room with their cries! Although for three or four days I had
not moved a finger, said a single word, or given any sign of life, I was
perfectly conscious. I had heard the words of the doctor, and I was glad to
exchange the miseries of this short life for that eternity of glory which my
Saviour had bought for me. I only regretted to die before bringing more of my
dear countrymen out of the idolatrous religion of Rome, and from the lips of my
soul, I said: "Dear Jesus, I am glad to go with Thee just now, but if it
be Thy will to let me live a few years more, that I may spread the light of the
Gospel among my countrymen; grant me to live a few years more, and I will bless
Thee eternally, with my converted countrymen, for Thy mercy." This prayer
had scarcely reached the mercy-seat, when I saw a dozen bishops marching toward
me, sword in hand to kill me. As the first sword raised to strike was coming
down to split my head, I made a desperate effort, wrenched it from the hand of
my would-be murderer, and struck such a blow on his neck that his head rolled
on to the floor. The second, third, fourth, and so on to the last, rushed to kill
me; but I struck such terrible blows on the necks of every one of them, that
twelve heads were rolling on the floor and swimming in a pool of blood. In my
excitement I cried to my friends around me: "Do you not see the heads
rolling and the blood flowing on the floor?"
And suddenly I felt a kind of electric shock from head to foot. I was cured!
perfectly cured!! I asked my friends for something to eat; I had not taken any
food for twelve days. And with tears of joy and gratitude to God, they complied
with my request. This last was not only the perfect cure of the body, but it
was a perfect cure of the soul. I understood then clearly that the first was
not more miraculous than the second. I had a perfect understanding of the
diabolical forgeries and miracles of Rome. It was in both cases, I was not
cured or saved by the saints, the bishops or the Popes, but by my God, through
His Son Jesus.
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CHAPTER 33 Back to Top
The
21st of September, 1833, was a day of desolation to me. On that day I received
the letter of my bishop appointing me curate of Beauport. Many times, I had
said to the other priests, when talking about our choice of the different
parishes, that I would never consent to be curate of Beauport. That parish,
which is a kind of suburb of Quebec, was too justly considered the very nest of
the drunkards of Canada. With a soil of unsurpassed fertility, inexhaustible
lime quarries, gardens covered with most precious vegetables and fruits,
forests near at hand, to furnish wood to the city of Quebec, at their doors,
the people of Beauport, were, nevertheless, classed among the poorest, most
ragged and wretched people of Canada. For almost every cent they were getting
at the market went into the hands of the saloon-keepers. Hundreds of times I
had seen the streets which led from St. Roch to the upper town of Quebec almost
impassable, when the drunkards of Beauport were leaving the market to go home.
How many times I heard them fill the air with their cries and blasphemies; and
saw the streets reddened with their blood when fighting with one another, like
mad dogs!
The Rev. Mr. Begin, who was their cure since 1825, had accepted the moral
principles of the great Roman Catholic theologian Liguori, who says, "that
a man is not guilty of the sin of drunkenness, so long as he can distinguish
between a small pin and a load of hay." Of course the people would not
find themselves guilty of sin, so long as their eyes could make that
distinction. After weeping to my heart's content at the reading of the letter
from my bishop, which had come to me as a thunderbolt, my first thought was
that my misfortune, though very great, was not irretrievable. I knew that there
were many priests who were as anxious to become curates of Beauport as I was
opposed to it. My hope was that the bishop would be touched by my tears, if not
convinced by my arguments, and that he would not persist in putting on my
shoulders a burden which they could not carry. I immediately went to the
palace, and did all in my power to persuade his lordship to select another
priest for Beauport. He listened to my arguments with a great deal of patience
and kindness, and answered:
"My dear Mr. Chiniquy, you forget too often, that 'implicit and perfect
obedience to his superiors is the virtue of a good priest. You have given me a
great deal of trouble and disappointment by refusing to relieve the good bishop
Provencher of his too heavy burden. It was at my suggestion, you know very
well, that he had selected you to be his coworker along the coasts of the
Pacific, by consenting to become the first Bishop of Oregon. Your obstinate
resistance to your superiors in that circumstance, and in several other cases,
is one of your weak points. If you continue to follow your own mind rather than
obey those whom God has chosen to guide you, I really fear for your future. I
have already too often yielded to your rebellious character. Through respect to
myself, and for your own good, today I must force you to obey me. You have
spoken of the drunkenness of the people of Beauport, as one of the reasons why
I should not put you at the head of that parish; but this is just one of the
reasons why I have chosen you. You are the only priest I know, in my diocese,
able to struggle against the long-rotted and detestable evil, with a hope of
success.
"'Quod scriptum scriptum est.' Your name is entered in our official
registers as the curate of Beauport; it will remain there till I find better
reasons than those you have given me to change my mind. After all, you cannot
complain; Beauport is not only one of the most beautiful parishes of Canada,
but it is one of the most splendid spots in the world. It is, besides, a parish
which gives great revenues to its curate. In your beautiful parsonage, at the
door of the old capital of Canada, you will have the privileges of the city,
and the enjoyments of some of the most splendid sceneries of this continent. If
you are not satisfied with me today, I do not know what I can do to please
you."
Though far from being reconciled to my new position, I saw there was no help; I
had to obey, as my predecessor, Mr. Begin, was to sell all his house furniture,
before taking charge of his far distant parish, La Riviere Ouelle, he kindly
invited me to go and buy, on long credit, what I wished for my own use, which I
did. The whole parish was on the spot long before me, partly to show their
friendly sympathy for their last pastor, and partly to see their new curate. I
was not long in the crowd without seeing that my small stature and my leanness
were making a very bad impression on the people, who were accustomed to pay
their respects to a comparatively tall man, whose large and square shoulders
were putting me in the shade. Many jovial remarks, though made in
halfsuppressed tones, came to my ears, to tell me that I was cutting a poor
figure by the side of my jolly predecessor.
"He is hardly bigger than my tobacco box," said one not far from me:
"I think I could put him in my vest pocket."
"Has he not the appearance of a salted sardine!" whispered a woman to
her neighbour, with a hearty laugh.
Had I been a little wiser, I could have redeemed myself by some amiable or
funny words, which would have sounded pleasantly in the ears of my new
parishioners. But, unfortunately for me, that wisdom is not among the gifts I
received. After a couple of hours of auction, a large cloth was suddenly
removed from a long table, and presented to our sight an incredible number of
wine and beer glasses, of empty decanters and bottles, of all sizes and quality.
This brought a burst of laughter and clapping of hands from almost every one.
All eyes were turned towards me, and I heard from hundreds of lips: "This
is for you, Mr. Chiniquy." Without weighing my words, I instantly
answered: "I do not come to Beauport to buy wine glasses and bottles, but
to break them."
These words fell upon their ears as a spark of fire on a train of powder.
Nine-tenths of that multitude, without being very drunk, had emptied from four
to ten glasses of beer or rum, which Rev. Mr. Begin himself was offering them
in a corner of the parsonage. A real deluge of insults and cursings overwhelmed
me; and I soon saw that the best thing I could do was to leave the place
without noise, and by the shortest way.
I immediately went to the bishop's place, to try again to persuade his lordship
to put another curate at the head of such a people. "You see, my
lord," I said, "that by my indiscreet and rash answer I have for ever
lost the respect and confidence of that people. They already hate me; their
brutal cursings have fallen upon me like balls of fire. I prefer to be carried
to my grave next Sabbath, than have to address such a degraded people. I feel
that I have neither the moral nor the physical power to do any good
there."
"I differ from you," replied the bishop. "Evidently the people
wanted to try your mettle, by inviting you to buy those glasses, and you would
have lost yourself by yielding to their desire. Now they have seen that you are
brave and fearless. It is just what the people of Beauport want; I have known
them for a long time. It is true that they are drunkards; but, apart from that
vice, there is not a nobler people under heaven. They have, literally, no
education, but they possess marvelous common sense, and have many noble and
redeeming qualities, which you will soon find out. You took them by surprise
when you boldly said you wanted to break their glasses and decanters. Believe
me, they will bless you, if by the grace of God, you fulfill your prophecy;
though it will be a miracle if you succeed in making the people of Beauport
sober. But you must not despair. Trust in God; fight as a good soldier, and
Jesus Christ will win the victory." Those kind words of my bishop did me
good, though I would have preferred being sent to the backwoods of Canada, than
to the great parish of Beauport. I felt that the only thing that I had to do
was to trust in God for success, and to fight as if I were to gain the day. It
came to my mind that I had committed a great sin by obstinately refusing to
become Bishop of Oregon, and my God, as a punishment, had given me the very
parish for which I felt an almost insurmountable repugnance.
Next Sunday was a splendid day, and the church of Beauport was filled to its
utmost capacity by the people, eager to see and hear, for the first time, their
new pastor. I had spent the last three days in prayers and fastings. God knows
that never a priest, nor any minister of the Gospel, ascended the pulpit with
more exalted views of his sublime functions than I did that day, and never a
messenger of the Gospel had been more terrified than I was, when in that
pulpit, by the consciousness of his own demerits, inability and incompetency,
in the face of the tremendous responsibilities of his position. My first sermon
was on the text: "Woe is unto me, if I preach not the Gospel" (1 Cor.
ix. 16). With a soul and heart filled with the profoundest emotions, a voice
many times suffocated by uncontrollable sobs, I expounded to them some of the
awful responsibilities of a pastor. The effect of the sermon was felt to the
last day of my priestly ministry in Beauport.
After the sermon, I told them: "I have a favour to ask of you. As it is
the first, I hope you will not rebuke me. I have just now given you some of the
duties of your poor young curate towards you; I want you to come again this
afternoon at half-past two o'clock, that I may give you some of your duties
towards your pastor." At the appointed hour the church was still more
crowded than in the morning, and it seemed to me that my merciful God blessed
still more that second address than the first.
The text was: "When he (the shepherd) putteth forth his own sheep, he
goeth before them, and the sheep follow him; for they know his voice"
(Jno. x. 4).
Those two sermons on the Sabbath were a startling innovation in the Roman
Catholic Church of Canada, which brought upon me, at once, many bitter remarks
from the bishop and surrounding curates. Their unanimous verdict was that I
wanted to become a little reformer. They had not the least doubt that in my
pride I wanted to show the people "that I was the most zealous priest of
the country." This was not only whispered from ear to ear among the
clergy, but several times it was thrown into my face in the most insulting
manner. However, my God knew that my only motives were, first, to keep my
people away from the taverns, by having them before their altars during the
greatest part of the Sabbath day; second, to impress more on their minds the
great saving and regenerating truths I preached, by presenting them twice in
the same day under different aspects. I found such benefits from those two
sermons, that I continued the practice during the four years I remained in
Beauport, though I had to suffer and hear, in silence, many humiliating and cutting
remarks from many co-priests.
I had not been more than three months at the head of that parish, when I
determined to organize a temperance society on the same principles as Father
Mathew, in Ireland. I opened my mind, at first, on that subject to the bishop,
with the hope that he would throw the influence of his position in favour of
the new association, but, to my great dismay and surprise, not only did he turn
my project into ridicule, but absolutely forbade me to think any more of such
an innovation. "These temperance societies are a Protestant scheme,"
he said. "Preach against drunkenness, but let the respectable people who
are not drunkards alone. St. Paul advised his disciple Timothy to drink wine.
Do not try to be more zealous than they were in those apostolic days."
I left the bishop much disappointed, but did not give up my plan. It seemed to
me if I could gain the neighbouring priests to join with me in my crusade I
wanted to preach against the usage of intoxicating drinks, we might bring about
a glorious reform in Canada, as Father Mathew was doing in Ireland. But the
priests, without a single exception, laughed at me, turned my plans into
ridicule, and requested me, in the name of common sense, never to speak any
more to them of giving up their social glass of wine. I shall never be able to
give any idea of my sadness, when I saw that I was to be opposed by my bishop
and the whole clergy in the reform which I considered then, more and more every
day, the only plank of salvation, not only of my dear people of Beauport, but
of all Canada. God only knows the tears I shed, the long sleepless nights I
have passed in studying, praying, meditating on that great work of Beauport. I
had recourse to all the saints of heaven for more strength and light; for I was
determined, at any cost, to try and form a temperance society. But every time I
wanted to begin, I was frightened by the idea, not only of the wrath of the
whole clergy, which would hunt me down, but still more of the ridicule of the
whole country, which would overwhelm me in case of a failure. In these
perplexities, I thought I would do well to write to Father Mathew and ask him
his advice and the help of his prayers. That noble apostle of temperance of
Ireland answered me in an eloquent letter, and pressed me to begin the work in
Canada as he had done in Ireland, relying on God, without paying any attention
to the opposition of man.
The wise and Christian words of that great and worthy Irish priest, came to me
as the voice of God; and I determined to begin the work at once, though the
whole world should be against me. I felt that if God was in my favour, I would
succeed in reforming my parish and my country in spite of all the priests and
bishops of the world, and I was right. Before putting the plough into the
ground, I had not only prayed to God and all His saints, almost day and night,
during many months, but I had studied all the best books written in England,
France and the United States, on the evils wrought by the use of intoxicating
drinks. I had taken a pretty good course of anatomy in the Marine Hospital
under the learned Dr. Douglas.
I was then well posted on the great subject I was to bring before my country. I
knew the enemy I was to attack. And the weapons which would give him the death
blow were in my hands. I only wanted my God to strengthen my hands and direct
my blows. I prayed to Him, and in His great mercy He heard me.
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CHAPTER 34 Back to Top
"My
thoughts are not your thoughts," saith the Lord. And, we may add, His
works are not like the works of man. This great truth has never been better
exemplified than in the marvelous rapidity with which the great temperance
reformation grew in Canada, in spite of the most formidable obstacles. To praise
any man for such a work seems to me a kind of blasphemy, when it is so visibly
the work of the Lord. I had hardly finished reading the letter of Ireland's
Apostle of Temperance, when I fell on my knees and said: "Thou knowest, O
my God, that I am nothing but a sinner. There is no light, no strength in Thy
poor unprofitable servant. Therefore, come down into my heart and soul, to
direct me in that temperance reform which Thou hast put into my mind to
establish. Without Thee I can do nothing, but with Thee I can do all
things."
This was on a Saturday night, March 20, 1839. The next morning was the first
Sabbath of Lent. I said to the people after the sermon:
"I have told you, many times, that I sincerely believe it is my mission
from God to put an end to the unspeakable miseries and crimes engendered every
day, here in our whole country, by the use of intoxicating drink. Alcohol is
the great enemy of your souls and your bodies. It is the most implacable enemy
of your wives, your husbands, and your children. It is the most formidable
enemy of our dear country and our holy religion. I must destroy that enemy. But
I cannot fight alone. I must form an army and raise a banner in your midst,
around which all the soldiers of the Gospel will rally. Jesus Christ Himself
will be our general. He will bless and sanctify us He will lead us to victory.
The next three days will be consecrated by you and by me in preparing to raise
that army. Let all those who wish to fill its ranks, come and pass these three
days with me in prayer and meditation before our sacred altars. Let even those
who do not want to be soldiers of Christ, or to fight the great and glorious
battles which are to be fought, come through curiosity, to see a most marvelous
spectacle. I invite every one of you, in the name of our Saviour, Jesus Christ,
whom alcohol nails anew to the cross every day. I invite you in the name of the
holy Virgin Mary, and of all the saints and angels of God, who are weeping in
heaven for the crimes committed every day by the use of intoxicating drinks. I
invite you in the names of the wives whom I see here in your midst, weeping
because they have drunken husbands. I invite you to come in the names of the
fathers whose hearts are broken by drunken children. I invite you to come in the
name of so many children who are starving, naked, and made desolate by their
drunken parents. I invite you to come in the name of your immortal souls, which
are to be eternally damned if the giant destroyer, Alcohol, be not driven from
our midst."
The next morning, at eight o'clock, my church was crammed by the people. My
first address was at half-past eight o'clock, the second at 10:30 a.m., the
third at 2.0 p.m., and the fourth at five. The intervals between the addresses
were filled by beautiful hymns selected for the occasion. Many times during my
discourse the sobs and the cries of the people were such that I had to stop
speaking, to mix my sobs and my tears with those of my people. That first day
seventy-five men, from among the most desperate drunkards, enrolled themselves
under the banner of temperance. The second day I gave again four addresses, the
effects of which were still more blessed in their result. Two hundred of my
dear parishioners were enrolled in the grand army which was to fight against
their implacable enemy. But it would require the hand of an angel to write the
history of the third day, at the end of which, in the midst of tears, sobs, and
cries of joy, three hundred more of that noble people swore, in the presence of
their God, never to touch, taste, or handle the cursed drinks with which Satan
inundates the earth with desolation, and fills hell with eternal cries of
despair. During these three days more than two-thirds of my people had publicly
taken the pledge of temperance, and had solemnly said in the presence of God,
before their altars, "For the love of Jesus Christ, and by the grace of
God, I promise that I will never take any intoxicating drink, except as a
medicine. I also pledge myself to do all in my power, by my words and example,
to persuade others to make the same sacrifice." The majority of my people,
among whom we counted the most degraded drunkards, were changed and reformed,
not by me, surely, but by the visible, direct work of the great and merciful
God, who alone can change the heart of man.
As a great number of people from the surrounding parishes, and even from
Quebec, had come to hear me the third day through curiosity, the news of that
marvelous work spread very quickly throughout the whole country. The press, both
French and English, were unanimous in their praises and felicitations. But when
the Protestants of Quebec were blessing God for that reform, the French
Canadians, at the example of their priests denounced me as a fool and heretic.
The second day of our revival I had sent messages to four of the neighbouring
curates, respectfully requesting them to come and see what the Lord was doing,
and help me to bless Him. But they refused. They answered my note with their
contemptuous silence. One only, the Rev. Mr. Roy, curate of Charlesbourg,
deigned to write me a few words, which I cope here:
.
Rev. Mr. Chiniquy, Curate of Beauport.
My dear Confrere:Please forgive me if I cannot forget the respect I owe to
myself, enough to go and see your fooleries.
Truly yours,
Pierre Roy.
Charlesbourg, March 5th, 1839.
The
indignation of the bishop knew no bounds. A few days after, he ordered me to go
to his palace and give an account of what he called my "strange
conduct." When alone with me he said: "Is it possible, Mr. Chiniquy,
that you have so soon forgotten my prohibition not to establish that ridiculous
temperance society in your parish? Had you compromised yourself alone by that
Protestant comedy for it is nothing but that I would remain silent, in my pity
for you. But you have compromised our holy religion by introducing a society
whose origin is clearly heretical. Last evening, the venerable Grand Vicar
Demars told me that you would sooner or later become a Protestant, and that
this was your first step. Do you not see that the Protestants only praise you?
Do you not blush to be praised only by heretics? Without suspecting it, you are
just entering a road which leads to your ruin. You have publicly covered
yourself with such ridicule that I fear your usefulness is at an end, not only
in Beauport, but in all my diocese. I do not conceal it from you: my first
thought, when an eye-witness told me yesterday what you had done, was to
interdict you. I have been prevented from taking that step only by the hope
that you will undo what you have done. I hope that you will yourself dissolve
that anti-Catholic association, and promise to put an end to those novelties,
which have too strong a smell of heresy to be tolerated by your bishop."
I answered: "My lord, your lordship has not forgotten that it was
absolutely against my own will that I was appointed curate of Beauport; and God
knows that you have only to say a word, and, without a murmur, I will give you
my resignation, that you may put a better priest at the head of that people,
which I consider, and which is really, today the noblest and the most sober
people of Canada. But I will put a condition to the resignation of my position.
It is, that I will be allowed to publish before the world that the Rev. Mr.
Begin, my predecessor, has never been troubled by his bishop for having allowed
his people, during twenty-three years, to swim in the mire of drunkenness; and
that I have been disgraced by my bishop, and turned out from that same parish,
for having been the instrument, by the mercy of God, in making them the most
sober people in Canada."
The poor bishop felt, at once, that he could not stand on the ground he had
taken with me. He was a few moments without knowing what to say. He saw also
that his threats had no influence over me, and that I was not ready to undo
what I had done. After a painful silence of a minute or two, he said: "Do
you not see that the solemn promises you have extorted from those poor
drunkards are rash and unwise; they will break them at the first opportunity?
Their future state of degradation, after such an excitement, will be worse than
the first."
I answered: "I would partake of your fears if that change were my work;
but as it is the Lord's work, we have nothing to fear. The works of men are
weak, and of short duration, but the works of God are solid and permanent.
About the prophecy of the venerable Mr. Demars, that I have taken my first step
towards Protestantism by turning a drunken into a sober people, I have only to
say that if that prophecy be true, it would show that Protestantism is more apt
than our holy religion to work for the glory of God and the good of the people.
I hope that your lordship is not ready to accept that conclusion, and that you
will not then trouble yourself with the premises. The venerable grand Vicar,
with many other priests, would do better to come and see what the Lord is doing
in Beauport, than to slander me and turn false prophets against its curate and
people. My only answer to the remarks of your lordship, that the Protestants
alone praise me, when the Roman Catholic priests and people condemn me, proves
only one thing, viz., that Protestants, on this question, understand the Word
of God, and have more respect for it than we Roman Catholics. It would prove
also that they understand the interests of humanity better than we do, and that
they have more generosity than we have, to sacrifice their selfish propensities
to the good of all. I take the liberty of saying to your lordship, that in
this, as in many other things, it is high time that we should open our eyes to
our false position.
"Instead of remaining at the lowest step of the ladder of one of the most
Christian virtues, temperance, we must raise ourselves to the top, where
Protestants are reaping so many precious fruits. Besides, would your lordship
be kind enough to tell me why I am denounced and abused here, and by my
fellow-priests and my bishop, for forming a temperance society in my parish,
when Father Mathew, who wrote me lately to encourage and direct me in that
work, is publicly praised by his bishops and blessed by the Pope for covering
Ireland with temperance societies? Is your lordship ready to prove to me that
Samson was a heretic in the camp of Israel when he fulfilled the promise made
by his parents that he would never drink any wine, or beer; and John the
Baptist, was not he a heretic and a Protestant as I am, when, to obey the voice
of God, he did what I do today, with my dear people of Beauport?"
At that very moment, the sub-secretary entered to tell the bishop that a
gentleman wanted to see him immediately on pressing business, and the bishop
abruptly dismissed me, to my great comfort; and my impression was that he was
as glad to get rid of me as I was to get rid of him.
With the exception of the Secretary, Mr. Cazeault, all the priests I met that
day and the next month, either gave me the cold shoulder or overwhelmed me with
their sarcasms. One of them who had friends in Beauport, was bold enough to try
to go through the whole parish to turn me into ridicule by saying that I was
half crazy, and the best thing the people could do was to drink moderately to
my health when they went to town. But at the third house he met a woman, who,
after listening to the bad advice he was giving to her husband, said to him:
"I do not know if our pastor is a fool in making people sober, but I know
you are a messenger of the devil, when you advise my husband to drink again.
You know that he was one of the most desperate drunkards of Beauport. You
personally know also what blows I have received from him when he was drunk; how
poor and miserable we were; how many children had to run on the streets, half
naked, and beg in order not to starve with me! Now that my husband has taken
the pledge of temperance, we have every comfort; my dear children are well fed
and clothed, and I find myself as in a little paradise. If you do not go out of
this house at once, I will turn you out with my broomstick." And she would
have fulfilled her promise, had not the priest had the good sense to disappear
at the "double quick."
The next four months after the foundation of the society in Beauport, my
position when with the other priests was very painful and humiliating. I
consequently avoided their company as much as possible. And, as for my bishop,
I took the resolution never to go and see him, except he should order me into
his presence. But my merciful God indemnified me by the unspeakable joy I had
in seeing the marvelous change wrought by Him among my dear people. Their
fidelity in keeping the pledge was really wonderful, and soon became the object
of admiration of the whole city of Quebec, and of the surrounding country. The
change was sudden, so complete and so permanent, that the scoffing bishop and
priests, with their friends, had, at last, to blush and be silent.
The public aspect of the parish was soon changed, the houses were repaired, the
debts paid, the children well clad. But what spoke most eloquently about the
marvelous reform was that the seven thriving saloons of Beauport were soon
closed, and their owners forced to take other occupations. Peace, happiness,
abundance, and industry, everywhere took the place of the riots, fighting,
blasphemies and the squalid misery which prevailed before. The gratitude and
respect of that noble people for their young curate knew no bounds; as my love
and admiration for them cannot be told by human words.
However, though the great majority of that good people had taken the pledge,
and kept it honourably, there was a small minority, composed of the few who
never had been drunkards, who had not yet enrolled themselves under our blessed
banners. Though they were glad of the reform, it was very difficult to persuade
them to give up their social glass! I thought it was my duty to show them in a
tangible way, what I had so often proved with my words only, that the drinking
of the social glass of wine, or of beer, is an act of folly, if not a crime. I
asked my kind and learned friend, Dr. Douglas, to analyze, before the people,
the very wine and beer used by them, to show that it was nothing else but a
disgusting and deadly poison. He granted my favour. During four days that noble
philanthropist extracted the alcohol, which is not only in the most common, but
in the most costly and renowned wines, beer, brandy and whisky. He gave that
alcohol to several cats and dogs, which died in a few minutes in the presence
of the whole people.
These learned and most interesting experiments, coupled with his eloquent and
scientific remarks, made a most profound impression. It was the corner-stone of
the holy edifice which our merciful God built with His own hands in Beauport.
The few recalcitrants joined with the rest of their dear friends.
.
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CHAPTER 35 Back to Top
The
people of Beauport had scarcely been a year enrolled under the banners of
temperance, when the seven thriving taverns of that parish were deserted and
their owners forced to try some more honourable trade for a living. This fact,
published by the whole press of Quebec, more than anything forced the
opponents, especially among the clergy, to silence, without absolutely
reconciling them to my views. However, it was becoming every day more and more
evident to all that the good done in Beauport was incalculable, both in a
material and moral point of view. Several of the best thinking people of the
surrounding parishes began to say to one another: "Why should we not try
to bring into our midst this temperance reformation which is doing so much good
in Beauport?" The wives of drunkards would say: "Why does not our
curate do here what the curate of Beauport has done there?"
On a certain day, one of those unfortunate women who had received, with a good
education, a rich inheritance, which her husband had spent in dissipation, came
to tell me that she had gone to her curate to ask him to establish a temperance
society in his parish, as we had done in Beauport; but he had told her "to
mind her own business." She had then respectfully requested him to invite
me to come and help to do so for his parishioners what I had done for mine, but
she had been sternly rebuked at the mention of my name. The poor woman was
weeping when she said: "Is it possible that our priests are so indifferent
to our sufferings, and that they will let the demon of drunkenness torture us
as long as we live, when God gives us such an easy and honourable way to
destroy his power for ever?"
My heart was touched by the tears of that lady, and I said to her: "I know
a way to put an end to the opposition of your curate, and force him to bring
among you the reformation you so much desire; but it is a very delicate matter
for me to mention to you. I must rely upon your most sacred promise of secrecy,
before opening my mind to you on that subject."
"I take my God to witness," she answered, "that I will never
reveal your secret." "Well, madam, if I can rely upon your discretion
and secrecy, I will tell you an infallible way to force your priest to do what
has been done here."
"Oh! for God's sake," she said, "tell me what to do."
I replied: "The first time you go to confession, say to your priest that
you have a new sin to confess which is very difficult to reveal to him. He will
press you more to confess it. You will then say:
"'Father, I confess I have lost confidence in you.' Being asked 'Why?' You
will tell him: 'Father, you know the bad treatment I have received from my
drunken husband, as well as hundreds of other wives in your parish, from
theirs; you know the tears we have shed on the ruin of our children, who are
destroyed by the bad examples of their drunken fathers; you know the daily
crimes and unspeakable abominations caused by the use of intoxicating drinks;
you could dry our tears and make us happy wives and mothers, you could benefit
our husbands and save our children by establishing the society of temperance
here as it is in Beauport, and you refuse to do it. How, then, can I believe
you are a good priest, and that there is any charity and compassion in you for
us?'
"Listen with a respectful silence to what he will tell you; accept his
penance, and when he asks you if you regret that sin, answer him that you
cannot regret it till he has taken the providential means which God offers him
to persuade the drunkards.
"Get as many other women whom you know are suffering as you do, as you
can, to go and confess to him the same thing; and you will see that his
obstinacy will melt as the snow before the rays of the sun in May."
She was a very intelligent lady. She saw at once that she had in hand an irresistible
power to face her priest out of his shameful and criminal indifference to the
welfare of his people. A fortnight later she came to tell me that she had done
what I had advised her and that more than fifty other respectable women had
confessed to their curate that they had lost confidence in him, on account of
his lack of zeal and charity for his people.
My conjectures were correct. The poor priest was beside himself, when forced
every day to hear from the very lips of his most respectable female
parishioners, that they were losing confidence in him. He feared lest he should
lose his fine parish near Quebec, and be sent to some of the backwoods of
Canada. Three weeks later he was knocking at my door, where he had not been
since the establishment of the temperance society. He was very pale, and looked
anxious. I could see in his countenance that I owed this visit to his fair
penitents. However, I was happy to see him. He was considered a good priest,
and had been one of my best friends before the formation of the temperance
society. I invited him to dine with me, and made him feel at home as much as
possible, for I knew by his embarrassed manner that he had a very difficult
proposition to make. I was not mistaken. He at last said:
"Mr. Chiniquy, we had, at first, great prejudices against your temperance
society; but we see its blessed fruits in the great transformation of Beauport.
Would you be kind enough to preach a retreat of temperance, during three days,
to my people, as you have done here?"
I answered: "Yes, sir; with the greatest pleasure. But it is on condition
that you will yourself be an example of the sacrifice, and the first to take
the solemn pledge of temperance, in the presence of your people."
"Certainly," he answered; "for the pastor must be an example to
his people."
Three weeks later his parish had nobly followed the example of Beauport, and
the good curate had no words to express his joy. Without losing a day, he went
to the two other curates of what is called "La Cote de Beaupre,"
persuaded them to do what he had done, and six weeks after all the saloons from
Beauport to St. Joachim were closed; and it would have been difficult, if not
impossible, to persuade anyone in that whole region to drink a glass of any
intoxicating drink.
Little by little, the country priests were thus giving up their prejudices, and
were bravely rallying around our glorious banners of temperance. But my bishop,
though less severe, was still very cold toward me. At last the good providence
of God forced him, through a great humiliation, to count our society among the
greatest spiritual and temporal blessings of the age.
At the end of August, 1840, the public press informed us that the Count de
Forbin Janson, Bishop of Nancy, in France, was just leaving New York for
Montreal. That bishop, who was the cousin and minister to Charles the Tenth,
had been sent into exile by the French people, after the king had lost his
crown in the Revolution of 1830. Father Mathew had told me, in one of his
letters, that this bishop had visited him, and blessed his work in Ireland, and
had also persuaded the Pope to send him his apostolical benediction.
I saw at once the importance of gaining the approbation of this celebrated man,
before he had been prejudiced by the bishop against our temperance societies. I
asked and obtained leave of absence for a few days, and went to Montreal, which
I reached just an hour after the French bishop. I went immediately to pay my
homage to him, told him about our temperance work, asking him, in the name of
God, to throw bravely the weight of his great name and position in the scale in
favour of our temperance societies. He promised he would, adding: "I am
perfectly persuaded that drunkenness is not only the great and common sin of
the people, but still more of the priests in America, as well as in Ireland.
The social habit of drinking the detestable and poisonous wines, brandies, and
beers used on this continent, and in the northern parts of Europe, where the
vine cannot grow, is so general and strong, that it is almost impossible to
save the people from becoming drunkards, except through an association in which
the elite of society will work together to change the old and pernicious habits
of common life. I have seen Father Mathew, who is doing an incalculable good in
Ireland; and, be sure of it, I shall do all in my power to strengthen your
hands in that great and good work. But do not say to anybody that you have seen
me."
Some days later, the Bishop of Nancy was in Quebec, the guest of the Seminary,
and a grand dinner was given in his honour, to which more than one hundred
priests were invited, with the Archbishop of Quebec, his coadjutor, N. G.
Turgeon, and the Bishop of Montreal, M.Q.R. Bourget.
As one of the youngest curates, I had taken the last seat, which was just
opposite the four bishops, from whom I was separated only by the breadth of the
table. When the rich and rare viands had been well disposed of, and the more
delicate fruits had replaced them, bottles of the choicest wines were brought
on the table in incredible numbers. Then the superior of the college, the Rev.
Mr. Demars, knocked on the table to command silence, and rising on his feet, he
said, at the top of his voice, "Please, my lord bishops, and all of you,
reverend gentlemen, let us drink to the health of my Lord Count de Forbin
Janson, Primate of Lorraine and Bishop of Nancy.
The bottles passing around were briskly emptied into the large glasses put
before everyone of the guests. But when the wine was handed to me I passed it
to my neighbour without taking a drop, and filled my glass with water. My hope
was that nobody had paid any attention to what I had done; but I was mistaken.
The eyes of my bishop, my Lord Signaie, were upon me. With a stern voice, he
said: "Mr. Chiniquy, what are you doing there? Put wine in your glass, to
drink with us the health of Mgr. de Nancy."
These unexpected words fell upon me as a thunderbolt, and really paralyzed me
with terror. I felt the approach of the most terrible tempest I had ever experienced.
My blood ran cold in my veins; I could not utter a word. For what could I say
there, without compromising myself for ever. To openly resist my bishop, in the
presence of such an august assembly, seemed impossible; but to obey him was
also impossible; for I had promised God and my country never to drink any wine.
I thought, at first, that I could disarm my superior by my modesty and my
humble silence. However, I felt that all eyes were upon me. A real chill of
terror and unspeakable anxiety was running through my whole frame. My heart
began to beat so violently that I could not breathe. I wished then I had
followed my first impression, which was not to come to that dinner. I think I
would have suffocated had not a few tears rolled down from my eyes, and help
the circulation of my blood. The Rev. Mr. Lafrance, who was by me, nudged me,
and said, "Do you not hear the order of my Lord Signaie? Why do you not
answer by doing what you are requested to do?" I still remained mute, just
as if nobody had spoken to me. My eyes were cast down; I wished then I were
dead. The silence of death reigning around the tables told me that everyone was
waiting for my answer; but my lips were sealed. After a minute of that silence,
which seemed as long as a whole year, the bishop, with a loud and angry voice,
which filled the large room, repeated: "Why do you not put wine in your
glass, and drink to the health of my Lord Forbin Janson, as the rest of us are
doing?"
I felt I could not be silent any longer. "My lord," I said, with a
subdued and trembling voice, "I have put in my glass what I want to drink.
I have promised God and my country that I would never drink any more
wine."
The bishop, forgetting the respect he owed to himself and to those around him,
answered me in the most insulting manner: "You are nothing but a fanatic,
and you want to reform us."
These words struck me as the shock of a galvanic battery, and transformed me
into a new man. It seemed as if they had added ten feet to my stature and a
thousand pounds to my weight. I forgot that I was the subject of that bishop,
and remembered that I was a man, in the presence of another man. I raised my
head and opened my eyes, and as quick as lightning I rose to my feet, and
addressing the Grand Vicar Demars, superior of the seminary, I said, with
calmness, "Sir, was it that I might be insulted at your table that you
have invited me here? Is it not your duty to defend my honour when I am here,
your guest? But, as you seem to forget what you owe to your guests, I will make
my own defense against my unjust aggressor." Then, turning towards the
Bishop de Nancy, I said: "My Lord de Nancy, I appeal to your lordship from
the unjust sentence of my own bishop. In the name of God, and of His Son, Jesus
Christ, I request you tell us here if a priest cannot, for His Saviour's sake,
and for the good of his fellow-men, as well as for his own selfdenial, give up
for ever the use of wine and other intoxicating drinks, without being abused,
slandered, and insulted, as I am here, in your presence?"
It was evident that my words had made a deep impression on the whole company. A
solemn silence followed for a few seconds, which was interrupted by my bishop,
who said to the Bishop de Nancy, "Yes, yes, my lord; give us your
sentence."
No words can give an idea of the excitement of everyone in that multitude of
priests, who, accustomed from their infancy abjectly to submit to their bishop,
were, for the first time, in the presence of such a hand-to-hand conflict
between a powerless, humble, unprotected, young curate, and his all-powerful,
proud, and haughty archbishop.
The Bishop of Nancy at first refused to grant my request. He felt the
difficulty of his position; but after Bishop Signaie had united his voice to
mine, to press him to give his verdict, he rose and said:
"My Lord Archbishop of Quebec, and you, Mr. Chiniquy, please withdraw your
request. Do not press me to give my views on such a new, but important subject.
It is only a few days since I came in your midst. It will not do that I should
so soon become your judge. The responsibility of a judgment in such a momentous
matter is too great. I cannot accept it."
But when the same pressing request was repeated by nine-tenths of that vast
assembly of priests, and that the archbishop pressed him more and more to
pronounce his sentence, he raised his eyes and hands to heaven, and made a
silent but ardent prayer to God. His countenance took an air of dignity, which
I might call majesty, which gave him more the appearance of an old prophet than
of a man of our day. Then casting his eyes upon his audience, he remained a
considerable time meditating. All eyes were upon him, anxiously waiting for the
sentence. There was an air of grandeur in him at that moment, which seemed to
tell us that the priest blood of the great kings of France was flowing in his
veins. At last, he opened his lips, but it was again pressingly to request me
to settle the difficulty with the archbishop among ourselves, and to discharge
him of that responsibility. But we both refused again to grant him his request,
and pressed him to give his judgment. All this time I was standing, having
publicly said that I would never sit again at that table unless that insult was
wiped away.
Then he said with unspeakable dignity: "My Lord of Quebec! Here, before
us, is our young priest, Mr. Chiniquy, who, once on his knees, in the presence
of God and his angels, for the love of Jesus Christ, the good of his own soul
and the good of his country, has promised never to drink! We are the witnesses
that he is faithful to his promise, though he has been pressed to break it by
your lordship. And because he keeps his pledge with such heroism, your lordship
has called him a fanatic! Now, I am requested by everyone here to pronounce my
verdict on that painful occurrence. Here it is. Mr. Chiniquy drinks no wine!
But, if I look through the past ages, when God Himself was ruling His own
people, through His prophets, I see Samson, who, by the special order of God,
never drank wine or any other intoxicating drink. If from the Old Testament I
pass to the New, I see John the Baptist, the precursor of our Saviour, Jesus
Christ, who, to obey the command of God, never drank any wine! When I look at
Mr. Chiniquy, and see Samson at his right hand to protect him, and John the
Baptist at his left to bless him, I find his position so strong and
impregnable, that I would not dare attack or condemn him!" These words
were pronounced in the most eloquent and dignified manner, and were listened to
with a most respectful and breathless attention.
Bishop de Nancy, keeping his gravity, sat down, emptied his wine glass into a
tumbler, filled it with water and drank to my health.
The poor archbishop was so completely confounded and humiliated that everyone
felt for him. The few minutes spent at the table, after this extraordinary act
of justice, seemed oppressive to everyone. Scarcely anyone dared look at his
neighbour, or speak, except in a low and subdued tone, as when a great calamity
has just occurred. Nobody thought of drinking his wine; and the health of the
Bishop de Nancy was left undrunk. But a good number of priests filled their
glasses with water, and giving me a silent sign of approbation, drank to my
health. The society of temperance had been dragged by her enemies to the
battlefield, to be destroyed; but she bravely fought, and gained the victory.
Now, she was called to begin her triumphant march through Canada.
.
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CHAPTER 36 Back to Top
Has
God given us ears to hear, eyes to see, and intelligence to understand? The
Pope says, no! But the Son of God says, yes. One of the most severe rebukes of
our Saviour to His disciples, was for their not paying sufficient attention to
what their eyes had seen, their ears heard, and their intelligence perceived.
"Perceive ye not yet, neither understand? Have ye your heart yet hardened?
Having eyes, see ye not? and having ears, hear ye not? and do not ye
remember?" (Mark viii. 17, 18).
This solemn appeal of our Saviour to our common sense, is the most complete
demolition of the whole fabric of Rome. The day that a man ceases to believe
that God would give us our senses and our intelligence to ruin and deceive us,
but that they were given to guide us, he is lost to the Church of Rome. The
Pope knows it; hence the innumerable encyclicals, laws, and regulations by
which the Roman Catholics are warned not to trust the testimony of their ears,
eyes, or intelligence.
"Shut your eyes," says the Pope to his priests and people; "I
will keep mine opened, and I will see for you. Shut your ears, for it is most
dangerous for you to hear what is said in the world. I will keep my ears
opened, and will tell you what you must know. Remember that to trust your own
intelligence, in the research of truth, and the knowledge of the Word of God,
is sure perdition. If you want to know anything, come to me: I am the only sure
infallible fountain of truth," saith the Pope. And this stupendous
imposture is accepted by the people and the priests of Rome with a mysterious
facility, and retained with a most desolating tenacity.
It is to them what the iron ring is to the nose of the ox, when a rope is once
tied to it. The poor animal loses its self-control. Its natural strength and
energies will avail it nothing; it must go left or right, at the will of the
one who holds the end of the rope. Reader, please have no contempt for the
unfortunate priests and people of Rome, but pity them, when you see them
walking in the ways into which intelligent beings ought not to take a step.
They cannot help it. The ring of the ox is at their nose, and the Pope holds
the end of the rope. Had it not been for that ring, I would not have been long
at the feet of the wafer god of the Pope. Let me tell you one of the shining
rays of truth, which were evidently sent by our merciful God, with a mighty
power, to open my eyes. But I could not follow it; the iron ring was at my
nose; and the Pope was holding the end of the rope.
This was after I had been put at the head of the magnificent parish of
Beauport, in the spring of 1840. There was living at "La Jeune
Lorette" an old retired priest, who was blind. He was born in France,
where he had been condemned to death under the Reign of Terror. Escaped from
the guillotine, he had fled to Canada, where the Bishop of Quebec had put him
in the elevated post of chaplain of the Ursuline Nunnery. He had a fine voice,
was a good musician, and had some pretensions to the title of poet. Having
composed a good number of church hymns, he had been called "Pere Cantique,"
but his real name was "Pere Daule." His faith and piety were of the
most exalted character among the Roman Catholics; though these did not prevent
him from being one of the most amiable and jovial men I ever saw. But his blue
eyes, like the eyes of the dove; his fine yellow hair falling on his shoulders
as a golden fleece; his white rosy cheeks, and his constantly smiling lips, had
been too much for the tender hearts of the good nuns. It was not a secret that
"Pere Cantique," when young, had made several interesting conquests
in the nunnery. There was no wonder at that. Indeed, how could that young and
inexperienced butterfly escape damaging his golden wings, at the numberless
burning lamps of the fair virgins? But the mantle of charity had been put on
the wounds which the old warrior had received on that formidable battlefield,
from which even the Davids, Samsons, Solomons, and many others had escaped only
after being mortally wounded.
To help the poor blind priest, the curates around Quebec used to keep him by turn
in their parsonages, and give him the care and marks of respect due to his old
age. After the Rev. Mr. Roy, curate of Charlesbourgh, had kept him five or six
weeks, I had him taken to my parsonage. It was in the month of May a month
entirely consecrated to the worship of the virgin Mary, to whom Father Daule
was a most devoted priest. His zeal was really inexhaustible, when trying to
prove to us how Mary was the surest foundation of the hope and salvation of
sinners; how she was constantly appeasing the just wrath of he son Jesus, who,
were it not for His love and respect to her, would have long since crushed us
down.
The Councils of Rome have forbidden the blind priests to say their mass; but on
account of high piety, he had got from the Pope the privilege of celebrating
the short mass of the Virgin, which he knew perfectly by heart. One morning,
when the old priest was at the altar, saying his mass, and I was in the vestry,
hearing the confessions of the people, the young servant boy came to me in haste,
and said, "Father Daule calls you; please come quick."
Fearing something wrong had happened to my old friend, I lost no time, and ran
to him. I found him nervously tapping the altar with his two hands, as in
anxious search of some very precious thing. When very near to him, said:
"What do you want?" He answered with a shriek of distress: "The
good god had disappeared from the altar. He is lost! J'ai perdu le Bon Dieu. Il
est disparu de dessus l'autel!" Hoping that he was mistaken, and that he
had only thrown away the good god, "Le Bon Dieu," on the floor, by
some accident, I looked on the altar, at his feet, everywhere I could suspect
that the good god might have been moved away by some mistake of the hand. But
the most minute search was of no avail; the good god could not be found. I
really felt stunned. At first, remembering the thousand miracles I had read of
the disappearance, and marvelous changes of form of the wafer god, it came to
my mind that we were in the presence of some great miracle; and that my eyes
were to see some of these great marvels of which the books of the Church of
Rome are filled. But I had soon to change my mind, when a thought flashed
through my memory which chilled the blood in my veins. The church of Beauport
was inhabited by a multitude of the boldest and most insolent rats I have ever
seen. Many times, when saying my mass, I had seen the ugly noses of several of
them, who, undoubtedly attracted by the smell of the fresh wafer, wanted to
make their breakfast with the body, blood, and soul, and divinity of my Christ.
But, as I was constantly in motion, or praying with a loud voice, the rats had
invariably been frightened and fled away into their secret quarters. I felt
terror-stricken by the thought that the good god (Le Bon Dieu) had been taken
away and eaten by the rats.
Father Daule so sincerely believed what all the priests of Rome are bound to
believe, that he had the power to turn the wafer into God, that, after he had
pronounced the words by which the great marvel was wrought, he used to pass
from five to fifteen minutes in silent adoration. He was then as motionless as
a marble statue, and his feelings were so strong that often torrents of tears
used to flow from his eyes on his cheeks. Leaning my head towards the distressed
old priest, I asked him: "Have you not remained, as you are used, a long
time motionless, in adoring the good god, after the consecration?"
He quickly answered, "Yes; but what has this to do with the loss of the
good god?"
I replied in a low voice, but with a real accent of distress and awe,
"Some rats have dragged and eaten the good god!"
"What do you say?" replied Father Daule. "The good god carried
away and eaten by rats!"
"Yes," I replied, "I have not the least doubt about it."
"My God! my God! what a dreadful calamity upon me!" rejoined the old
man; and raising his hands and his eyes to heaven, he cried out again, "My
God! my God! Why have you not taken away my life before such a misfortune could
fall upon me!" He could not speak any longer; his voice was chocked by his
sobs.
At first I did not know what to say; a thousand thoughts, some very grave, some
exceedingly ludicrous, crossed my mind more rapidly than I can say them. I
stood there as nailed to the floor, by the old priest, who was weeping as a
child, till he asked me, with a voice broken by his sobs, "What must I do
now?" I answered him: "The Church has foreseen occurrences of that
kind, and provided for them the remedy. The only thing you have to do is to get
a new wafer, consecrate it, and continue your mass as if nothing strange had
occurred. I will go and get you, just now, new bread." I went, without
losing a moment, to the vestry, got and brought a new wafer, which he
consecrated and turned into a new god, and finished his mass, as I had told
him. After it was over, I took the disconsolate old priest by the hand to my
parsonage for breakfast. But all along the way he rent the air with his cries
of distress. He would hardly taste anything, for his soul was really drowned in
a sea of distress. I vainly tried to calm his feelings, by telling him that it
was no fault of his; that this strange and sad occurrence was not the first of
that kind; and that it had been calmly foreseen by the Church, which had told
us what to do in these circumstances; that there was no neglect, no fault, no
offense against God or man on his part.
But as he would not pay the least attention to what I said, I felt the only
thing I had to do was to remain silent, and respect his grief by telling him to
unburden his heart by his lamentations and tears.
I had hoped that this good common sense would help him to overcome his
feelings, but I was mistaken; his lamentations were as long as those of
Jeremiah, and the expressions of his grief as bitter.
At last I lost patience, and said: "My dear Father Daule, allow me to tell
you respectfully that it is quite time to stop these lamentations and tears.
Our great and just God cannot like such an excess of sorrow and regret about a
thing which was only, and entirely, under the control of His power and eternal
wisdom."
"What do you say there?" replied the old priest, with a vivacity
which resembled anger.
"I say that, as it was not in your power to foresee or to avoid that
occurrence, you have not the least reason to act and speak as you do. Let us
keep our regrets and our tears for our sins: we both have committed many; we
cannot shed too many tears on them. But there is no sin here, and there must be
some reasonable limits to our sorrow. If anybody had to weep and regret without
measure what has happened, it would be Christ. For He alone could foresee that
event, and He alone could prevent it. Had it been His will to oppose this sad
and mysterious fact, it was in His, not in our power to prevent it. He alone
has suffered from it, because it was His will to suffer it."
"Mr. Chiniquy," he replied, "you are quite a young man, and I
see you have the want of attention and experience which are often seen among
young priests. You do not pay sufficient attention to the awful calamity which
has just occurred in your church. If you had more faith and piety you would
weep with me, instead of laughing at my grief. How can you speak so lightly of
a thing which makes the angels of God weep? Our dear Saviour dragged and eaten
by rats! Oh! great God! does not this surpass the humiliation and horrors of
Calvary?"
"My dear Father Daule," I replied, "allow me respectfully to
tell you, that I understand, as well as you do, the nature of the deplorable
event of this morning. I would have give my blood to prevent it. But let us
look at that fact in its proper light. It is not a moral action for us; it did
not depend on our will more than the spots of the sun. The only one who is
accountable for that fact is our God! For, again I say, that He was the only
one who could foresee and prevent it. And, to give you plainly my own mind, I
tell you here that if I were God Almighty, and a miserable rat would come to
eat me, I would strike him dead before he could touch me."
There is no need of confessing it here; every one who reads these pages, and
pays attention to this conversation, will understand that my former so robust
faith in my priestly power of changing the wafer into my God had melted away
and evaporated from my mind, if not entirely, at least to a great extent.
Great and new lights had flashed through my soul in that hour; evidently my God
wanted to open my eyes to the awful absurdities and impieties of a religion
whose god could be dragged and eaten by rats. Had I been faithful to the saving
lights which were in me then, I was saved in that very hour; and before the end
of that day I would have broken the shameful chains by which the Pope had tied
my neck to his idol of bread. In that hour it seemed to me evident that the
dogma of transubstantiation was a most monstrous imposture, and my priesthood
an insult to God and man.
My intelligence said to me with a thundering voice: "Do not remain any
longer the priest of a god whom you make every day, and whom the rats can
eat."
Though blind, Father Daule understood very well, by the stern accents of my
voice, that my faith in the god whom he had created that morning, and whom the
rats had eaten, had been seriously modified, if not entirely crumbled down. He
remained silent for some time, after which he invited me to sit by him; and he
spoke to me with a pathos and an authority which my youth and his old age alone
could justify. He gave me the most awful rebuke I ever had; he really opened on
my poor wavering intelligence, soul and heart, all the cataracts of heaven. He
overwhelmed me with a deluge of Holy Fathers, Councils, and infallible Popes
who had believed and preached before the whole world, in all ages, the dogma of
transubstantiation.
If I had paid attention the voice of my intelligence, and accepted the lights
which my merciful God was giving me, I could easily have smashed the arguments
of the old priest of Rome. But what has the intelligence to do in the Church of
Rome? What could my intelligence say? I was forbidden to hear it. What was the weight
of my poor, isolated intelligence, when put in the balance against so many
learned, holy, infallible intelligences?
Alas! I was not aware then that the weight of the intelligence of God, the
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, was on my side; and that, weighted against the
intelligence of the Popes, they were greater than all the worlds against a
grain of sand.
One hour after, shedding tears of regret, I was at the feet of Father Daule, in
the confessional box, confessing the great sin I had committed by doubting, for
a moment, of the power of the priest to change a wafer into God.
The old priest, whose voice had been like a lion's voice when speaking to the
unbelieving curate of Beauport, had become sweet as the voice of a lamb when he
had me at his feet, confessing my unbelief. He gave me my pardon. For my
penance he forbade me ever to say a word on the sad end of the god he had
created that morning; for, said he, "This would destroy the faith of the
most sincere Roman Catholics." For the other part of the penance I had to
go on my knees every day, during nine days, before the fourteen images of the
way of the cross, and say a penitential psalm before every picture, which I
did. But the sixth day the skin of my knees was pierced, and the blood was
flowing freely. I suffered real torture every time I knelt down, and at every
step I made. But it seemed to me that these terrible tortures were nothing
compared to my great iniquity!
I had refused, for a moment, to believe that a man can create his god with a
wafer! and I had thought that a church which adores a god eaten by rats, must
be an idolatrous church!
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CHAPTER 37 Back to Top
A
few days before the arrival of Bishop de Forbin Janson, I was alone in my
study, considering my false position towards my ecclesiastical superiors, on
account of my establishing the temperance society against their formal protest.
My heart was sad. My partial success had not blinded me to the reality of my
deplorable isolation from the great mass of the clergy. With a very few
exceptions, they were speaking of me as a dangerous man. They had even given me
the nick-name of "Le reformateur au petit pied" (small-sized
reformer) and were losing no opportunity of showing me their supreme contempt
and indignation, for what they called my obstinacy.
In that sad hour, there were many clouds around my horizon, and my mind was
filled with anxiety; when, suddenly, a stranger knocked at my door. He was a
good-sized man; his smiling lips and honest face were beaming with the utmost
kindness. His large and noble forehead told me, at once, that my visitor was a
man of superior intellect. His whole mien was that of a true gentleman.
He pressed my hand with the cordiality of an old friend and, giving me his
name, he told me at once the object of his visit, in these words:
"I do not come here only in my name: but it is in the name of many, if not
of all, the English-speaking people of Quebec and Canada; I want to tell you
our admiration for the great reform you have accomplished in Beauport. We know
the stern opposition of your superiors and fellowpriests to your efforts, and
we admire you more for that.
"Go on, sir, you have on your side the great God of heaven, who has said
to us all: 'Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth its
colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright. At the last, it biteth like a
serpent, and stingeth like an adder.'" (Prov. xxiii. 31, 32). "Take
courage, sir," he added; "you have, on your side, the Saviour of the
world, Jesus Christ Himself. Fear not man, sir, when God the Father, and His
Son, Jesus Christ, are on your side. If you find any opposition from some
quarter; and if deluded men turn you into ridicule when you are doing such a
Christian work, bless the Lord. For Jesus Christ has said: 'Blessed are they
who do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled. Blessed
are ye when men shall revile you and persecute you, and shall say all manner of
evil against you, falsely, for My sake.' (Matt. v. 6, 11.) I come also to tell
you sir, that if there are men to oppose you, there are many more who are
praying for you day and night, asking our heavenly Father to pour upon you His
most abundant blessings. Intoxicating drinks are the curse of this young country.
It is the most deadly foe of every father and mother, the most implacable enemy
of every child in Canada. It is the ruin of our rich families, as well as the
destruction of the poor. The use of intoxicating drinks, under any form, or
pretext, is an act of supreme folly; for alcohol kills the body and damns the
soul of its blind victims. You have, for the first time, raised the glorious
banners of temperance among the French Canadian people; though you are alone,
today, to lift it up, be not discouraged. For, before long, you will see your
intelligent countrymen rallying around it, to help you to fight and to conquer.
No doubt, the seed you sow today is often watered with your tears. But, before
long, you will reap the richest crop; and your heart will be filled with joy,
when your grateful country will bless your name."
After a few other sentences of the same elevated sentiments, he hardly gave me
time enough to express my feelings of gratitude, and said: "I know you are
very busy, I do not want to trespass upon your time. Goodbye, sir. May the Lord
bless you, and be your keeper in all your ways."
He pressed my hand, and soon disappeared. I would try, in vain, to express what
I felt when alone with my God, after that strange and providential visit. My first
thought was to fall on my knees and thank that merciful God for having sent
such a messenger to cheer me in one of the darkest hours of my life; for every
word from his lips had fallen on my wounded soul as the oil of the Good
Samaritan on the bleeding wounds of the traveler to Jericho. There had been
such an elevation of thought, such a ring of true, simple, but sublime faith
and piety; such love of man and fear of God in all that he had said. It was the
first time that I had heard words so conformable to my personal views and
profound convictions on that subject. That stranger, whose visit had passed as
quickly as the visit of an angel from God, had filled my heart with such joy
and surprise at the unexpected news that all the Englishspeaking people of
Canada were praying for me!
However, I did not fall on my knees to thank God; for my sentiments of
gratitude to God were suddenly chilled by the unspeakable humiliation I felt
when I considered that that stranger was a Protestant! The comparison I was forced
to make between the noble sentiments, the high philosophy, the Christian
principles of that Protestant layman, with the low expressions of contempt, the
absolute want of generous and Christian thoughts of my bishop and my
fellow-priests when they were turning into ridicule that temperance society
which God was so visibly presenting to us the best, if not the only way, to
save the thousands of drunkards who were perishing around us, paralyzed my
lips, bewildered my mind, and made it impossible for me to utter a word of
prayer. My first sentiments of joy and of gratitude to God soon gave way to
sentiments of unspeakable shame and distress.
I was forced to acknowledge that these Protestants, whom my Church had taught
me, through all her councils, to anathematize and curse as the slaves and
followers of Satan, were, in their principles of morality, higher above us than
the heavens are above the earth! I had to confess to myself that those
heretics, whom my church had taught me to consider as rebels against Christ and
His Church, knew the laws of God and followed them much more closely than
ourselves. They had raised themselves to the highest degree of Christian
temperance, when my bishops, with their priests, were swimming in the deadly
waters of drunkenness!
A voice seemed crying to me, "Where is the superiority of holiness of your
proud Church of Rome over those so called heretics, who follow more closely the
counsels and precepts of the gospel of Christ?" I tried to stifle that
voice, but I could not. Louder and Louder it was heard asking me, "Who is
nearer God? The bishop who so obstinately opposes a reform which is so
evidently according to the Divine Word, or those earnest followers of the
gospel who make the sacrifice of their old and most cherished usages with such
pleasure, when they see it is for the good of their fellow-men and the glory of
God?" I wished them to be a hundred feet below the ground, in order not to
hear those questions answered within my soul. But there was no help; I had to hear
them, and to blush at the reality before my eyes. Pride! yes, diabolical pride!
is the vice, par excellence, of every priest of Rome. Just as he is taught to
believe and say that his church is far above every other church, so he is
taught to believe and say that, as a priest, he is above all the kings,
emperors, governors, and presidents of this world. That pride is the daily
bread of the Pope, the bishop, the priests, and even the lowest layman in the
Church of Rome. It is also the great secret of their power and strength. It is
this diabolical pride which nerves them with an iron will, to bring down
everything to their feet, subject every human being to their will, and tie
every neck to the wheels of their chariot. It is this fearful pride which so
often gives them that stoical patience and indomitable courage in the midst of
the most cruel pain, of in the face of the most appalling death, which so many
deluded Protestants take for Christian courage and heroism. The priest of Rome
believes that he is called by God Almighty to rule, subdue, and govern the
world; with all those prerogatives that he fancies granted him by heaven he
builds up a high pyramid, on the top of which he sets himself, and from that
elevation looks down with the utmost contempt on the rest of the world.
If anyone suspects that I exaggerate in thus speaking of the pride of the
priests, let him read the following haughty words which Cardinal Manning puts
in the lips of the Pope in one of his lectures:
"I acknowledge no civil power; I am the subject of no prince. I am more
than this. I claim to be the supreme judge and director of the conscience of
men: of the peasant who tills his field, and of the prince who sits upon the
throne; of the household that lives in he shade of privacy, and the legislator
that makes laws for the kingdom. I am the sole, last, supreme judge of what is
right or wrong."
Is it not evident that the Holy Ghost speaks of this pride of the priests and
of the Pope, the high priest of Rome, when He says: "That man of
sin," that "son of perdition, who opposeth and exalteth himself above
all that is called God, or what is worshipped; so that he, as God, sitteth in
the temple of God, shewing himself that he is God" (2 Thess. ii. 3, 4).
That caste pride which was in me, though I did not see it then, as it is in
every priest of Rome, though he does not suspect it, had received a rude check,
indeed, from that Protestant visitor. Yes, I must confess it, he had inflicted
a deadly wound on my priestly pride; he had thrown a barbed arrow into my
priestly soul which I tried many times, but always in vain, to take away. The
more I attempted to get rid of this arrow, the deeper it went through my very
bones and marrow. That strange visitor, who caused me to pass so many hours and
days of humiliation, when forcing me to blush at the inferiority of the
Christian principles of my church compared with those of the Protestants, is
well known in Canada, the United States, and Great Britain as the founder and
first editor of two of the best religious papers of America, the Montreal
Witness and the New York Witness. His name is John Dougall. As he is still
living, I am happy to have this opportunity of thanking and blessing him again
for the visit he paid to the young curate of Beauport forty-five years ago. I
was not aware then that the wounds inflicted by that unknown but friendly hand
was one of the great favours bestowed upon me by my merciful God; but I
understand it now. Many rays of light have since come from the wounds which my
priestly pride received that day. Those rays of light helped much to expel the
darkness which surrounded me by leading me to see, in spite of myself, that the
vaunted holiness of the Church of Rome is a fraud.
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CHAPTER 38 Back to Top
The
battle fought and gained at the grand dinner of the Quebec Seminary by the
society of temperance had been decisive. The triumph was as complete as it was
glorious. Hereafter her march to the conquest of Canada was to be a triumph.
Her banners were soon to be planted over all the cities, towns, and villages of
my dear country. To commemorate the expression of their joy and gratitude to
God to the remotest generations, the people of Beauport erected the beautiful
Column of Temperance, which is still seen half-way between Quebec and the
Montmorency Falls. The Bishop de Nancy, my Lord Forbin Janson, blessed that
first monument of Temperance, September 7th, 1841, in the midst of an immense
multitude of people. The parishes of St. Peter, St. John, St. Famille (Orleans
Island), with St. Michael were the first, after Lange Gardien, Chateau Richer,
St. Anne and St. Joachin, to request me to preach on Temperance. Soon after,
the whole population of St. Roch, Quebec, took the pledge with a wonderful
unanimity, and kept it long with marvelous fidelity. In order to show to the
whole country their feelings of gratitude, they presented me with a fine
picture of the Column of Temperance and a complimentary address, written and
delivered by one of the most promising young men of Quebec, Mr. John Cauchon,
who was raised some years later to the dignity of a Cabinet Minister, and who
has been the worthy Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba.
That address was soon followed by another from the citizens of Quebec and
Beauport, presented along with my portrait, by Mr. Joseph Parent, then editor
of the Canadien, and afterwards Provincial Secretary of Canada.
What a strange being man is! How fickle are his judgments! In 1842, they had no
words sufficiently flattering to praise the very man in the face of whom they
were spitting in 1838, for doing the very same thing. Was I better for
establishing the society of temperance in 1842, than I was in establishing it
in 1838? No! And was I worse when, in 1838, bishops, priests, and people, were abusing,
slandering, and giving me bad names for raising the banners of temperance over
my country, than I was in continuing to lift it up in 1842? No! The sudden and
complete judgments of men in such a short period of time had the good and
providential effect of filling my mind with the most supreme indifference, not
to say contempt, for what men thought or said of me. Yes! this sudden passage
from condemnation to that of praise, when I was doing the very same work, had
the good effect to cure me of that natural pride which one is apt to feel when
publicly applauded by men.
It is to that knowledge, acquired when young, that I owe the preservation of my
dignity as a man and priest, when all my bishops and their priests were arrayed
against me at the dining table of the Seminary of Quebec. It is that knowledge,
also, that taught me not to forget that I was nothing but a worm of the dust
and an unprofitable servant of God, when the same men overwhelmed me with their
unmerited praises. Let not my readers think, however, that I was absolutely
indifferent to this charge of public feeling. For no words can tell the joy I
felt at the assurance which these public manifestations afforded me that the
cause of temperance was to triumph everywhere in my country. Let me tell here a
fact too honourable to the people of Beauport to be omitted. As soon as the
demon of intemperance was driven from my parish, I felt that my first duty was
to give my attention to education, which had been so shamefully neglected by my
predecessors that there was not a single school in the parish worthy of that
name. I proposed my plan to the people, asked their co-operation, and set to
work without delay. I began by erecting the fine stone school-house near the
church, on the site of the old parsonage; the old walls were pulled down, and
on the old foundation a good structure was soon erected with the free
collections raised in the village. But the work was hardly half-finished when I
found myself without a cent to carry on. I saw at once that, having no idea of
the value of education, the people would murmur at my asking any more money. I
therefore sold my horse a fine animal given me by a rich uncle and with the
money finished the building.
My people felt humiliated and pained at seeing their pastor obliged to walk
when going to Quebec or visiting the sick. They said to each other: "Is it
not a burning shame for us to have forced our young curate to sell his fine
horse to build our school-houses, when it would have been so easy to do that work
ourselves? Let us repair our faults."
On my return from establishing the society of temperance in St. John, two weeks
later, my servant man said to me:
"Please, Mr. le Cure, come to the stable and see a very curious
thing."
"What curious thing can there be?" I answered.
"Well, sir, please come, and you will see."
What was both my surprise and pleasure to find one of the most splendid
Canadian horses there as mine! For my servant said to me, "During you
absence the people have raised five hundred dollars, and bought this fine horse
for you. They say they do not want any longer to see their curate walking in
the mud. When they drove the horse here, that I might present him to you as a
surprise on your arrival, I heard them saying that with the temperance society
you have saved them more than five hundred dollars every week in money, time,
and health, and that it was only an act of justice to give you the savings of a
week."
The only way of expressing my gratitude to my noble people, was to redouble my
exertions in securing the benefits of a good education to their children. I
soon proposed to the people to build another schoolhouse two miles distant from
the first.
But I was not long without seeing that this new enterprise was to be still more
uphill work than the first one among the people, of whom hardly one in fifty
could sign his name.
"Have not our fathers done well without those costly schools?" said
many. "What is the use of spending so much money for a thing that does not
add a day to our existence, nor an atom to our comfort?"
I soon felt confronted by such a deadly indifference, not to say opposition, on
the part of my best farmers, that I feared for a few days lest I had really
gone too far. The last cent of my own revenues was not only given, but a little
personal debt created to meet the payments, and a round sum of five hundred
dollars had to be found to finish the work. I visited the richest man of
Beauport to ask him to come to my rescue. Forty years before he had come to
Beauport bare-footed, without a cent to work. He had employed his first earned
dollars in purchasing some rum, with which he had doubled his money in two
hours; and had continued to double his money, at that rate, in the same way,
till he was worth nearly two hundred thousand dollars.
He then stopped selling rum, to invest his money in city properties. He
answered me: "My dear curate, I would have no objections to give you the
five hundred dollars you want, if I had not met the Grand Vicar Demars
yesterday, who warned me, as an old friend, against what he calls your
dangerous and exaggerated views in reference to the education of the people. He
advised me, for your own good, and the good of the people, to do all in my
power to induce you to desist from your plan of covering our parishes with
schools."
"Will you allow me," I answered, "to mention our conversation to
Mr. Demars, and tell him what you have just said about his advising you to
oppose me in my efforts to promote the interests of education?"
"Yes,sir, by all means," answered Mr. Des Roussell. "I allow you
to repeat to the venerable superior of the Seminary of Quebec, what he said to
me yesterday; ;it was not a secret, for there were several other farmers of
Beauport to whom he said the very same thing. If you ignore that the priests of
Quebec are opposed to your plans of educating our children, you must be the
only one who does not know it, for it is a public fact. Your difficulties in
raising the funds you want, come only from the opposition of the rest of the
clergy to you in this matter; we have plenty of money in Beauport to day, and
we would feel happy to help you. But you understand that our good will be
somewhat cooled by the opposition of men whom we are accustomed to
respect."
I replied: "Do you not remember, my dear Mr. Des Roussell, that those very
same priests opposed me in the same way, in my very first efforts to establish
the temperance society in your midst?"
"Yes, sir," he answered, with a smile, "we remember it well, but
you have converted them to your views now."
"Well, my dear sir, I hope we shall convert them also in this question of
education."
The very next morning, I was knocking at the door of the Rev. Grand Vicar
Demars, after I had tied my splendid horse in the courtyard of the Seminary of
Quebec. I was received with the utmost marks of courtesy. Without losing any
time, I repeated to the old Superior what Mr. Des Roussell had told me of his
opposition to my educational plans, and respectfully asked him if it were true.
The poor Grand Vicar seemed as if thunderstruck by my abrupt, though polite
question. He tried, at first, to explain what he had said, by taking a long
circuit, but I mercilessly brought him to the point at issue, and forced him to
say, "Yes, I said it."
I then rejoined and said, "Mr. Grand Vicar, I am only a child before you,
when comparing my age with yours; however, I have the honour to be the curate
of Beauport, it is in that capacity that I respectfully ask you by what right
you oppose my plans for educating our children!"
"I hope, Mr. Chiniquy," he answered, "that you do not mean to
say that I am he enemy of education; for I would answer you that this is the
first house of education on this continent, and that I was at its head before
you were born. I hope that I have the right to believe and say that the old
Superior of the Seminary of Quebec understands, as well as the young curate of
Beauport, the advantage of a good education. But I will repeat to you what I
said to Mr. Des Roussell, that it is a great mistake to introduce such a
general system of education as you want to do in Beauport. Let every parish
have its well-educated notary, doctor, merchants, and a few others to do the
public business; that is enough. Our parishes of Canada are models of peace and
harmony under the direction of their good curates, but they will become
unmanageable the very day your system of education spreads abroad; for then all
the bad propensities of the heart will be developed with an irresistible force.
Besides, you know that since the conquest of Canada by Protestant England, the
Protestants are waiting for their opportunity to spread the Bible among our
people. The only barrier we can oppose to that danger is to have, in future, as
in the past, only a very limited number of our people who can read or write.
For as soon as the common people are able to read, they will, like Adam and
Eve, taste the forbidden fruit; they will read the Bible, turn Protestant, and
be lost for time and eternity."
In my answer, among other things, I said: "Go into the country, look at
the farm which is well-cultivated, ploughed with attention and skill, richly
manured, and sown with good seed; is it not infinitely more pleasant and
beautiful to live on such a farm, than on one which is neglected, unskillfully
managed and covered with noxious weeds? Well, the difference between a well
educated and an uneducated people is still greater in my mind. "I know
that the priests of Canada, in general, have your views, and it is for that
reason that the parish of Beauport with its immense revenues had been left
without a school worthy the name, from its foundation to my going there. But my
views are absolutely different. And as for your fear of the Bible, I confess we
are antipodes to each other. I consider that one of the greatest blessings God
has bestowed upon me, is that I have read the Bible, when I was on my mother's
knees. I do not even conceal from you, that one of my objects in giving a good
education to every boy and girl of Beauport, is to put the Gospel of Christ in
their hands, as soon as they are able to read it."
At the end of our conversation, which was very excited on both sides, though
kept in the bounds of politeness during nearly two hours, I said:
"Mr. Grand Vicar, I did not come here to convert you to my views, this
would have been impertinence on my part; nor can you convert me to yours, if
you are trying it, for you know I have the bad reputation of being a hard case;
I came to ask you, as a favour, to let me work according to my conscience in a
parish which is mine and not yours. Do not interfere any more in my affairs
between me and my parishioners, than you would like me to interfere in the
management of your Seminary. As you would not like me to criticize you before
your pupils and turn you into ridicule, please cease adding to my difficulties
among my people, by continuing in the future what you have done in the past.
"You know, Mr. Grand Vicar, that I have always respected you as my father;
you have many times been my adviser, my confessor, and my friend; I hope you
will grant me the favour I ask from you in the name of our common Saviour. It
is for the spiritual and temporal good of the people and pastor of Beauport
that I make this prayer."
That old priest was a kind-hearted man; these last words melted his heart. He
promised what I wanted, and we parted from each other on better terms than I
had expected at first.
When crossing the courtyard of the Seminary, I saw the Archbishop Signaie, who,
coming from taking a ride, had stopped to look at my horse and admire it. When
near him, I said: "My lord, this is a bishop's horse, and ought to be in
your hands."
"It is what I was saying to my secretary," replied the bishop.
"How long is it since you got it?"
"Only a few days ago, my lord."
"Have you any intention of selling it?"
"I would, if it would please my bishop," I replied.
"What is the price?" asked the bishop.
"Those who gave it to me paid five hundred dollars for it," I
replied.
"Oh! oh! that is too dear," rejoined the bishop, "with five
hundred dollars, we can get five good horses. Two hundred would be
enough."
"Your lordship is joking. Were I as rich as I am poor, one thousand
dollars would not take that noble animal from my hands, except to have it put
in the carosse of my bishop."
"Go and write a cheque of two hundred dollars to the order of Mr.
Chiniquy," said the bishop to his sub-secretary, Mr. Belisle.
When the secretary had gone to write the cheque, the bishop being alone with
me, took from his portfeuille three bank bills of one hundred dollars each, and
put them into my hands, saying: "This will make up your five hundred
dollars, when my secretary gives you the cheque. But, please, say nothing to
anybody, not even to my secretary. I do not like to have my private affairs
talked of around the corners of the streets. That horse is the most splendid I
ever saw, and I am much obliged to you for having sold it to me."
I was also very glad to have five hundred dollars in hand. For with three
hundred dollars I could finish my schoolhouse, and there was two hundred more
to begin another, three miles distant. Just two weeks later, when I was
dressing myself at sunrise, my servant man came to my room and said:
"There are twenty men on horseback who want to speak to you."
"Twenty men on horseback who want to speak to me!" I answered.
"Are you dreaming?"
"I do not dream," answered my young man; "there they are at the
door, on horseback, waiting for you."
I was soon dressed, and in the presence of twenty of my best farmers, on
horseback, who had formed themselves in a half-circle to receive me.
"What do you want, my friends?" I asked them.
One of them, who had studied a few years in the Seminary of Quebec, answered:
"Dear pastor, we come in the name of the whole people of Beauport, to ask
your pardon for having saddened your heart by not coming as we ought to your
help in the superhuman efforts you make to give good schools to our children.
This is the result of our ignorance. Having never gone to school ourselves, the
greater part of us have never known the value of education. But the heroic
sacrifices you have made lately have opened our eyes. They ought to have been
opened at the sale of your first horse. But we were in need of another lesson
to understand our meanness. However, the selling of the second horse has done
more than anything else to awaken us from our shameful lethargy. The fear of
receiving a new rebuke from us, if you made another appeal to our generosity,
has forced you to make that new sacrifice. The first news came to us as a
thunderbolt. But there is always some light in a thunderbolt; through that
light we have seen our profound degradation, in shutting our ears to your
earnest and paternal appeals in favour of our own dear children. Be sure, dear
pastor, that we are ashamed of our conduct. From this day, not only our hearts,
but our purses are yours, in all you want to do to secure a good education for
our families. However, our principal object in coming here today is not to say
vain words, but to do an act of reparation and justice. Our first thought, when
we heard that you had sold the horse we had given you, was to present you with
another. We have been prevented from doing this by the certainty that you would
sell it again, either to help some poor people or to build another schoolhouse.
As we cannot bear to see our pastor walking in the mud when going to the city,
or visiting us, we have determined to put another horse into your hands, but in
such a way that you will not have the right to sell it. We ask you, then, as a
favour, to select the best horse here among these twenty which are before you,
and to keep it as long as you remain in our midst, which we hope will be very
long. It will be returned to its present possessor if you leave us; and be
sure, dear pastor, that the one of us who leaves his horse in your hands will
be the most happy and proudest of all."
When speaking thus, that noble hearted man had several times been unable to
conceal the tears which were rolling down his cheeks, and more than once his trembling
voice had been choked by his emotion.
I tried in vain at first to speak. My feelings of gratitude and admiration
could be expressed only with my tears. It took some time before I could utter a
single word. At last I said: "My dear friends, this to too much for your
poor pastor. I feel overwhelmed by this grand act of kindness. I do not say
that I thank you the word thank is too small too short and insignificant to
tell you what your poor unworthy pastor feels at what his eyes see and his ears
hear just now. The great and merciful God, who has put those sentiments into
your hearts, alone can repay you for the joy with which you fill my soul. I
would hurt your feelings, I know, by not accepting your offering: I accept it.
But to punish your speaker, Mr. Parent, for his complimentary address, I will
take his horse, for the time I am curate of Beauport, which, I hope, will be
till I die." And I laid my hand on the bridle of the splendid animal.
There was then a struggle which I had not expected. Every one of the nineteen
whom I left with their horses began to cry: "Oh!, do not take that horse;
it is not worth a penny; mine is much stronger," said one. "Mine is
much faster," cried our another. "Mine is a safe rider," said a
third. Every one wanted me to take his horse, and tried to persuade me that it
was the best of all; they really felt sorry that they were not able to change
my mind. Has anyone ever felt more happy than I was in the midst of these
generous friends? The memory of that happy hour will never pass away from my
mind.
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 39 Back to Top
On
the morning of the 25th August, 1842, we blessed and opened the seventh school
of Beauport. From that day all the children were to receive as good an
education as could be given in any country place of Canada. Those schools had
been raised on the ruins of the seven taverns which had so long spread ruin,
shame, desolation, and death over that splendid parish. My heart was filled
with an unspeakable joy at the sight of the marvelous things which, by the hand
of God, had been wrought in such a short time.
At about two p.m. of that never-to-be-forgotten day, after I had said my
vespers, and was alone, pacing the alleys of my garden, under the shade of the
old maple trees bordering the northern part of that beautiful spot, I was
reviewing the struggles and the victories of these last four years: it seemed
that everything around me, not only the giant trees which were protecting me
from the burning sun, but even the humblest grasses and flowers of my garden,
had a voice to tell me, "Bless the Lord for His mercies."
At my feet the majestic St. Lawrence was rolling its deep waters; beyond, the
old capital of Canada, Quebec, with its massive citadel, its proud towers, its
bristling cannons, its numerous houses and steeples, with their tin roofs
reflecting the light of the sun in myriads of rays, formed such a spectacle of
fairy beauty as no pen can describe. The fresh breeze from the river, mingled
with the perfume of the thousand flowers of my parterre, bathed me in an
atmosphere of fragrance. Never yet had I enjoyed life as at that hour. All the
sanguine desires of my heart and the holy aspirations of my soul had been more
than realized. Peace, harmony, industry, abundance, happiness, religion, and
education had come on the heels of temperance, to gladden and cheer the
families which God had entrusted to me. The former hard feelings of my
ecclesiastical superiors had been changed into sentiments and acts of kindness,
much above my merits. With the most sincere feelings of gratitude to God, I
said with the old prophet, "Bless the Lord, O my soul."
By the great mercy of God that parish of Beauport, which at first had appeared
to me as a bottomless abyss in which I was to perish, had been changed for me
into an earthly paradise. There was only one desire in my heart. It was that I
never should be removed from it. Like Peter on Mount Tabor, I wanted to pitch
my tent in Beauport to the end of my life. But the rebuke which had shamed Peter
came as quickly as lightning to show me the folly and vanity of my dreams.
Suddenly the carosse of the Bishop of Quebec came in sight, and rolled down to
the door of the parsonage. The sub-secretary, the Rev. Mr. Belisle, alighting
from it, directed his steps towards the garden, where he had seen me, and
handed me the following letter from the Right Rev. Turgeon, Coadjutor of
Quebec:
.
My Dear Mons. Chiniquy:
His lordship Bishop Signaie and I wish to confer with you on a most important
matter. We have sent our carriage to bring you to Quebec. Please come without
the least delay.
Truly yours,
Flav. Turgeon.
One
hour after, I was with the two bishops. My Lord Signaie said:
"Monseigneur Turgeon will tell you why we have sent for you in such
haste."
"Mons. Chiniquy," said Bishop Turgeon, "is not Kamouraska your
birthplace?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Do you like that place, and do you interest yourself much in its
welfare?"
"Of course, my lord, I like Kamouraska; not only because it is my
birthplace, and the most happy hours of my youth were spent in it, but also
because, in my humble opinion, the beauties of its scenery, the purity of its
atmosphere, the fine manners and proverbial intelligence of its people, make it
the very gem of Canada."
"You know," rejoined the bishop, "that Rev. Mons. Varin has been
too infirm, these last years, to superintend the spiritual interest of that
important place, it is impossible to continue putting a young vicar at the head
of such a parish, where hundreds of the best families of our aristocracy of
Quebec and Montreal resort every summer. We have, too long, tried that
experiment of young priests in the midst of such a people. It has been a
failure. Drunkenness, luxury, and immoralities of the most degrading kind are
eating up the very life of Kamouraska today. Not less than thirty illegitimate
births are known and registered in different places from Kamouraska these last
twelve months. It is quite time to stop that state of affairs, and you are the
only one, Mons. Chiniquy, on whom we can rely for that great and difficult
work."
These last words passed through my soul as a two-edged sword. My lips quivered,
I felt as if I were choking, and my tongue, with difficulty muttered: "My
lord, I hope it is not your intention to remove me from my dear parish of
Beauport."
"No, Mons. Chiniquy, we will not make use of our authority to break the
sacred and sweet ties which unite you to the parish of Beauport. But we will
put before your conscience the reasons we have to wish you at the head of the
great and important parish of Kamouraska."
For more than an hour the two bishops made strong appeals to my charity for the
multitudes who were sunk into the abyss of drunkenness and every vice, and had
no one to save them.
"See how God and men are blessing you today," added the Archbishop
Signaie, "for what you have done in Beauport! Will they not bless you
still more, if you save that great and splendid parish of Kamouraska, as you
have saved Beauport? Will not a double crown be put upon your forehead by your
bishops, your country, and your God, if you consent to be the instrument of the
mercies of God towards the people of your own birthplace, and the surrounding
country, as you have just been for Beauport and its surrounding parishes? Can
you rest and live in peace now in Beauport, when you hear day and night the
voice of the multitudes, who cry: 'Come to our help, we are perishing'? What
will you answer to God, at the last day, when He will show you the thousands of
precious souls lost at Kamouraska, because you refused to go to their rescue?
As Monseigneur Turgeon has said, we will not make use of our authority to force
you to leave your present position; we hope that the prayers of your bishops
will be enough for you. We know what a great sacrifice it will be for you to
leave Beauport today; but do not forget that the greater the sacrifice, the
more precious will the crown be."
My bishops had spoken to me with such kindness! Their paternal and friendly
appeals had surely more power over me than orders. Not without many tears, but
with a true good will, I consented to give up the prospects of peace and
comfort which were in store for me in Beauport, to plunge myself again into a
future of endless troubles and warfare, by going to Kamouraska.
There is no need of saying that the people of Beauport did all in their power
to induce the bishops to let me remain among them some time longer. But the
sacrifice had to be made. I gave my farewell address on the second Sabbath of
September, in the midst of indescribable cries, sobs, and tears; and on the
17th of the same month, I was on my way to Kamouraska. I had left everything
behind me at Beauport, even to my books, in order to be freer in that
formidable conflict which seemed to be in store for me in my new parish. When I
took leave of the Bishop of Quebec, they showed me a letter just received by
them from Mons. Varin, filled with the most bitter expressions of indignation
on account of the choice of such a fanatic and firebrand as Chiniquy, for a place
as well known for its peaceful habits and harmony among all classes. The last
words of the letter were as follows:
"The clergy and people of Kamouraska and vicinity consider the appointment
of Mons. Chiniquy to this parish as an insult, and we hope and pray that your
lordship may change your mind on the subject."
In showing me the letter, my lords Signaie and Turgeon said: "We fear that
you will have more trouble than we expected with the old curate and his
partisans, but we commend you to the grace of God and the protection of the
Virgin Mary, remembering that our Saviour has said: 'Be of good cheer; I have
overcome the world'" (John xvi. 33).
I arrived at Kamouraska the 21st of September, 1842, on one of the finest days
of the year.
But my heart was filled with an unspeakable desolation, for all along the way
the curates had told me that the people, with their old pastor, were unanimous
in their opposition to my going there. It was even rumoured that the doors of
the church would be shut against me the next Sunday. To this bad news were
added two very strange facts. My brother Achilles, who was living at St.
Michael, was to drive me from that place to St. Roch des Aulnets, whence my
other brother Louis, would take me to Kamouraska. But we had not traveled more
than five or six miles, when the wheel of the newly-finished and beautifully
painted buggy, having struck a stone, the seat was broken into fragments, and
we both fell to the ground.
By chance, as my brother was blessing the man who had sold him that rig for a
new and first-class conveyance, a traveler going the same way passed by. I
asked him for a place in his caleche, bade adieu to my brother, and consoled
him by saying: "As you have lost your fine buggy in my service, I will
give you a better one."
Two days after, my second brother was driving me to my destination, and when
about three or four miles from Kamouraska, his fine horse stepped on a long
nail which was on the road, fell down and died in the awful convulsions of
tetanus. I took leave of him, and consoled him also by promising to give him
another horse.
Another carriage took me safely to the end of my journey. However, having to
pass by the church, which was about two hundred yards from the parsonage, I
dismissed my driver at the door of the sacred edifice, and took my satchel in
hand, which was my only baggage, entered the church, and spent more than an
hour in fervent prayers, or rather in cries and tears. I felt so heart-sick
that I needed that hour of rest and prayer. The tears I shed there relieved my
burdened spirit.
A few steps from me, in the cemetery, lay the sacred remains of my beloved
mother, whose angelic face and memory were constantly before me. Facing me was
the altar where I had made my first communion; at my left was the pulpit which
was to be the battlefield where I had to fight the enemies of my people and of
my God, who, I had been repeatedly told, were cursing and grinding their teeth
at me. But the vision of that old curate I had soon to confront, and who had
written such an impudent letter against me to the bishops, and the public
opposition of the surrounding priests to my coming into their midst, were the
most discouraging aspects of my new position. I felt as if my soul had been
crushed. My very existence seemed an unbearable burden.
My new responsibilities came so vividly before my mind in that distressing
hour, that my courage for a moment failed me. I reproached myself for the act
of folly in yielding to the request of the bishops. It seemed evident that I had
accepted a burden too heavy for me to bear. But I prayed with all the fervour
of my soul to God and to the Virgin Mary, and wept to my heart's content.
There is a marvelous power in the prayers and tears which come from the heart.
I felt like a new man. I seemed to hear the trumpet of God calling me to the
battlefield. My only business then was to go and fight, relying on Him alone
for victory. I took my traveling bag, went out of the church and walked slowly
towards the parsonage, which has been burnt since. It was a splendid two-storey
building, eighty feet in length, with capacious cellars. It had been built
shortly after the conquest of Canada, as a store for contraband goods; but
after a few years of failure became the parsonage of the parish.
The Rev. Mons. Varin, though infirm and sick, had watched me from his window,
and felt bewildered at my entering the church and remaining so long.
I knocked at the first door, but as nobody answered, I opened it, and crossed
the first large room to knock at the second door; but, here also, no answer
came except from two furious little dogs. I entered the room, fighting the
dogs, which bit me several times. I knocked at the third and fourth doors with
the same results no one to receive me.
I knew that the next was the old curate's sleeping room. At my knocking, an
angry voice called out: "Walk in."
I entered, made a step toward the old and infirm curate, who was sitting in his
large arm-chair. As I was about to salute him, he angrily said: "The
people of Beauport have made great efforts to keep you in their midst, but the
people of Kamouraska will make as great efforts to turn you out of this
place."
"Mon. le Cure," I answered calmly, "God knoweth that I never
desired to leave Beauport for the is place. But I think it is that great and
merciful God who has brought me here by the hand; and I hope He will help me to
overcome all opposition, from whatever quarter it may come."
He replied angrily: "Is it to insult me that you call me 'Mons. le Cure?'
I am no more the curate of Kamouraska. You are the curate now, Mr.
Chiniquy."
"I beg your pardon, my dear Mr. Varin; you are still, I hope you will
remain all your life, the honoured and beloved curate of Kamouraska. The
respect and gratitude I owe you have caused me to refuse the titles and honours
which our bishop wanted to give me."
"But, then, if I am the curate, what are you?" replied the old
priest, with more calmness.
"I am nothing but a simple soldier of Christ, and a sower of the good seed
of the Gospel!" I answered. "When I fight the common enemy in the
plain, as Joshua did, you, like Moses, will stand on the top of the mountain,
lift up your hands to heaven, send your prayers to the mercy seat, and we will
gain the day. Then both will bless the God of our salvation for the
victory."
"Well! well! this is beautiful, grand, and sublime," said the old
priest, with a voice filled with friendly emotions. "But whence is your
household furniture, your library?"
"My household furniture," I answered, "is in this little bag,
which I hold in my hand. I do not want any of my books as long as I have the
pleasure and honour to be with the good Mons. Varin, who will allow me, I am
sure of it, to ransack his splendid library, and study his rare and learned
books."
"But what rooms do you wish to occupy?" rejoined the good old curate.
"As the parsonage is yours and not mine," I answered, "please
tell me where you want me to sleep and rest. I will accept, with gratitude, any
room you will offer me, even if it were in your cellar or granary. I do not
want to bother you in any way. When I was young, a poor orphan in your parish,
some twenty years ago, were you not a father to me? Please continue to look
upon me as your own child, for I have always loved and considered you as a father,
and I still do the same. Were you not my guide and adviser in my first steps in
the ways of God? Please continue to be my guide and adviser to the end of your
life. My only ambition is to be your right-hand man, and to learn from your old
experience and your sincere piety, how to live and work as a good priest of
Jesus Christ." I had not finished the last sentence when the old man burst
into tears, threw himself into my arms, pressed me to his heart, bathed me with
his tears, and said, with a voice half-suffocated by his sobs: "Dear Mr.
Chiniquy, forgive me the evil things I have written and said about you. You are
welcome in my parsonage, and I bless God to have sent me such a young friend,
who will help me to carry the burden of my old age."
I then handed him the bishop's letter, which had confirmed all I had said about
my mission of peace towards him.
From that day to his death, which occurred six months after, I never had a more
sincere friend than Mr. Varin.
I thanked God, who had enabled me at once, not only to disarm the chief of my
opponents, but to transform him into my most sincere and devoted friend. My
hope was that the people would soon follow their chief and be reconciled to me,
but I did not expect that this would be so soon and from such a unforeseen and
unexpected cause.
The principal reason the people had to oppose my coming to Kamouraska was that
I was the nephew of the Hon. Amable Dionne, who had made a colossal fortune at
their expense. The Rev. Mr. Varin, who was always in debt, was also forced by
the circumstances, to buy everything, both for himself and the church, from
him, and had to pay without murmur the most exorbitant prices for everything.
In that way, the church and the curate, though they had very large revenues,
had never enough to clear their accounts. When the people heard that the nephew
of Mons. Dionne was their curate, they said to each other: "Now our poor
church is for ever ruined, for the nephew will, still more than the curate,
favour his uncle, and the uncle will be less scrupulous than ever in asking
more unreasonable prices for his merchandise." They felt they had more
than fallen from Charybdis into Scylla.
The very next day after my arrival, the beadle told me that the church needed a
few yards of cotton for some repairs, and asked me if he would not go, as
usual, to Mr. Dionne's store. I told him to go there first, ask the price of
that article, and then go to the other stores, ordering him to buy at the
cheapest one. Thirty cents was asked at Mr. Dionne's, and only fifteen cents at
Mr. St. Pierre's; of course, we bought at the latter's store.
The day was not over, before this apparently insignificant fact was known all
over the parish, and was taking the most extraordinary and unforeseen
proportions. Farmers would meet with their neighbours and congratulate
themselves that, at last, the yoke imposed upon them by the old curate and Mr.
Dionne, was broken; that the taxes they had to pay the store were at an end,
with the monopoly which had cost them so much money. Many came to Mr. St.
Pierre to hear from his own lips that their new curate had, at once, freed them
from what they considered the long and ignominious bondage, against which they
had so often but so vainly protested. For the rest of this week this was the
only subject of conversation. They congratulated themselves that they had, at
last, a priest with such an independent and honest mind, that he would not do
them any injustice even to please a relative in whose house he had spent the
years of his childhood. This simple act of fair play towards that people won
over their affection. Only one little dark spot remained in their minds against
me. They had been told that the only subject on which I could preach was: Rum,
whiskey, and drunkenness. And it seemed to them exceedingly tedious to hear
nothing else from the curate, particularly when they were more than ever
determined to continue drinking their social glasses of brandy, rum, and wine.
There was an immense crowd at church, the next Sunday. My text was: "As
the Father has love Me, so have I loved you" (John xv. 9). Showing them
how Jesus had proved that He was their friend. But their sentiments of piety
and pleasure at what they had heard were nothing compared to their surprise
when they saw that I preached nearly an hour without saying a word on whiskey,
rum or beer. People are often compared to the waters of the sea, in the Holy
Scriptures. When you see the roaring waves dashing on that rock today, as if
they wanted to demolish it, do not fear that this fury will last long. The very
next day, if the wind has changed, the same waters will leave that rock alone,
to spend their fury on the opposite rock. So it was in Kamouraska. They were
full of indignation and wrath when I set my feet in their midst; but a few days
later, those very men would have given the last drop of their blood to protect
me. The dear Saviour had evidently seen the threatening storm which was to
destroy His poor unprofitable servant. He had heard the roaring waves which
were dashing against me. So He came down and bid the storm "be still"
and the waves be calm.
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CHAPTER 40 Back to Top
Two
days after my arrival at Kamouraska, I received a letter from the surrounding
priests, at the head of whom was the Grand Vicar Mailloux, expressing the hope
that I would not try to form any temperance society in my new parish, as I had
done in Beauport; for the good reasons they said, that drunkenness was not
prevailing in that part of Canada, as it was in the city of Quebec. I answered
them, politely, that so long as I should be at the head of this new parish, I
would try, as I had ever done, to mind my own business, and I hoped that my
neighbouring friends would do the same. Not long after, I saw that the curates
felt ashamed of their vain attempt to intimidate me. The next Sabbath, the
crowd was greater than at the first. Having heard that the merchants were to
start the next day, with their schooners, to buy their winter provisions or
rum, I said, in a very solemn way, before my sermon:
"My friends, I know that, to-morrow, the merchants leave for Quebec to
purchase their rum. Let me advise them, as their best friend, not to buy any;
and as the ambassador of Christ, I forbid them to bring a single drop of those poisonous
drinks here. It will surely be their ruin, if they pay no attention to this
friendly advice; for they will not sell a single drop of it, after next
Sabbath. That day, I will show to the intelligent people of this parish, that
rum and all the other drugs, sold here, under the name of brandy, wine, and
beer, are nothing else than disgusting, deadly, and cursed poisons."
I then preached on the words of our Saviour: "Be ye also ready; for in
such an hour as ye think not, the Son of Man cometh: (Matt. xxiv. 44). Though
the people seemed much pleased and impressed by that second sermon, they felt
exceedingly irritated at my few warning words to the merchants. When the
service was over, they all rallied around the merchants to tell them not to
mind what they had heard.
"If our young curate," said they, "thinks he will lead us by the
nose, as he has done with the drunkards of Beauport, he will soon see his
mistake. Instead of one hundred tons, as you brought last fall, bring us two
hundred, this year; we will drink them to his health. We have a good crop and
we want to spend a jolly winter."
It is probable that the church of Kamouraska had never seen within its walls
such a crowd as on the second Sabbath of October, 1842. It was literally
crammed. Curiosity had attracted the people who, not less eager to hear my
first sermon against rum, than to see the failure they expected, and wished, of
my first efforts to form a temperance society. Long before the public service,
at the door of the church, as well as during the whole preceding week, the
people had pledged themselves never to give up their strong drink, and never to
join the temperance society. But what are the resolutions of man against God?
Is He not their master? The half of that first sermon on temperance was not
heard, when that whole multitude had forgotten their public promises. The
hearts were not only touched they were melted and changed by God, who wanted to
show, once more, that His works of mercy were above all the works of His hands.
From the very day of my arrival in Kamouraska, I had made a serious and exact
inquiry about the untold miseries brought upon the people by intoxicating
drinks. I had found that, during the last twenty years, twelve men had been
drowned and eight had been frozen to death, who had left twenty widows and
sixty orphans in the most distressing poverty. Sixty farmers had lost their
lands and had been obliged to emigrate to other places, where they were
suffering all the pangs of poverty from the drunkenness of their parents;
several other families had their properties mortgaged for their whole value to
the rum merchants, and were expected, every day, to be turned out from their
inheritances, to pay their rum bills. Seven mothers had died in delirium
tremens, one had hung herself, another drowned herself when drunk. One hundred
thousand dollars had been paid to the rum merchants during the last fifteen
years. Two hundred thousand more were due to the storekeeper; threefourths of
which were for strong drink. Four men had been murdered, among whom was their
landlord, Achilles Tache, through their drunken habits!
When I had recapitulated all these facts, which were public and undeniable, and
depicted the desolation of the ruined families, composed of their own brothers,
sisters, and dear children; when I brought before their minds, the tears of the
widows, the cries of the starving and naked children, the shame of the
families, the red hand of the murderers and the mangled bodies of their
victims; the eternal cries of the lost from drunkenness, the broken-hearted
fathers and mothers whose children had been destroyed by strong drink; when I
proved to them that there was not a single one in their midst who had not
suffered, either in his own person, or in that of his father or mother,
brothers, sisters or children yes, when I had given them the simple and awful
story of the crimes committed in their midst; the ruin and deaths, the misery
of thousands of precious souls for whom Christ died in vain, the church was
filled with such sobs and cries that I often could not be heard. Many times my
voice was drowned by the indescribable confusion and lamentation of that whole
multitude. Unable to contain myself, several times I stopped and mingled my
sobs and cries with those of my people.
When the sermon, which lasted two hours, was finished, I asked all those who
were determined to help me in stopping the ravages of intoxicating drinks, in
drying the tears which they caused to flow, and saving the precious souls they
were destroying, to come forward and take the public pledge of temperance by
kissing a crucifix which I held in my hand. Thirteen hundred and ten came. Not
fifty of the people had refused to enroll themselves under the blessed and
glorious banners of temperance! and these few recalcitrants came forward, with
a very few exceptions, the next time I spoke on the subject.
The very same day, the wives of the merchants sent dispatches to their husbands
in Quebec, to tell them what had been done, and not a single barrel of
intoxicating drinks was brought by them. The generous example of the admirable
people of Kamouraska spoke with an irresistible eloquence to the other parishes
of that district, and before long, the banners of temperance floated over all
the populations of St. Pascal, St. Andrew, Isle Verte, Cacouna, Riviere du
Loup, Rimouski, Matane, St. Anne, St. Roch, Madawaska, St. Benoit, St. Luce,
ect., on the south side of the St. Lawrence, and the Eboulements, La Malbaye,
and the other parishes on the north side of the river; and the people kept
their pledge with such fidelity that the trade in rum was literally killed in
that part of Canada, as it had been in Beauport and its vicinity.
The blessed fruits of this reform were soon felt and seen everywhere, in the
public prosperity and the spread of education. Kamouraska, which was owing two
hundred thousand dollars to the merchants in 1842, had not only paid its
interest, but had reduced its debt to one hundred thousand, when I left it to
go to Montreal in 1846. God only knows my joy at these admirable manifestations
of His mercies towards my country. However, the joys of man are never without
their mixture of sadness.
In the good providence of God, being invited by all the curates to establish
temperance societies among their people, I had the sad opportunity, as no
priest ever had in Canada, to know the secret and public scandals of each
parish. When I went to the Eboulements, on the north side of the river, invited
by the Rev. Noel Toussignant, I learned from the very lips of that young
priest, and the ex-priest Tetreau, the history of the most shameful scandals.
In 1830, a young priest of Quebec, called Derome, had fallen in love with one
of his young female penitents of Vercheres, where he had preached a few days,
and he had persuaded her to follow him to the parsonage of Quebec. The better
to conceal their iniquity from the public, he persuaded his victim to dress
herself as a young man, and throw her dress into the river, to make her parents
and the whole parish believe that she was drowned. I had seen her many times at
the parsonage of Quebec, under the name of Joseph, and had much admired her
refined manners, though more than once I was very much inclined to think that
the smart Joseph was no one else than a lost girl. But the respect I had for
the curate of Quebec (who was the coadjutor of the bishop) and his young
vicars, caused me to reject those suspicions as unfounded. However many even
among the first citizens of the city had the same suspicions, and they pressed
me to go to the coadjutor and warn him; but I refused, and told those gentlemen
to do that delicate work themselves, and they did it.
The position of that high dignitary and his vicar was not then a very agreeable
one. Their bark had evidently drifted into dangerous waters. To keep Joseph
among themselves was impossible, after the friendly advice from such high
quarters, and to dismiss him was not less dangerous. He knew too well how the
curate of Quebec, with his vicars, were keeping their vows of celibacy, to
dismiss him without danger to themselves; a single word from his lips would
destroy them. Happily for them, Mr. Clement, then curate of the Eboulements,
was in search of such a servant, and took him to his parsonage, after
persuading the bishopcoadjutor to give Joseph a large sum of money to seal his
lips.
Things went on pretty smoothly between Joseph and the priest for several years,
till some suspicions arose in the minds of the sharp-sighted people of the
parish, who told the curate that it would be safer and more honourable for him
to get rid of his servant. In order to put an end to those suspicions, and to
retain him in the parsonage, the curate persuaded him to marry the daughter of
a poor neighbour.
The banns were published three times, and the two girls were duly married by
the curate, who continued his criminal intimacies, in the hope that no one
would trouble him any more on that subject. But not long after he was removed
to La Petite Riviere, and in 1838 the Rev. M. Tetreau was appointed curate of
the Eboulements. This new priest, knowing of the abominations which his
predecessor had practiced, continued to employ Joseph. One day, when Joseph was
working at the gate of the parsonage, in the presence of several people, a
stranger came and asked him if Mr. Tetreau was at home.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Curate is at home," answered Joseph; "but as you
seem a stranger to the place, would you allow me to ask you from what parish
you come?"
"I am not ashamed of my parish," answered the stranger. "I come
from Vercheres."
At the word "Vercheres," Joseph turned so pale that the stranger was
puzzled. He looked carefully at him, and exclaimed:
"Oh! my God! What do I see here? Genevieve! Genevieve! over whom we have
mourned so long as drowned! Here you are disguised as a man!"
"Dear uncle" (it was her uncle); "for God's sake, not a word
more here!"
But it was too late; the people who were there had heard the uncle and the
niece. Their long and secret suspicions were well-founded. One of their former
priests had kept a girl, under the disguise of a man, in his house; and to
blind his people more thoroughly, he had married that girl to another, in order
to have them both in his house when he pleased, without awakening any
suspicion!
The news went, almost as quickly as lightning, from one end to the other of the
parish, and spread all over the country, on both sides of the St. Lawrence. I
had heard of that horror, but could not believe it. However, I had to believe
it, when, on the spot, I heard from the lips of the ex-curate, M. Tetreau, and
the new curate, M. Noel Toussignant, and from the lips of the landlord, the
Honourable Laterriere, the following details, which had come to light only a
short time before.
The justice of the peace had investigated the matter, in the name of public
morality. Joseph was brought before the magistrates, who decided that a
physician should be charged to make, not a post-mortem, but an ante-mortem
inquest. The Honourable Laterriere, who made the inquest, declared that Joseph
was a girl, and the bonds of marriage were legally dissolved.
At the same time, the curate M. Tetreau, had sent a dispatch to the Right Rev.
Bishop-coadjutor of Quebec, informing him that the young man whom he had kept
in his house, several years, was legally proved a girl; a fact which, I need
hardly state, was well-known by the bishop and his vicars! They immediately
sent a trustworthy man with $500, to induce the girl to leave the country
without delay, lest she should be prosecuted and sent to the penitentiary. She
accepted the offer, and crossed the lines to the United States with her two
thousand dollars, where she was soon married, and where she still lives.
I wished that this story had never been told me, or at least, that I might be
allowed to doubt some of its circumstances; but there was no help. I was forced
to acknowledge that in my Church of Rome, there was such corruption from head
to foot, which could scarcely be surpassed in Sodom. I remember what the Rev.
Mr. Perras had told me of the tears and desolation of Bishop Plessis, when he
had discovered that all the priests of Canada, with the exception of three,
were atheists.
I should not be honest, did I not confess that the personal knowledge of that
fact, which I learned in all its scandalous details from the very lips of
unimpeachable witnesses, saddened me, and for a time, shook my faith in my
religion, to its foundation. I felt secretly ashamed to belong to a body of men
so completely lost to every sense of honesty, as the priests and bishops of Canada.
I had heard of many scandals before. The infamies of the Grand Vicar Manceau
and Quiblier of Montreal, Cadieux at Three Rivers, and Viau at Riviere Oulle;
the public acts of depravity of the priests Lelievre, Tabeau, Pouliot, Belisle,
Brunet, Quevillon, Huot, Lajuste, Rabby, Crevier, Bellecourt, Valle, Nignault,
Noel, Pinet, Duguez, Davely and many others, were known by me, as well as by
the whole clergy. But the abominations of which Joseph was the victim seemed to
overstep the conceivable limits of infamy. For the first time, I sincerely
regretted that I was a priest. The priesthood of Rome seemed then, to me, the
very fulfillment of the prophecy of Revelation, about the great prostitute who
made the nations drunk with wine of her prostitution (Rev. xvii. 1 5).
Auricular confession, which I knew to be the first, if not the only cause, of
these abominations, appeared to me, what it really is, a school of perdition
for the priest and his female penitents. The priest's oath of celibacy was, to
my eyes, in those hours of distress, but a shameful mask to conceal a
corruption which was unknown in the most depraved days of old paganism. New and
bright lights came, then, before my mind which, had I followed them, would have
guided me to the truth of the gospel. But I was blind! The Good Master had not
yet touched my eyes with His divine and life-giving hand. I had no idea that
there could be any other church than the Church of Rome in which I could be
saved. I was, however, often saying to myself: "How can I hope to conquer
on a battlefield where so many, as strong and even much stronger than I am,
have perished?"
I felt no longer at peace. My soul was filled with trouble and anxiety. I not
only distrusted myself, but I lost confidence in the rest of the priests and
bishops. In fact, I could not see any one in whom I could trust. Though my
beautiful and dear parish of Kamouraska was, more than ever, overwhelming me
with tokens of its affection, gratitude, and respect, it had lost its
attraction for me. To whatever side I turned my eyes, I saw nothing but the
most seducing examples of perversion.It seemed as if I were surrounded by
numberless snares, from which it was impossible to escape. I wished to depart
from this deceitful and lost world.
When my soul was as drowned under the waves of a bitter sea, the Rev. Mr.
Guignes, Superior of the Monastery of the Fathers of Oblates of Mary
Immaculate, at Longueil, near Montreal, came to pass a few days with me, for
the benefit of his health. I spoke to him of that shameful scandal, and did not
conceal from him that my courage failed me, when I looked at the torrent of
iniquity which was sweeping everything, under our eyes, with an irresistible
force. "We are here alone, in the presence of God," I said to him.
"I confess that I feel an unspeakable horror at the moral ruin which I see
everywhere in our church. My priesthood, of which I was so proud till lately,
seems to me, today, the most ignominious yoke, when I see it dragged in the mud
of the most infamous vices, not only by the immense majority of the priests,
but even by our bishops. How can I hope to save myself, when I see so many,
stronger than I am, perishing all around me?"
The Reverend Superior, with the kindness of a father and becoming gravity,
answered me: "I understand your fears, perfectly. They are legitimate and
too well-founded. Like you, I am a priest; and like you, if not more than you,
I know the numberless and formidable dangers which surround the priest. It is
because I know them too well, that I have not dared to be a secular priest a
single day. I knew the humiliating and disgraceful history of Joseph and the
coadjutor Bishop of Quebec. Nay! I know many things still more horrible and
unspeakable which I have learned when preaching and hearing confessions in
France and in Canada. My fear is that, today, there are not many more undefiled
souls among the priests than in Sodom, in the days of Lot. The fact is, that it
is morally impossible for a secular priest to keep his vows of celibacy, except
by a miracle of the grace of God. Our holy church would be a modern Sodom long
ago, had not our merciful God granted her the grace that many of her priests
have always enrolled themselves among the armies of the regular priests in the
different religious orders which are, to the church, what the ark was to Noah
and his children in the days of the deluge. Only the priests whom God calls, in
His mercy, to become members of any of those orders, are safe. For they are
under the paternal care and surveillance of superiors whose zeal and charity
are like a shield to protect them. Their holy and strict laws are like strong
walls and high towers which the enemy cannot storm."
He then spoke to me, with an irresistible eloquence, of the peace of soul which
a regular priest enjoys within the walls of his monastery. He represented, in
the most attractive colours, the spiritual and constant joys of the heart which
one feels when living, day and night, under the eyes of a superior to whom he
has vowed a perfect submission. He added, "Your providential work is
finished in the diocese of Quebec. The temperance societies are established
almost everywhere. We are in need of your long experience and your profound
studies on that subject in the diocese of Montreal. It is true that the good
Bishop de Nancy had done what he could to support that holy cause, but, though
he is working with the utmost zeal, he has not studies that subject enough to
make a lasting impression on the people. Come with us. We are more than thirty
priests, Oblates of Mary Immaculate, who will be too happy to second your
efforts in that noble work, which is too much for one man alone. Moreover, you
cannot do justice to your great parish of Kamouraska and to the temperance
cause together. You must give up one, to consecrate yourself to the other. Take
courage, my young friend! Offer to God the sacrifice of your dear Kamouraska,
as you made the sacrifice of your beautiful Beauport, some years ago, for the
good of Canada and in the interest of the Church, which calls you to its
help."
It seemed to me that I could oppose no reasonable argument to these
considerations. I fell on my knees, and made the sacrifice of my beautiful and
precious Kamouraska. The last Sabbath of September I gave my farewell address
to the dear and intelligent people of Kamouraska, to go to Longueil and become
a novice of the Oblates of Mary Immaculate.
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CHAPTER 41 Back to Top
The
year 1843 will be long remembered in the Church of Rome for the submission of Dr.
Newman to her authority. This was considered by many Roman Catholics as one of
the greatest triumphs ever gained by their church against Protestantism. But
some of us, more acquainted with the daily contradictions and tergiversations
of the Oxford divine, could not associate ourselves in the public rejoicings of
our church.
From almost the very beginning of his public life, Dr. Newman as well as Dr.
Pusey appeared to many of us as cowards and traitors in the Protestant camp,
whose object was to betray the church which was feeding them, and which they
were sworn to defend. They both seemed to us to be skillful but dishonest
conspirators.
Dr. Newman, caught in the very act of that conspiracy, has boldly denied it.
Brought before the tribunal of public opinion as a traitor who, though enrolled
under the banners of the Church of England, was giving help and comfort to its
foe, the Church of Rome, he has published a remarkable book under the title of
"apologia pro vita sua," to exculpate himself. I hold in my hands the
New York edition of 1865. Few men will read that book from beginning to end;
and still fewer will understand it at its first reading. The art of throwing
dust in the eyes of the public is brought to perfection in that work. I have
read many books in my long life, but I have never met with anything like the
Jesuit ability shown by Dr. Newman in giving a colour of truth to the most
palpable errors and falsehoods. I have had to read it at least four times, with
the utmost attention, before being sure of having unlocked all its dark corners
and sophistries.
That we may be perfectly fair towards Dr. Newman, let us forget what his
adversaries have written against him, and let us hear only what he says in his
own defense. Here it is. I dare say that his most bitter enemies could never
have been able to write a book so damaging against him as this one, which he
has given us for his apology.
Let me tell the reader at once that I, with many other priests of Rome, felt at
first an unspeakable joy at the reading of many of the "Tracts for the
Times." It is true that we keenly felt the blows Dr. Newman was giving us
now and then; but we were soon consoled by the more deadly blows which he was
striking at his own Church the Church of England. Besides that, it soon became
evident that the more he was advancing in his controversial work, the nearer he
was coming to us. We were not long without saying to each other: "Dr.
Newman is evidently, though secretly, for us; he is a Roman Catholic at heart,
and will soon join us. It is only from want of moral courage and honesty that
he remains a Protestant."
But from the very beginning there was a cloud in my mind, and in the minds of
many other of my co-priests, about him. His contradictions were so numerous,
his sudden transitions from one side to the other extreme, when speaking of
Romanism and Anglicanism; his eulogiums of our Church today, and his abuses of
it the very next day; his expressions of love and respect for his own Church in
one tract, so suddenly followed by the condemnation of her dearest doctrines
and practices in the next, caused many others, as well as myself, to suspect
that he had no settled principles, or faith in any religion.
What was my surprise, when reading this strange book, I found that my suspicions
were too well founded; that Dr. Newman was nothing else than one of those
free-thinkers who had no real faith in any of the secret dogmas he was
preaching, and on which he was writing so eloquently! What was my astonishment
when, in 1865, I read in his own book the confession made by that unfortunate
man that he was nothing else but a giant weathercock, when the whole people of
England were looking upon him as one of the most sincere and learned ministers
of the Gospel. Here in his own confession, pages 111, 112. Speaking of the
years he had spent in the Episcopal Church as a minister, he says: "Alas!
It was my portion, for whole years, to remain without any satisfactory basis
for my religious profession; in a state of moral sickness, neither able to
acquiesce in Anglicanism, or able to go to Rome!" This is Cardinal Newman,
painted by himself! He tells us how miserable he was when an Episcopalian
minister, by feeling that his religion had no basis no foundation!
hat is a preacher of religion who feels that he has no basis, no foundation, no
reason to believe in that religion? Is he not that blind man of whom Christ
speaks, "who leads other blind men into the ditch?"
Note it is not Rev. Charles Kingsley; it is not any of the able Protestant
controversialists; it is not even the old Chiniquy who says that Dr. Newman was
nothing else but an unbeliever, when the Protestant people were looking upon
him as one of their most pious and sincere Christian theologians. It is Dr.
Newman himself who, without suspecting it, is forced by the marvelous
providence of God to reveal that deplorable fact in his "Apologia pro vita
sua."
Now, what was the opinion entertained by him on the high and low sections of
his church? Here are his very words, p. 91: "As to the High Church and the
Low Church, I thought that the one had not much more of a logical basis than
the other; while I had a thorough contempt for the Evangelical!" But
please observe that, when this minister of the Church of England had found,
with the help of Dr. Pusey, that this church had no logical basis, and that he
had a "thorough contempt for the Evangelical," he kept a firm and
continuous hold upon the living which he was enjoying from day to day. Nay, it
is when paid by his church to preach her doctrines and fight her battles, that
he set at work to raise another church! Of course, the new church was to have a
firm basis of logic, history, and the Gospel: the new church was to be worthy
of the British people it was to be the modern ark to save the perishing world!
The reader will, perhaps, think I am joking, and that I am caricaturing Dr.
Newman. No! the hour in which we live is too solemn to be spent in jokes it is
rather with tears and sobs that we must approach the subject. Here are the very
words of Dr. Newman about the new church he wished to build after demolishing
the Church of England as established by law. He says (page 116): "I have
said enough on what I consider to have been the general objects of the various
works which I wrote, edited, or prompted in the years which I am reviewing. I
wanted to bring out in a substantive form a living Church of England, in a
position proper to herself and founded on distinct principles; as far as paper
could do it, and as earnestly preaching it and influencing others towards it
could tend to make it a fact; a living church, made of flesh and blood, with
voice, complexion, motion, and action, and a will of its own." If I had
not said that these words were written by Dr. Newman, would the reader have
suspected?
What is to be the name of the new church? Dr. Newman himself called it
"Via Media." As the phrase indicates, it was to stand between the
rival Churches of England and Rome, and it was to be built with the materials
taken, as much as possible, from the ruins of both.
The first thing to be done was, then, to demolish that huge, illogical,
unscriptural, unchristian church restored by the English Reformers. Dr. Newman
bravely set to work, under the eye and direction of Dr. Pusey. His merciless
hammer was heard almost day and night, from 1833 to 1843, striking alternately
with hard blows, now against the church of the Pope, whom he called Antichrist,
and then against his own church, which he was, very soon, to find still more
corrupted and defiled than its anti-Christian rival. For as he was proceeding
in his work of demolition, he tells us that he found more clearly, every day,
that the materials and the foundations of the Church of Rome were exceedingly
better than those of his own. He then determined to give a coup de grace to the
Church of England, and strike such a blow that her walls would be for ever
pulverized. His perfidious Tract XC. aims at this object.
Nothing can surpass the ability and the pious cunning with which Dr. Newman
tries to conceal his shameful conspiracy in his "Apologia."
Hear the un-British and unmanly excuses which he gives for having deceived his
readers, when he was looked upon as the most reliable theologian of the day, in
defense of the doctrines of the Church of England. In pages 236 7 he says:
"How could I ever hope to make them believe in a second theology, when I
had cheated them in the first? With what face could I publish a new edition of
a dogmatic creed, and ask them to receive it as gospel? Would it not be plain
to them that no certainty was to be found anywhere? Well, in my defense I could
but make a lame apology; however, it was the true one, viz., that I had not
read the Fathers critically enough; that in such nice points as those which
determine the angle of divergence between the two churches, I had made
considerable miscalculations; and how came this about? Why, the fact was,
unpleasant as it was to avow, that I had leaned too much upon the assertions of
Usher, Jeremy Taylor, or Barrow, and had been deceived by them."
Here is a specimen of the learning and honesty of the great Oxford divine! Dr.
Newman confesses that when he was telling his people, "St. Augustine says
this, St. Jerome says that" when he assured them that St. Gregory
supported this doctrine, and Origen that, it was all false. Those holy fathers
had never taught such doctrines. It was Usher, Taylor, and Barrow who were
citing them, and they had deceived him!
Is it not a strange thing that such a shrewd man as Dr. Newman should have so
completely destroyed his own good name in the very book he wrote, with so much
care and ingenuity, to defend himself? One remains confounded he can hardly
believe his own eyes at such want of honesty in such a man. It is evident that
his mind was troubled at the souvenir of such a course of procedure. But he
wanted to excuse himself by saying it was the fault of Usher, Taylor, and
Barrow!
Are we not forcibly brought to the solemn and terrible drama in the Garden of
Eden? Adam hoped to be excused by saying, "The woman whom Thou gavest to
be with me, she gave me the fruit of the tree, and I did eat." The woman
said, "The serpent beguiled me, and I did eat." But what was the
result of those excuses? We read: "Therefore the Lord God sent him forth
from the Garden of Eden." Dr. Newman has lost the precious inheritance God
had given him. He has lost the lamp he had received to guide his steps, and he
is now in the dark dungeon of Popery, worshiping, as a poor slave, the wafer
god of Rome.
But what has become of that new church, or religion, the Via Media which had
just come out from the sickly brain of the Oxford professor? Let us hear its
sad and premature end from Dr. Newman himself. Let me, however, premise, that
when Dr. Newman began his attack against his church, he at first so skillfully
mixed the most eloquent eulogiums with his criticisms, that, though many
sincere Christians were grieved, few dared to complain. The names of Pusey and
Newman commanded such respect that few raised their voice against the
conspiracy. This emboldened them. Month after month they become unguarded in
their denunciations of the Church of England, and more explicit in their
support of Romanism. In the meantime the Church of Rome was reaping a rich
harvest of perverts; for many Protestants were unsettled in their faith, and
were going the whole length of the road to Rome so cunningly indicated by the
conspirators. At last, the 90th Tract appeared in 1843. It fell as a
thunderbolt on the church. A loud cry of indignation was raised all over
England against those who had so mercilessly struck at the heart of that church
which they had sworn to defend. The bishops almost unanimously denounced Dr.
Newman and his Romish tendencies, and showed the absurdity of his Via Media.
Now, let us hear him telling himself this episode of his life. For I want to be
perfectly fair to Dr. Newman. It is only from his own words and public acts
that I want the reader to judge him.
Here is what he says of himself, after being publicly condemned: "I saw
indeed clearly that my place in the movement was lost. Public confidence was at
an end. My occupation was gone. It was simply an impossibility that I could say
anything henceforth to good effect, when I had been posted up by the Marshal on
the buttery hatch of every college of my University after the manner of
discommend pastry-cooks, and when, in every part of the country, and every
class of society, through every organ and occasion of opinion, in newspapers,
in periodicals, at meetings, in pulpits, at dinner tables, in coffee-rooms, in
railway carriages, I was denounced as a traitor who had laid his train, and was
detected in the very act of firing it against the time-honoured
establishment."....."Confidence in me was lost. But I had already
lost full confidence in myself" (p 132).
Let the reader hear these words from the very lips of Dr. Newman
"Confidence in me was lost! But I had already lost full confidence in
myself" (p. 132). Are these words the indications of a brave, innocent
man? Or are they not the cry of despair of a cowardly and guilty conscience?
Was it not when Wishart heard that the Pope and his millions of slaves had
condemned him to death, that he raised his head as a giant, and showed that he
was more above his accusers and his judges than the heavens are above the
earth? He had lost his confidence in himself and in his God and when he said,
"I am happy to suffer and die for the cause of Truth?" Did Luther
lose confidence in himself and in his God when condemned by the Pope and all
his Bishops, and ordered to go before he Emperor to be condemned to death, if
he would not retract? No! it is in those hours of trial the he made the world
to re-echo the sublime words of David: "God is our refuge and our
strength, a present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the
earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the
sea. Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake
with the swelling thereof." But Luther had a good cause. He knew, he felt
that the God of Heaven was on his side, when Dr. Newman knew well that he was
deceiving the world, after having deceived himself. Luther was strong and
fearless; for the voice of Jesus had come through the fifteen centuries to tell
him: "Fear not, I am with thee." Dr. Newman was weak, trembling
before the storm, for his conscience was reproaching him for his treachery and
his unbelief.
Did Latimer falter and lose his confidence in himself and in his God, when
condemned by his judges and tied to the stake to be burnt? No! It is then that
he uttered those immortal and sublime words: "Master Ridley: Be of good
comfort and play the man; we shall, this day, light a candle, by God's grace,
in England, as I trust shall never be put out!"
This is the language of men who are fighting for Christ and His Gospel. Dr.
Newman could not use such noble language when he was betraying Christ and His
Gospel.
Now, let us hear from himself when, after having lost the confidence of his
Church and his country, and had also lost his own confidence in himself, he saw
a ghost and found that the Church of Rome was right. At page 157, he says:
"My friend, an anxiously religious man, pointed out the palmary words of
St. Augustine which were contained in one of the extracts made in the (Dublin)
Review, and which had escaped my observation, 'Securus judicat obis terrarum.'
He repeated these words again and again; and when he was gone, they kept
ringing in my ears....The words of St. Augustine struck me with a power which I
never had felt from any words before. To take a familiar instance, they were
like the 'Turn again, Whittington' of the chime; or to take a more serious one,
they were like the 'tolle lege' of a child which converted St. Augustine
himself. 'Securus judicat orbis terrarum!' By those great words of the ancient
father, the theory of the Via Media was absolutely pulverized. I became excited
at the view thus opened upon me....I had seen the shadow of a hand upon the
wall....He who has seen a ghost cannot be as if he had never seen it. The heaven
had opened and closed again. The thought, for the moment, had been: 'The Church
of Rome will be found right, after all'" (158).
It would be amusing, indeed, if it were not so humiliating, to see the naivete
with which Dr. Newman confesses his own aberrations, want of judgment and
honesty in reference to the pet scheme of his whole theological existence at
Oxford. "By these words," he says, "the Via Media was absolutely
pulverized!"
We all know the history of the mountain in travail, which gave birth to a
mouse. Dr. Newman tells us frankly that, after ten years of hard and painful
travail, he produced something less than a mouse. His via Media was pulverized;
it turned to be only a handful of dust.
Remember the high sounding of his trumpet about his plan of a new church, that
New Jerusalem on earth, the church of the future, which was to take the place
of his rotten Church of England. Let me repeat to you his very words about that
new ark of salvation with which the professor of Oxford was to save the world.
(Page 116): "I wanted to bring out, in a substantive form, a living Church
of England, in a position proper to herself and founded on distinct principles,
as far as paper could do it, and as earnestly preaching in an influencing
others towards it could tend to make it a fact; a living church, made of flesh
and blood, with voice, complexion, and motion, and action, and a will of its
own."
Now, what was the end of that masterpiece of theological architecture of Dr.
Newman? Here is its history, given by the great architect himself: "I read
the palmary words of St. Augustine, 'securus judical orbis terrarum!' By those
great words of the ancient father, the theory of the Via Media was pulverized!
I become excited at the view thus opened before me. I had seen the shadow of a
hand on the wall. He who has seen a ghost can never be as if he had not see it;
the heavens had opened and closed again. The thought, for a moment, was 'The
Church of Rome will be found right, after all'" (158). Have we ever seen a
man destroying himself more completely at the very moment that he tries to
defend himself? Here he does ingeniously confess what everyone knew before,
that his whole work, for the last ten years, was not only a self-deception, but
a supreme effort to deceive the world his Via Media was a perfect string of
infidelity, sophism, and folly. The whole fabric had fallen to the ground at
the sight of a ghost! To build a grand structure, in the place of his Church
which he wanted to demolish, he had thought it was sufficient to throw a great
deal of glittering sand, with some blue, white, and red dust, in the air! He
tells us that one sad hour came when he heard five Latin words from St.
Augustine, saw a ghost and his great structure fell to the ground!
What does this all mean? It simply means that God Almighty has dealt with Dr.
Newman as He did with the impious Pharaoh in the Red Sea, when he was marching
at the head of his army against the church of old, His chosen people, to
destroy them.
Dr. Newman was not only marching with Dr. Pusey at the head of an army of
theologians to destroy the Church of God, but he was employing all the
resources of his intellect, all his false and delusive science, to raise a
idolatrous church in its place; and when Pharaoh and Dr. Newman thought
themselves sure of success, the God of heaven confounded them both. The first
went down with his army to the bottom of the sea as a piece of lead. The second
lost, not his life, but something infinitely more precious he lost his
reputation for intelligence, science, and integrity; he lost the light of the
Gospel, and became perfectly blind, after having lost his place in the kingdom
of Christ!
I have never judged a man by the hearsay of any one, and I would prefer to have
my tongue cut out than to repeat a word of what the adversaries of Dr. Newman
have said against him. But we have the right, and I think it is our duty, to
hear and consider what he says of himself, and to judge him on his own
confession.
At page 174 we read these words from his own pen to a friend: "I cannot
disguise from myself that my preaching is not calculated to defend that system
of religion which has been received for three hundred years, and of which the
Heads of Houses are the legitimate maintainers in this place....I fear I must
allow that, whether I will or no, I am disposing them (the young men) towards
Rome." Here Dr. Newman declares, in plain English, that he was disposing
his hearers and students at Oxford to join the Church of Rome! I ask it: what
can we think of a man who is paid and sworn to do a thing, who not only does it
not, but who does the very contrary? Who would hesitate to call such a man
dishonest? Who would hesitate to say that such a one has no respect for those
who employ him, and no respect for himself?
Dr. Newman writes this whole book to refute the public accusation that he was a
traitor, that he was preparing the people to leave the Church of England and to
submit to the Pope. But, strange to say, it is in that very book we find the
irrefutable proof of his shameful and ignominious treachery! In a letter to Dr.
Russell, President of the Roman Catholic College of Maynooth, he wrote, page
227: "Roman Catholics will find this to be the state of things in time to
come, whatever promise they may fancy there is of a large secession to their
church. This man or that may leave us, but thee will be no general movement.
There is, indeed, an incipient movement of our church towards yours, and this
your leading men are doing all they can to frustrate by their unwearied
efforts, at all risks, to carry off individuals. When will they know their
position, and embrace a larger and wiser policy?" Is not evident here that
God was blinding Dr. Newman, and that He was making him confess his treachery
in the very moment the he was trying to conceal it? Do we not see clearly that
he was complaining of the unwise policy of the leaders of the Church of Rome
who were retarding that incipient movement of his church towards Romanism, for
which he was working day and night with Dr. Pusey?
But had not Dr. Newman confessed his own treachery, we have, today, its
undeniable proof in the letter of Dr. Pusey to the English Church Union,
written in 1879. Speaking of Dr. Newman and the other Tractarians, he says:
"An acute man, Dr. Hawkins, Provost of Oriel, said of the 'Tracts,' on
their first appearance, 'I know they have a forced circulation.' We put the
leaven into the meal, and waited to see what would come of it. Our object was
to Catholicism England."
And this confession of Dr. Pusey, that he wanted to Catholicism England, is
fully confirmed by Dr. Newman (pages 108, 109) where he says: "I suspect
it was Dr. Pusey's influence and example which set me and made me set others on
the larger and more careful works in defense of the principles of the movement
which followed" (towards Rome) "in a course of years."
Nothing is more curious than to hear from Dr. Newman himself with what skill he
was trying to conceal his perfidious efforts in preparing that movement towards
Rome. He says on that subject, page 124: "I was embarrassed in consequence
of my wish to go as far as was possible in interpreting the articles in the
direction of Roman dogma, without disclosing what I was doing to the parties
whose doubts I was meeting, who might be, thereby, encouraged to go still
further than, at present, they found in themselves any call to do."
A straw fallen on the water indicates the way the tide goes. Here we have the
straw, taken by Dr. Newman himself, and thrown by him on the water. A thousand
volumes written by the ex-Professor of Oxford to deny that he was a conspirator
at work to lead his people to Rome, when in the service of the Church of
England, could not destroy the evident proof of his guilt given by himself in
this strange book.
If we want to have a proof of the supreme contempt Dr. Newman had for his
readers, and his daily habit of deceiving them by sophistries and incorrect
assertions, we have it in the remarkable lines which I find at page 123 of his
Apologia. Speaking of his "Doctrinal Development," he says: "I
wanted to ascertain what was the limit of that elasticity in the direction of
Roman dogma. But, next, I had a way of inquiry of my own which I state without
defending. I instanced it afterward in my essay on 'Doctrinal Development.'
That work, I believe, I have not read since I published it, and I doubt not at
all that I have made many mistakes in it, partly from my ignorance of the
details of doctrine as the Church of Rome holds them, but partly from my
impatience to clear as large a range for the Principles of doctrinal
development (waiving the question of historical fact) as was consistent with
the strict apostolicity and identity of the Catholic creed. In like manner, as
regards the Thirty Nine Articles, my method of inquiry was to leap in medias
res" (123-124).
Dr. Newman is the author of two new systems of theology; and, from his own
confession, the two systems are a compendium of error, absurdities, and folly.
His Via Media was "pulverized" by the vision of a ghost, when he
heard the four words of St. Augustine: "Securus judicat obis
terrarum." The second, known under the name of "Doctrinal
Development," is, from his own confession, full of errors on account of
his ignorance of the subject on which he was writing, and his own impatience to
support his sophisms.
Dr. Newman is really unfortunate in his paternity. He is the father of two
literary children. The first-born was called Via Media; but as it had neither
head nor feet, it was suffocated on the day of its birth by a "ghost."
The second, called "Doctrinal Development," was not viable. The
father is so shocked with the sight of the monster, that he publicly confesses
its deformities and cries out, "Mistake! mistake! mistake!" (pages
123, 124 "Apologia pro vita sua.")
The troubled conscience of Dr. Newman has forced him to confess (page 111) that
he was miserable, from his want of faith, when a minister of the Church of
England and a Professor of Theology of Oxford: "Alas! it was my portion
for whole years to remain without any satisfactory basis for my religious
profession!" At pages 174 and 175 he tells us how miserable and anxious he
was when the voice of his conscience reproached him in the position he held in
the Church of England, while leading her people to Rome. At page 158 he
confesses his unspeakable confusion when he saw his supreme folly in building
up the Via Media, and heard its crash at the appearance of a ghost. At page 123
he acknowledges how he deceived his readers, and deceived himself, in his
"Doctrinal Development." At page 132 he tell us how he had not only
completely lost the confidence of his country, but lost confidence in himself.
And it is after this humiliating and shameful course of life that he finds out
"that the Church of Rome is right!"
Must we not thank God for having forced Dr. Newman to tell us through what dark
and tortuous ways a Protestant, a disciple of the Gospel, a minister of Christ,
a Professor of Oxford, fell into that sea of Sodom called Romanism or Papism! A
great lesson is given us here. We see the fulfillment of Christ's words about
those who have received great talents and have not used them for the "Good
Master's honour and glory."
Dr. Newman, without suspecting it, tells us that it was his course of action
towards that branch of the Church of Christ of which he was a minister, that
caused him to lose the confidence of his country, and troubled him so much that
it caused him to lose that self-confidence which is founded on our faith and
our union with Christ, who is our rock, our only strength in the hour of trial.
Having lost her sails, her anchor, and her helm, the poor ship was evidently
doomed to become a wreck. Nothing could prevent her from drifting into the
engulfing abyss of Popery.
Dr. Newman confesses that it is only when his guilty conscience was uniting its
thundering voice with that of his whole country to condemn him that he said,
"After all, the Church of Rome is right!" These are the arguments,
the motives, the lights which have led Dr. Newman to Rome! And it is from
himself that we have it! It is a just, an avenging God who forces His adversary
to glorify Him and say the truth in spite of himself in this "Apologia pro
vita sua."
No one can read that book, written almost with a superhuman skill, ability, and
fineness, without a feeling of unspeakable sadness at the sight of such bright
talents, such eloquence, such extensive studies, employed by the author to
deceive himself and deceive his readers; for it is evident, on every page, that
Dr. Newman has deceived himself before deceiving his readers. But no one can
read that book without feeling a sense of terror also. For he will hear, at
every page, the thundering voice of the God of the Gospel, "Because they
received not the love of the truth that they might be saved, God shall send
them strong delusions, that they should believe a lie" (2 Thess. ii.
10-11).
What, at first, most painfully puzzles the mind of the Christian reader of this
book is the horror which Dr. Newman has for the Holy Scriptures. The unfortunate
man who is perishing from hydrophobia does not keep himself more at a distance
from water than he does from the Word of God. It seems incredible, but it is
the fact, that from the first page of the history of his "Religious
Opinions" to page 261, where he joins the Church of Rome, we have not a
single line to tell us that he has gone to the Word of God for light and
comfort in his search after truth. We see Dr Newman at the feet of Daniel
Wilson, Scott, Milner, Whately, Hawkins, Blanco, White, William James, Butler,
Keble, Froude, Pusey, ect., asking them what to believe, what to do to be
saved; but you do not see him a single minute, no, not a single minute, at the
feet of the Saviour, asking him, "Master, what must I do to have 'Eternal
Life'?" The sublime words of Peter to Christ, which are filling all the
echoes of heaven and earth, these eighteen hundred years, "Lord! to whom
shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life!" have never reached his
ears! In the long and gloomy hours, when his soul was chilled and trembling in
the dark night of infidelity; when his uncertain feet were tired by vainly
going here and there, to find the true way, he has never heard Christ telling
him: "Come unto Me. I am the Way; I am the Door; I am the Life!" In
those terrible hours of distress of which he speaks so eloquently, when he
cries (page 111) "Alas, I was without any basis for my religious
profession, in a state of moral sickness: neither able to acquiesce in
Anglicanism, nor able to go to Rome:" when his lips were parched with
thirst after truth, he never, no never, went to the fountain from which flow
the waters of eternal life!
One day he goes to the Holy Fathers. But what will he find there? Will he see
how St. Cyprian sternly rebuked the impudence of Stephen, Bishop of Rome, who
pretended to have some jurisdiction over the See of Carthage? Will he find how
Gregory positively says that the Bishop who will pretend to be the
"Universal Bishop" is the forerunner of Antichrist? Will he hear St.
Augustine declaring that when Christ said to Peter, "Thou art Peter, and
upon this rock I will build my Church," He was speaking of Himself as the
rock upon which the Church would stand? No. The only thing which Dr. Newman
brings us from the Holy Fathers is so ridiculous and so unbecoming that I am
ashamed to have to repeat it. He tells us (page 78), "I have an idea. The
mass of the Fathers (Justin, Athenagoras, Ireanaeus, Clement, Tertullian,
Origen, Ambrose) hold that, though Satan fell from the beginning, the angels
fell before the deluge, falling in love with the daughters of men. This has
lately come across me as a remarkable solution of a notion I cannot help
holding."
Allow me here to remind the reader that, though the Fathers have written many
beautiful evangelical pages, some of them have written the greatest nonsense
and the most absurd things which human folly can imagine. Many of them were
born and educated as pagans. They had learned and believed the history and
immorality of their demi-gods; they had brought those notions with them into
the Church; and they had attributed to the angels of God, the passions and love
for women which was one of the most conspicuous characters of Jupiter, Mars,
Cupid, Bacchus, ect. And Dr. Newman, whose want of accuracy and judgment is so
often revealed and confessed by him in this book, has not been able to see that
those sayings of the Fathers were nothing but human aberrations. He has
accepted that as Gospel truth, and he has been silly enough to boast of it.
The bees go to the flowers to make their precious honey; they wisely choose
what is more perfect, pure and wholesome in the flowers to feed themselves. Dr.
Newman does the very contrary; he goes to those flowers of past ages, the Holy
Fathers, and takes from them what is impure for his food. After this, is it a
wonder that he has so easily put his lips to the cup of the great enchantress
who is poisoning the world with the wine of her prostitution?
When he reader has followed with attention the history of the religious opinions
of Dr. Newman in his "Apologia pro vita sua," and he sees him
approaching, day after day, the bottomless abyss of folly, corruption, slavery,
and idolatry of Rome, into which he suddenly falls (page 261), he is forcibly
reminded of the strange spectacle recorded in the eloquent pages of
Chateaubriand, about the Niagara Falls.
More than once, travelers standing at the foot of that marvel of the marvels of
the works of God, looking up towards heaven, have been struck by the sight of a
small, dark spot moving in large circles, at a great distance above the fall.
Gazing at that strange object, they soon remarked, that in its circular march
in the sky, the small dark spot was rapidly growing larger, as it was coming
down towards the thundering fall. They soon discovered the majestic form of one
of the giant eagles of America! And the eagle, balancing himself in the air,
seemed to looked down on the marvelous fall as if absolutely taken with
admiration at its grandeur and magnificence! For some time, the giant of the
air remained above the majestic cataract describing his large circles. But when
coming down nearer and nearer the terrific abyss, he was suddenly dragged as by
an irresistible power into the bottomless abyss to disappear. Some time later
the body, bruised and lifeless, is seen floating on the rapid and dark waters,
to be for ever lost in the bitter waters of the sea, at a long distance below.
Rome is a fall. It is the name which God Himself has given her: "There
come a falling away" (2 Thess. ii. 3). As the giant eagle of America, when
imprudently coming too near the mighty Fall of Niagara, is often caught in the
irresistible vortex which attracts it from a long distance, so that eagle of
Oxford, Dr. Newman, whom God has created for better things, his imprudently
come too near the terrific papal fall. He has been enchanted by its beauty, its
thousand bright rainbows: he has taken for real suns the fantastic jets of
light which encircle its misty head, and conceal its dark and bottomless abyss.
Bewildered by the bewitching voice of the enchantress, he has been unable to
save himself from her perfidious and almost irresistible attractions. The eagle
of Oxford has been caught in the whirlpool of the engulfing powers of Rome, and
you see him today, bruised, lifeless, dragged on the dark waters of Popery
towards the shore of a still darker eternity.
Dr. Newman could not make his submission to Rome without perjuring himself. He
swore that he would never interpret the Holy Scriptures except according to the
unanimous consent of the Holy Fathers. Well, I challenge him here, to meet me
and show me that the Holy Fathers are unanimous on the supremacy of the power
of the Pope over the other bishops; that he is infallible; that the priest has
the power to make his God with a wafer; that the Virgin Mary is the only hope
of sinners. I challenge him to show us that auricular confession is an
ordinance of Christ. Dr. Newman knows well that those things are impostures. He
has never believed, he never will believe them. The fact is that Dr. Newman
confesses that he never had any faith when he was a minister of the Church of
England; and it is clear that he is the same since he became a Roman Catholic.
In page 282 we read this strange exposition of his faith: "We are called upon
not to profess anything, but to submit and be silent," which is just the
faith of the mute animal which obeys the motion of the bridle, without any
resistance or thought of its own. This is I cannot deny it the true, the only
faith in the Church of Rome; it is the faith which leads directly to Atheism or
idiotism. But Christ gave us a very different idea of the faith He asks from
His disciples when He said: "The hour cometh, and now is, when the true
worshipers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth" (John iv. 23).
That degrading and brutal religion of Dr. Newman surely was not the religion of
Paul, when he wrote, "I speak as to wise men; judge ye what I say" (1
Cor. x. 15). Dr. Newman honestly tells us (page 228), when speaking of the
worship of the Virgin Mary: "Such devotional manifestations in honour of
our Lady had been my great Crux as regards Catholicism. I say frankly I do not
fully enter into them now...they are suitable for Italy, but are not suitable
for England." He has only changed his appearance his heart is what it was
formerly, when a minister of the Church of England. He wanted then another
creed, another Church for England. So now, he finds that this and that practice
of Rome may do for the Italians, but not for the English people!
Was he pleased with the promulgation of Papal infallibility? No. It is a public
fact that one of his most solemn actions, a few years since his connection with
the Church of Rome, was to protest against the promulgation of that dogma. More
than that, he expressed his doubts about the wisdom and the right of the
Council to proclaim it.
Let us read his interesting letter to Bishop Ullathorne "Rome ought to be
a name to lighten the heart at all times; and a council's proper office is,
when some great heresy or other evil impends, to inspire hope and confidence in
the faithful. But now we have the greatest meeting which ever has been, and
that at Rome, infusing into us by the accredited organs of Rome and of its
partisans (such as the Civilta, the Armonia, the Univers, and the Tablet)
little else than fear and dismay! When we are all at rest and have no doubts,
and at least practically, not to say doctrinally hold the Holy Father to be
infallible, suddenly there is thunder in the clear sky, and we are told to
prepare for something, we know not what, to try our faith, we know not how no
impending danger is to be averted, but a great difficulty is to be created. Is
this the proper work of an Ecumenical Council? As to myself personally, please
God, I do not expect any trial at all: but I cannot help suffering with the
many souls who are suffering, and I look with anxiety at the prospect of having
to defend decisions which may not be difficult to my own private judgment, but
may be most difficult to maintain logically in the face of historical facts.
"What have we done to be treated as the faithful never were treated
before? When has a definition de fide been a luxury of devotion, and not a
stern, painful necessity? Why should an aggressive, insolent faction be allowed
to 'make the heart of the just sad, whom the Lord hath not made sorrowful?' why
cannot we be let alone, when we have pursued peace, and thought no evil!
"I assure you, my Lord, some of the truest minds are driven one way and
another, and do not know where to rest their feet one day determining 'to give
up all theology as a bed job,' and recklessly to believe henceforth almost that
the Pope is impeccable: at another, tempted to 'believe all the worst which a
book like Janus says:' others doubting about 'the capacity possessed by bishops
drawn from corners of the earth, to judge what is fitting for European
society'; and then, again, angry with the Holy See for listening to 'the
flattery of a clique of Jesuits, redemptorists, and converts.' "Then, again,
think of the store of Pontifical scandals in the history of eighteen centuries,
which have partly been poured forth and partly are still to come. What Murphy
inflicted upon us in one way, M. Veuillot is indirectly bringing on us in
another. And then, again, the blight which is falling upon the multitude of
Anglican Ritualists, ect., who, themselves, perhaps at least, their leaders may
never become Catholics, but who are leavening the various English denominations
and parties (far beyond their own range), with principles and sentiments
tending towards their ultimate absorption into the Catholic Church.
"With these thoughts ever before me, I am continually asking myself
whether I ought not to make my feelings public: but all I do is to pray those
early doctors of the Church whose intercession would decide the matter
(Augustine, Ambrose, and Jerome, Athanasius, Chrysostom, and Basil) to avert
this great calamity.
"If it is God's will that the Pope's infallibility be defined, then is it
God's will to throw back 'the times and movements' of that triumph which He has
destined for His kingdom, and I shall feel I have but to bow my head to His
adorable, inscrutable providence.
"You have not touched upon the subject yourself, but I think you will
allow me to express to you feelings, which, for the most part, I keep to
myself."*
These eloquent complaints of the new convert exceedingly irritated Pius IX. and
the Jesuits at Rome: they entirely destroyed their confidence in him. They were
too shrewd to ignore that he had never been anything else but a kind of
free-thinker, whose Christian faith was without any basis, as he has himself
confessed. They had received him, of course, with pleasure, for he was the very
best man in England to unsettle the minds of the young ministers of the Church,
but they had left him alone in his oratory of Birmingham, where they seemed to
ignore him.
However, when the protest of the new so-called convert showed that his
submission was but a sham, and that he was more Protestant than ever, they
lashed him without mercy. But before we hear the stern answers of the Roman
Catholics to their new recruit, let us remember the fact the when that letter
appeared, Dr. Newman has lost the memory of it; he boldly denied its paternity
at first; it was only when the proofs were publicly given the he had written
it, that he acknowledged it, saying for his excuse that he had forgotten his
writing it!!
Now let us hear the answer to the Civilta, the organ of the Pope, to Dr.
Newman: "Do you not see that it is only temptation that makes you see
everything black? If the holy doctors whom you invoke, Ambrose, Jerome, ect.,
do not decide the controversy in your way, it is not, as the Protestant Pall
Mall Gazette fancies, because they will not or cannot interpose, but because
they agree with St. Peter and with the petition of the majority. Would you have
us make procession in sackcloth and ashes to avert this scourge of the
definition of a verity?" (Ibid., p. 271).
The clergy of France, through their organ L'Univers (Vol. II., pp. 31 34), were
still more severe and sarcastic. They had just collected $4,000 to help Dr.
Newman to pay the enormous expenses of the suit for his slanders against Father
Achilli, which he had lost.
Dr. Newman, as it appears by the article from the pen of the celebrated editor
of the Univers, had not even had the courtesy to acknowledge the gift, not the
exertions of those who had collected that large sum of money. Now let us see
what they thought and said in France about the ex-professor of Oxford whom they
called the "Respectable convict." Speaking of the $4,000 sent from
France, Veuillot says: "The respectable convict received it, and was
pleased; but he gave no thanks and showed no courtesy. Father Newman ought to
be more careful in what he says: everything that is comely demands it of him.
But, at any rate, if his Liberal passion carries him away, till he forgets what
he owes to us and to himself, what answer must one give him, but that he had
better go on as he set out, silently ungrateful." (L'Univers, Vol. II. pp.
32 34; Ibid., p. 272).
These public rebukes, addressed from Paris and Rome by the two most popular
organs of the Church of Rome, tell us the old story; the services of traitors
may be accepted, but they are never trusted. Father Newman had not the
confidence of the Roman Catholics.
But some will say: "Has not the dignity of Cardinal, to which he has
lately been raised, proved that the present Pope has the greatest confidence in
Dr. Newman?"
Had I not been twenty-five years a priest of Rome, I would say "Yes!"
But I know too much of their tactics for that. The dignity of Cardinal has been
given to Drs. Manning and Newman as the baits which the fishermen of Prince
Edward Island throw into the sea to attract the mackerels. The Pope, with those
long scarlet robes thrown over the shoulders of the two renegades from the
Church of England, hopes to catch more English mackerel.
Besides that, we all know the remarkable words of St. Paul: "And those
members of the body which we think to be less honourable, upon these we bestow
more abundant honour, and our uncomely parts have more abundant
comeliness" (1 Cor. xii. 23).
It is on that principle that the Pope has acted. He knew well that Dr. Newman
had played the act of a traitor at Oxford, that he had been caught in the very
act of conspiracy by his Bishops, that he had entirely lost the confidence of
the English people. These public facts paralyzed the usefulness of the new
convert. He was really a member of the Church of Rome, but he was one of the
most uncomely ones; so much so that the last Pope, Pius IX., had left him
alone, in a dark corner, for nearly eighteen years. Leo XIII. was more shrewd.
He felt that Newman might become one of the most powerful agents of Romanism in
England, if he were only covering his uncomeliness with the rich red Cardinal
robe.
But will the scarlet colours which now clothe Dr. Newman make us forget that,
today, he belongs to the most absurd, immoral, abject, and degrading form of
idolatry the world has ever seen? Will we forget that Romanism, these last six
centuries, is nothing else but old paganism in its most degrading forms, coming
back under a Christian name? What is the divinity which is adored in those
splendid temples of modern Rome? Is it anything else but the old Jupiter
Tonans! Yes, the Pope has stolen the old gods of paganism, and he has
sacrilegiously written the adorable name of Jesus in their faces, that the
deluded modern nations may have less objection to accept the worship of their pagan
ancestors. They adore a Christ in the Church of Rome: they sing beautiful hymns
to His honour: they build Him magnificent temples; they are exceedingly devoted
to Him they make daily enormous sacrifices to extend His power and glory all
over the world. But what is that Christ? It is simply an idol of bread, baked
every day by the servant-girl of the priest, or the neighbouring nuns.
I have been twenty-five years one of the most sincere and zealous priests of
that Christ. I have made Him with mine own hands, and the help of my servants,
for a quarter of a century; I have a right to say that I know Him perfectly
well. It is that I may tell what I know of that Christ that the God of the
Gospel has taken me by the hand, and granted me to give my testimony before the
world. Hundreds of times I have said to my servant-girl what Dr. Newman and all
the priests of Rome say, every day, to their own servants or their nuns:
"Please make me some wafers, that I may say mass and give the communion to
those who want to receive it." And the dutiful girl took some wheat flour,
mixed it with water, and put the dough between those tow well-polished and
engraven irons, which she had well heated before. In less time than I can write
it, the dough was baked into wafers. Handing them to me, I brought them to the
altar, and performed a ceremony which is called "the mass." In the
very midst of that mass, I pronounced on that wafer five magic words, "Hoc
est enim corpus meum," and had to believe, what Dr. Newman and all the
priests of Rome profess to believe, that there were no more wafers, no more
bread before me, but that what were wafers, had been turned into the great
Eternal God who had created the world. I had to prostrate myself, and ask my
people to prostrate themselves before the god I had just made with five words
from my lips; and the people, on their knees, bowing their heads, and bringing
their faces to the dust, adored god whom I had just made, with the help of
these heated irons and my servant-girl.
Now, is this not a form of idolatry more degrading, more insulting to the
infinite majesty of God than the worship of the gold calf? Where is the
difference between the idolatry of Aaron and the Israelites adoring the gold
calf in the wilderness and the idolatry of Dr. Newman adoring the wafer in his
temple? The only difference is, that Aaron worshipped a god infinitely more
respectable and powerful, in melted gold, than Dr. Newman worshiping his baked
dough.
The idolatry of Dr. Newman is more degrading than the idolatry of the
worshipers of the sun.
When the Persians adore the sun, they give their homage to the greatest, the
most glorious being which is before us. That magnificent fiery orb, millions of
miles in circumference, which rises as a giant, every morning, from behind the
horizon, to march over the world and pour everywhere its floods of heat, light
an life, cannot be contemplated without feelings of respect, admiration, and
awe. Man must raise his eyes up to see that glorious sun he must take the
eagle's wings to follow his giant strides throughout the myriads of worlds
which are there, to speak to us of the wisdom, the power, and love of our God.
It is easy to understand that poor, fallen, blind men may take that great being
for their god. Would not every one perish and die, if the sun would forget to
come every day, that we may bathe and swim in his ocean of light and life?
Then, when I see the Persian priests of the sun, in their magnificent temple,
with censors in their hands, waiting for the appearance of its first rays, to
intone their melodious hymns and sing their sublime canticles, I know their
error and I understand it; I was about to say, I almost excuse it. I feel an
immense compassion for these deluded idolaters. However, I feel they are raised
above the dust of the earth: their intelligence, their souls cannot but receive
some sparks of life and life from the contemplation of that inexhaustible focus
of light an life. But is not Dr. Newman wit his Roman Catholic people a
thousand times more worthy of our compassion and our tears, when they are
abjectly prostrated before his ignoble wafer to adore it as their Saviour,
their Creator, their God? Is it possible to imagine a spectacle more
humiliating, blasphemous, and sacrilegious, than a multitude of men and women
prostrating their faces to the dust to adore a god whom the rats and mice have,
thousands of times, dragged and eaten in their dark holes? Where are the rays
of light and life coming from that wafer? Instead of being enlarged and
elevated at the approach of this ridiculous modern divinity, is not the human
intelligence contracted, diminished, paralyzed, chilled, and struck with idiocy
and death at its feet?
Can we be surprised that the Roman Catholic nations are so fast falling into
the abyss of infidelity and atheism, when they hear their priests telling them
that more than 200,000 times, every day, this contemptible wafer is changed by
them into the great God who has created heaven and earth at the beginning, and
who has saved this perishing world by sacrificing the body and the blood which
He has taken as His tabernacle to show us His eternal love!
Come with me and see those multitudes of people with their faces prostrated in
the dust, adoring their white elephant of Siam.
Oh! what ignorance and superstition! what blindness and folly! you will
exclaim. To adore a white elephant as God!
But there is a spectacle more humiliating and more deplorable: there is a
superstition, an idolatry below that of the Siamese. It is the idolatry
practiced by Dr. Newman and his millions of co-religionists today. Yes! the
elephant god of the Asiatic people is infinitely more respectable than the
wafer god of Dr. Newman. That elephant may be taken as the symbol of strength,
magnanimity,patience, ect. There is life, motion in that noble animal he sees
with his eyes, he walks with his feet. Let some one attack him, he will protect
himself with his mighty trunk he will throw his enemy high in the air he will
crush him under his feet.
But look at this modern divinity of Rome. It has eyes, but does not see; feet,
but does not move; a mouth, but does not speak. There is neither life nor
strength in the wafer god of Rome.
But if the fall of Dr. Newman into the bottomless abyss of the idolatry of Rome
is a deplorable fact, there is another fact still more deplorable.
How many fervent Christians, how many venerable ministers of Christ everywhere,
are, just now, prostrated at the dear Saviour's feet, telling Him with tears:
"Didst Thou not sow the good Gospel seed all over our dear country,
through the hands of our heroic and martyred fathers? From whence, then, hath
it these Popish and idolatrous tares?" And the "Good Master"
answers, today, what He answered eighteen hundred years ago: "While men
slept, the enemy came during the night; he has sowed those tares among the
wheat, and he went away" (Matthew xii. 25).
And if you want to know the name of the enemy who has sowed tares, in the
night, amongst the wheat, and went away, you have only to read this
"Apologia pro vita sua." You will find this confession of Dr. Newman
at page 174: -
"I cannot disguise from myself that my preaching is not calculated to
defend that system of religion which has been received for three hundred years,
and of which the Heads of Houses are the legitimate maintainers in this
place....I must allow that I was disposing 'the minds of young men' towards
Rome!"
Now, having obtained from the very enemy's lips how he has sowed tares during
the night (secretly), read page 262, and you will see how he went away and
prostrated himself at the feet of the most implacable enemy of all the rights
and liberties of men, to call him "Most Holy Father." Read how he
fell at the knees of the very power which prepared and blessed the Armada
destined to cover his native land, England, with desolation, ruins, tears and
blood, and enchain those of her people who would not have been slaughtered on
the battle-field! See how the enemy, after having sown the tares, wet away to
the feet of a Sergius III., the public lover of Marozia and to the feet of his
bastard, John XI., who was still more debauched than his father and to the feet
of Leo VI., killed by an outraged citizen of Rome, in the act of such an
infamous crime that I cannot name it here to the feet of an Alexander, who seduced
his own daughter, and surpassed in cruelty and debauchery Nero and Caligula.
Let us see Dr. Newman falling at the feet of all these monsters of depravity,
to call them, "Most Holy Fathers," "Most Holy Heads of the
Church," "Most Holy and Infallible Vicars of Jesus Christ!"
At the sight of such a fall, what can we do, but say with Isaiah:
"The Lord has broken the staff of the wicked, and the sceptre of the
ruler....How art thou fallen, O Lucifer, Son of the morning! how are thou cut
down to the ground?" (Is. xiv.)
.
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CHAPTER 42 Back to Top
On
the first Sabbath of November, 1846, after a retreat of eight days, I fell on
my knees, and asked as a favour, to be received as a novice of the religious order
of the Oblates of Mary Immaculate of Longueuil, whose object is to preach
retreats (revivals) among the people. No child of the Church of Rome ever
enrolled himself with more earnestness and sincerity under the mysterious
banners of her monastic armies than I did, that day. It is impossible to
entertain more exalted views of the beauty and holiness of the monastic life,
than I had. To live among the holy men who had made the solemn vows of poverty,
obedience, and chastity, seemed to me the greatest and the most blessed
privilege which my God could grant on earth.
Within the walls of the peaceful monastery of Longueuil, among those holy men
who had, long since, put an impassable barrier between themselves and that
corrupted world, from the snares of which I was just escaping, my conviction
was that I should see nothing but actions of the most exalted piety; and that
the deadly weapons of the enemy could not pierce those walls protected by the
Immaculate Mother of God!
The frightful storms which had covered with wrecks the roaring sea, where I had
so often nearly perished, could not trouble the calm waters of the port where
my bark had just entered. Every one of the members of the community was to be
like an angel of charity, humility, modesty, whose example was to guide my
steps in the ways of God. My superior appeared to be less a superior than a
father, whose protecting care, by day and night, would be a shield over me.
Noah, in the ark, safe from the raging waves which were destroying the world,
did not feel more grateful to God than I was, when once in this holy solitude.
The vow of perfect poverty was to save me for ever from the cares of the world.
Having, hereafter, no right to possess a cent, the world would become to me a
paradise, where food, clothing, and lodging would come without anxiety or care.
My father superior would supply all these things, without any other condition
on my part, than to love and obey a man of God whose whole life was to be spent
in guiding my steps in the ways of the most exalted evangelical virtues. Had
not that father himself made a solemn vow to renounce not only all the honours
and dignities of the church, that his whole mind and heart might be devoted to
my holiness on earth, and my salvation in heaven?
How easy to secure that salvation now! I had only to look to that father on
earth, and obey him as my Father in Heaven. Yes! The will of that father was to
be, for me, the will of my God. Though I might err in obeying him, my errors
would not be laid to my charge. To save my soul, I should have only to be like
a corpse, or a stick in the hands of my father superior. Without any anxiety or
any responsibility whatever on my own, I was to be led to heaven as the
new-born child in the arms of his loving mother, without any fear, thoughts, or
anxiety of his own.
With the Christian poet I could have sung:
.
"Rocks and storms I fear no more,
When on that eternal shore,
Drop the anchor! Furl the sail!
I am safe within the vail."
But
how short were to be these fine dream of my poor deluded mind! When on my
knees, Father Guigues handed me, with great solemnity, the Latin books of the
rules of that monastic order, which is their real gospel, warning me that it
was a secret book, that there were things in it I ought not to reveal to
anyone; and he made me solemnly promise that I would never show it to any one
outside the order.
When alone, the next morning, in my cell, I thanked God and the Virgin Mary for
the favours of the last day, and the thought came involuntarily to my mind: "Have
you not, a thousand times, heard and said that the Holy Church of Rome
absolutely condemns and anathematizes secret societies. And do you not belong,
today, to a secret society? How can you reconcile the solemn promise of secrecy
you made last night, with the anathemas hurled by all your popes against secret
societies?" After having, in vain, tried, in my mind, to reconcile these
two things, I happily remembered that I was a corpse, that I had for ever given
up my private judgment that my only business now was to obey. "Does a
corpse argue against those who turn it from side to side? Is it not in perfect
peace, whatever may be the usage to which it is exposed, or to whatever place
it is dragged. Shall I lose the rich crown which is before me, at my first step
in the ways of perfection?"
I bade my rebellious intelligence to be still, my private judgment to be mute,
and, to distract my mind from this first temptation, I read that book of rules
with the utmost attention. I had not gone through it all before I understood
why it was kept from the eyes of the curates and the other secular priests. To
my unspeakable amazement, I found that, from the beginning to the end, it
speaks with the most profound contempt for them all. I said to myself:
"What would be the indignation of the curates, if they should suspect that
these strangers from France have such a bad opinion of them all! Would the good
curates receive them as angels from heaven, and raise them so high in the
esteem of the people, if they knew that the first thing an Oblate has to learn,
is that the secular priest is, today, steeped in immorality, ignorance,
wordiness, laziness, gluttony, ect.; that he is the disgrace of the church,
which would speedily be destroyed, was she not providentially sustained, and
kept in the ways of God, by the holy monastic men whom she nurses as her only
hope! Clear as the light of the sun on a bright day, the whole fabric of the
order of the Oblates presented itself to my mind, as the most perfect system of
Pharisaism the world had ever seen."
The Oblate, who studies his book of rules, his only gospel, must have his mind
filled with the idea of his superior holiness, not only over the poor sinful,
secular priest, but over every one else. The Oblate alone is Christian, holy,
and sacred; the rest of the world is lost! The Oblate alone is the salt of the
earth, the light of the world! I said to myself: "Is it to attain to this
pharisaical perfection that I have left my beautiful and dear parish of
Kamouraska, and given up the honourable position which my God had given me in
my country!"
However, after some time spent in these sad and despondent reflections, I again
felt angry with myself. I quickly directed my mind to the frightful,
unsuspected, and numberless scandals I had known in almost every parish I had
visited. I remembered the drunkenness of the curate, the impurities of this,
the ignorance of another, the worldliness and absolute want of faith of others,
and concluded that, after all, the Oblates were not far from the truth in their
bad opinion of the secular clergy. I ended my sad afflictions by saying to
myself: "After all, if the Oblates live a life of holiness, as I expect to
find here, is it a crime that they should see, feel, and express among
themselves, the difference which exists between a regular and a secular clergy?
Am I come here to judge and condemn these holy men? No! I came here to save
myself by the practice of the most heroic Christian virtues, the first of
which, is that I should absolutely and for ever, give up my private judgment
consider myself as a corpse in the hand of my superior."
With all the fervour of my soul, I prayed to God and to the Virgin Mary, day
and night, that week, that I might attain that supreme state of perfection,
when I would have no will, no judgment of my own. The days of that first week
passed very quickly, spent in prayer, reading and meditation of the Scriptures,
study of ecclesiastical history and ascetical books, from half-past five in the
morning till half-past nine at night. The meals were taken at the regular hours
of seven, twelve, and six o'clock, during which, with rare exceptions, silence
was kept, and pious books were read. The quality of the food was good; but, at
first, before they got a female cook to preside over the kitchen,everything was
so unclean, that I had to shut my eyes at meals, not to see what I was eating.
I should have complained, had not my lips been sealed by that strange monastic
view of perfection that every religious man is a corpse! What does a corpse
care about the cleanliness or uncleanliness of what is put into its mouth? The
third day, having drank at breakfast a glass of milk which was literally mixed
with the dung of a cow, my stomach rebelled; a circumstance which I regretted
exceedingly, attributing it to my want of monastic perfection. I envied the
high state of holiness of the other fathers who had so perfectly attained to
the sublime perfection of submission that they could drink that impure milk
just as if it had been clean.
Everything went on well the first week, with the exception of a dreadful scare
I had at the dinner of the first Friday. Just after eating soup, when listening
with the greatest attention to the reading of the life of a saint, I suddenly
felt as if the devil had taken hold of my feet; I threw down my knife and fork,
and I cried at the top of my voice, "My God! my God! what is there?"
and as quick as lightning I jumped on my chair to save myself from Satan's
grasp. My cries were soon followed by an inexpressible burst of convulsive
laughter from everyone.
"But what does that mean? Who has taken hold of my feet?" I asked.
Father Guigues tried to explain the matter to me, but it took him a
considerable time. When he began to speak, an irrepressible burst of laughter
prevented his saying a word. The fits of laughter became still more
uncontrollable, on account of the seriousness with which I was repeatedly
asking them who could have taken hold of my feet! At last some one said,
"It is Father Lagier who wanted to kiss your feet!" At the same time,
Lagier walking on his hands and knees, his face covered with sweat, dust, and
dirt, was crawling out from under the table; literally rolling on the floor, in
such an uncontrollable fit of laughter that he was unable to stand on his feet.
Of course, when I understood that no devil had tried to drag me by the feet,
but that it was simply one of the father Oblates, who, to go through one of the
common practices of humility in that monastery, had crawled under the table, to
take hold of the feet of every one and kiss them, I joined with the rest of the
community, and laughed to my heart's content.
Not many days after this, we were going, after tea, from the dining-room to the
chapel, to pass five or ten minutes in adoration of the wafer god; we had two
doors to cross, and it was pretty dark. Being the last who had entered the
monastery, I had to walk first, the other monks following me. We were reciting,
with a loud voice, the Latin Psalm: "Miserere mei Deus." We were all
marching pretty fast, when, suddenly, my feet met a large, though unseen
object, and down I fell, and rolled on the floor; my next companion did the
same, and rolled over me, and so did five or six others, who, in the dark, had
also struck their feet on that object. In a moment, we were five or six
"Holy Fathers" rolling on each other on the floor, unable to rise up,
splitting our sides with convulsive laughter. Father Brunette, in one of his
fits of humility, had left the table a little before the rest, with the permission
of the Superior, to lay himself flat on the floor, across the door. Not
suspecting it, and unable to see anything, from the want of sufficient light, I
had entangled my feet on that living corpse, as also the rest of those who were
walking too close behind me, to stop before tumbling over one another.
No words can describe my feelings of shame when I saw, almost every day, some
performance of this kind going on, under the name of Christian humility. In
vain I tried to silence the voice of my intelligence, which was crying to me,
day and night, that this was a mere diabolical caricature of the humility of
Christ. Striving to silence my untamed reason, by telling it that it had no
right to speak, and argue, and criticize, within the holy walls of a monastery,
it, nevertheless, spoke louder, day after day, telling me that such acts of
humility were a mockery. In vain, I said to myself, "Chiniquy, thou art
not come here to philosophize on this and that, but to sanctify thyself by
becoming like a corpse, which has no preconceived ideas, no acquired store of
knowledge, no rule of common sense to guide it! Poor, wretched, sinful
Chiniquy, thou art here to save thyself by admiring every iota of the holy
rules of your superiors, and to obey every word of their lips!"
I felt angry against myself, and unspeakably sad when, after whole weeks and
months of efforts, not only to silence the voice of my reason, but to kill it,
it had more life than ever, and was more and more loudly protesting against the
unmanly, unchristian, and ridiculous daily usages and rules of the monastery. I
envied the humble piety of the other good Fathers, who were apparently so
happy, having conquered themselves so completely, as to destroy that haughty
reason, which was constantly rebelling in me.
Twice, every week, I went to reveal to my guide and confessor, Father Allard,
the master of novices, my interior struggles; my constant, though vain efforts,
to subdue my rebellious reason. He always gladdened me with the promise that,
sooner or later, I should have that interior perfect peace which is promised to
the humble monk when he has attained the supreme monastic perfection of
considering himself as a corpse, as regards the rules and will of his
superiors. My sincere and constant efforts to reconcile myself to the rules of
the monastery were, however, soon to receive a new and rude check. I had read
in the book of rules, that a true monk must closely watch those who live with
him, and secretly report to his superior the defects and sins which he detects
in them. The first time I read that strange rule, my mind was so taken up by
other things, that I did not pay much attention to it. But the second time I
studied that clause, the blush came to my face, and in spite of myself, I said:
"Is it possible that we are a band of spies?" I was not long in
seeing the disastrous effects of this most degrading and immoral rule. One of
the fathers, for whom I had a particular affection for his many good qualities,
and who had many times given me the sincere proof of his friendship, said to me
one day: "For God's sake, my dear Father Chiniquy, tell me if it is you
who denounced me to the Superior for having said that the conduct of Father
Guigues towards me was uncharitable?"
"No! my dear friend," I answered, "I never said such a thing
against you, for two reasons: The first is, that you have never said a word in
my presence which could give me the idea that you had such an opinion of our
good Father Superior; the second reason is, that though you might have told me
anything of that kind, I would prefer to have my tongue cut, and eaten by dogs,
than to be a spy, and denounce you!"
"I am glad t know that," he rejoined, "for I was told by some of
the fathers that you were the one who had reported me to the Superior as
guilty, though I am innocent of that offense, but I could not believe it."
He added with tears, "I regret having left my parish to be an Oblate, on
account of that abominable law which we are sworn to fulfill. That law makes a
real hell of this monastery, and, I suppose, of all the monastic orders, for I
think it is a general law with all the religious houses. When you have passed
more time here, you will see that that law of detection puts an insurmountable
wall between us all; it destroys every spring of Christian and social
happiness."
"I understand, perfectly well, what you say," I answered him;
"the last time I was alone with Father Superior, he asked me why I had
said that the present Pope was an old fool; he persisted in telling me that I
must have said it, 'for,' he added, 'one of our most reliable fathers has
assured me you said it.' 'Well, my dear Father Superior,' I answered him, 'that
reliable father has told you a big lie; I never said such a thing, for the good
reason that I sincerely think that our present Pope is one of the wisest that
ever ruled the church.' I added, 'Now I understand why there is so much
unpleasantness in our mutual intercourse, during the hours we are allowed to
talk. I see that nobody dares to speak his mind on any grave subject. The
conversations are colourless and without life.'" "That is just the
reason," answered my friend. When some of the fathers, like you and me,
would prefer to be hung rather than become spies, the great majority of them,
particularly among the French priests recently imported from France, will not
hear ten words from your lips on any subject, without finding an opportunity of
reporting eight of them as unbecoming and unchristian, to the superiors. I do
not say that it is always through malice that they give such false reports; it
is more through want of judgment. They are very narrow minded; they do not
understand the half of what they hear in its true sense; and they give their
false impressions to the superiors, who, unfortunately, encourage that system
of spying, as the best way of transforming every one of us into corpses. As we
are never confronted with our false accusers, we can never know them, and we
lose confidence in each other; thus it is that the sweetest and holiest springs
of true Christian love are for ever dried up. It is on this spying system which
is the curse and the hell of our monastic houses, that a celebrated French
writer, who had been a monk himself, wrote of all the monks:
"Ils rentrent dans leurs monasteres sans so connaaitre; ils y vivent, sans
s'aimr: et ils se separent sans se regretter" (Monks enter a monastery
without knowing each other; they live there, without loving each other; and
they depart from each other without any regret.)
However, though I sincerely deplored that there was such a law of espionage
among us, I tried to persuade myself that it was like the dark spots of the
sun, which do not diminish its beauty, its grandeur and its innumerable
blessings. The Society of the Oblates was still to me the blessed ark where I
should find a sure shelter against the storms which were desolating the rest of
the world.
Not long after my reception as a novice, the providence of God put before our
eyes one of those terrible wrecks which would make the strongest of us tremble.
Suddenly, at the hour of breakfast, the superior of the Seminary of St.
Sulpice, and grand vicar of the Diocese of Montreal, the Rev. Mr. Quiblier,
knocked at our door, to rest an hour, and breakfast with us, when on his way to
France.
This unfortunate priest, who was among the best orators and the best looking
men Montreal had ever seen, had lived such a profligate life with his penitent
nuns and ladies of Montreal, that a cry of indignation from the whole people
had forced Bishop Bourget to send him back to France. Our father superior took
the opportunity of the fall of that talented priest, to make us bless God for
having gathered us behind the walls of our monastery, where the efforts of the
enemy were powerless. But, alas! we were soon to know, at our own expense, that
the heart of man is weak and deceitful everywhere.
It was not long after the public fall of the grand vicar of Montreal, when a
fine-looking widow was engaged to preside over our kitchen. She was more than
forty years old, and had very good manners. Unfortunately, she had not been
four months in the monastery, when she fell in love with her father confessor,
one of the most pious of the French father Oblates. The modern Adam was not
stronger than the old one against the charms of the new Eve. Both were found,
in an evil hour, forgetting one of the holy laws of God. The guilty priest was
punished and the weak woman dismissed. But an unspeakable shame remained upon
us all! I would have preferred to have my sentence of death, than the news of
such a fall inside the walls of that house where I had so foolishly believed
that Satan could not lay his snares. From that day, it was the will of God that
the strange and beautiful illusions which had brought me to that monastery,
should fade away one after the other, like the white mist which conceals the
bright rays of the morning sun. The Oblates began to appear to me pretty much
like other men. Till then, I had looked at them with my eyes shut, and I had
seen nothing but the glittering colours with which my imagination was painting
them. From that day, I studied them with my eyes opened, and I saw them just as
they were.
In the spring of 1847, having a severe indisposition, the doctor ordered me to
go to the Hotel Dieu of Montreal, which was, then, near the splendid St. Mary's
Church. I made there, for the first time, the acquaintance of a venerable old
nun, who was very talkative. She was one of the superiors of the house; her
family name was Urtubise. Her mind was still full of indignation at the bad
conduct of two father Oblates, who, under the pretext of sickness, had lately
come to her monastery to seduce the young nuns who were serving them. She told
me how she had turned them out ignominiously, forbidding them ever to come
again, under any pretext, into the hospital. She was young, when Bishop
Lartigue, being driven away from the Sulpician Seminary of Montreal, in 1823,
had taken refuge, with his secretary, the Rev. Ignace Bourget, into the modest
walls of that nunnery. She told me how the nuns had soon to repent having
received the bishop with his secretary and other priests.
"It was nearly the ruin of our community. The intercourse of the priests
with a certain number of nuns" she said, "was the cause of so much
disorder and scandal, that I was deputed with some other nuns, to the bishop to
respectfully request him not to prolong his stay in our nunnery. I told him, in
my name, and in the name of many others, that if he would not comply with our
legitimate request, we should instantly leave the house, go back to our
families and get married, that it was better to be honestly married than to
continue to live as the priests, even our father confessors, wanted us to
do."
After she had given me several other spicy stories of those interesting distant
days, I asked her if she had known Maria Monk, when she was in their house, and
what she thought of her book, "Awful Disclosures?" "I have known
her well," she said. "She spent six months with us. I have read her
book, which was given me, that I might refute it. But after reading it, I
refused to have anything to do with that deplorable exposure. There are surely
some inventions and suppositions in that book. But there is sufficient amount
of truth to cause all our nunneries to be pulled down by the people, if only
the half of them were known to the public!"
She then said to me: "For God's sake, do not reveal these things to the
world, till the last one of us is dead, if God spares you." She then
covered her face with her hands, burst into tears, and left the room.
I remained horrified. Her words fell upon me as a thunderbolt. I regretted
having heard them, though I was determined to respect her request not to reveal
the terrible secret she had entrusted to me. My God knows that I never repeated
a word of it till now. But I think it is my duty to reveal to my country and
the whole world the truth on that grave subject, as it was given me by a most
respectable and unimpeachable eyewitness.
The terrible secrets which Sister Urtubise had revealed to me rendered my stay
in the Hotel Dieu as unpleasant as it had been agreeable at first. Though not
quiet recovered I left, the same day, for Longueuil, where I entered the
monastery with a heavy heart. The day before, two of the fathers had come back
from a two or three months' evangelical excursion among the lumber men, who
were cutting wood in the forests along the Ottawa River and its tributaries,
from one to two hundred miles north-west of Montreal. I was glad to hear of
their arrival. I hoped that the interesting history of their evangelical
excursions, narrow escapes from the bears and the wolves of the forests; their
hearty receptions by the honest and sturdy lumber men, which the superior had
requested me, some weeks before, to write, would cause a happy diversion from
the deplorable things I had recently learned. But only one of those fathers
could be seen, and his conversation was anything but interesting and pleasant.
There was evidently a dark cloud around him. And the other Oblate, his companion,
where was he? The very day of his arrival, he had been ordered to keep his
room, and make a retreat of ten days, during which time he was forbidden to
speak to anyone.
I inquired from a devoted friend among the old Oblates the reason of such a
strange thing. After promising never to reveal to the superiors the sad secret
he trusted me with, he said: "Poor Father Dhas seduced one of his fair
penitents, on the way. She was a married woman, the lady of the house where our
missionaries used to receive the most cordial hospitality. The husband having
discovered the infidelity of his wife, came very near killing her; he
ignominiously turned out the two fathers, and wrote a terrible letter to the
superior. The companion of the guilty father denounced him, an confessed
everything to the superior, who has seen that the letter of the enraged husband
was only giving too true and correct a version of the whole unfortunate and
shameful occurrence. Now, the poor, weak father for his penance, is condemned
to ten days of seclusion from the rest of the community. He must pass that
whole time in prayer, fasting, and acts of humiliation, dictated by the
superior."
"Do these deplorable facts occur very often among the father
Oblates?" I asked.
My friend raised his eyes, filled with tears, to heaven, and with a deep sigh,
he answered: "Dear Father Chiniquy, would to God that I might be able to
tell you that it is the first crime of that nature committed by an Oblate. But
alas! you know, by what has occurred with our female cook not long ago, that it
is not the first time that some of our fathers have brought disgrace upon us
all. And you know also the abominable life of Father Telmont with the two nuns
at Ottawa!"
"If it be so," I replied, "where is the spiritual advantage of the
regular clergy over the secular?"
"The only advantage I see," answered my friend, "is that the
regular clergy gives himself with more impunity to every kind of debauch and
licentiousness than the secular. The monks being concealed from the eyes of the
public, inside the walls of their monastery, where nobody, or at least very few
people, have any access, are more easily conquered by the devil, and more
firmly kept in his chains, than the secular priests. The sharp eyes of the
public, and the daily intercourse the secular priests have with their relations
and parishioners, form a powerful and salutary restraint upon the bad
inclinations of our depraved nature. In the monastery, there is no restraint
except the childish and ridiculous punishments of retreats, kissing of the
floor, or of the feet, prostration upon the ground, as Father Burnette did, a
few days after your coming among us.
"There is surely more hypocrisy and selfishness among the regular than the
secular clergy. That great social organization which forms the human family is
a divine work. Yes! those great social organizations which are called the city,
the township, the country, the parish, and the household, where every one is
called to work in the light of day, is a divine organization, and makes society
as strong, pure, and holy as it can be.
"I confess that there are also terrible temptations, and deplorable falls
there, but the temptations are not so unconquerable, and the falls not so
irreparable, as in these dark recesses and unhealthy prisons raised by Satan
only for the birds of night, called monasteries or nunneries.
"The priest and the woman who falls in the midst of a well-organized
Christian society, break the hearts of the beloved mother, covers with shame a
venerable father, cause the tears of cherished sisters and brothers to flow,
pierce, with a barbed arrow, the hearts of thousands of friends; they for ever
lose their honour and good name. These considerations are so many providential,
I dare say Divine, shields, to protect the sons and daughters of Eve against
their own frailty. The secular priest and the women shrink before throwing
themselves into such a bottomless abyss of shame, misery, and regret. But
behind the thick and dark walls of the monastery, or the nunnery, what has the
fallen monk or nun to fear? Nobody will hear of it, no bad consequences worth
mentioning will follow, except a few days of retreat, some insignificant,
childish, ridiculous penances, which the most devoted in the monastery are
practicing almost every day.
"As you ask me in earnest what are the advantages of a monastic life over
a secular, in a moral and social point of view, I will answer you. In the
monastery, man, as the image of God, forgets his divine origin, loses his
dignity; and as a Christian, he loses the most holy weapons Christ has given to
His disciples to fight the battle of life. He, at once and for ever, loses that
law of self-respect, and respect for others, which is one of the most powerful
and legitimate barriers against vice. Yes! That great and divine law of
self-respect, which God Himself has implanted in the heart of every man and
woman who live in a Christian society, is completely destroyed in the monastery
and nunnery. The foundation of perfection in the monk and the nun is that they
must consider themselves as corpses. Do you not see that this principle strikes
at the root of all that God has made good, grand, and holy in man? Does it not
sweep away every idea of holiness, purity, greatness! every principle of life
which the Gospel of Christ had for its mission to reveal to the fallen children
of Adam?
"What self-respect can we expect from a corpse? and what respect can a
corpse feel for the other corpses which surround it? Thus it is that the very
idea of monastic perfection carries with it the destruction of all that is
good, pure, holy, and spiritual in the religion of the Gospel. It destroys the
very idea of life to put death into its place.
"It is for that reason that if you study the true history, not the lying
history, of monachism, you will find the details of a corruption impossible,
anywhere else, not even among the lowest houses of prostitution. Read the
Memoirs of Scipio de Ricci, one of the most pious and intelligent bishops our
Church has ever had, and you will see that the monks and the nuns of Italy live
the very life of the brutes in the fields. Yes! read the terrible revelations
of what is going on among those unfortunate men and women, whom in the iron
hand of monachism keeps tied in their dark dungeons, you will hear from the
very lips of the nuns that the monks are more free with them than the husbands
are with their legitimate wives; you will see that every one of those monastic
institutions is a new Sodom!
"The monastic axiom, that the highest point of perfection is attained only
when you consider yourself a corpse in the hand of your superior, is
anti-social and Antichristian: it is simply diabolical. It transforms into a
vile machine that man whom God had created in His likeness, and made for ever
free. It degrades below the brute that man whom Christ, by His death, has
raised to the dignity of a child of God, and an inheritor of an eternal kingdom
in Heaven. Everything is mechanical, material, false, in the life of a monk and
a nun. Even the best virtues are deceptions and lies. The monks and the nuns
being perfect only when they have renounced their own free-will and
intelligence to become corpses, can have neither virtues or vices.
"Their best actions are mechanical. Their acts of humility are to crawl
under the table and kiss the feet of each other, or to make a cross on a dirty
floor with the tongue, or lie down in the dust to let the rest of the monks or
the nuns pass over them! Have you not remarked how those so-called monks speak
with the utmost contempt of the rest of the world? One must have opportunities
as I have had of seeing the profound hatred which exists among all monastic
orders against each other. How the Dominicans have always hated the
Franciscans, and how they both hate the Jesuits, who pay them back in the same
coin! What a strong and nameless hatred divides the Oblates, to whom we belong,
from the Jesuits! The Jesuits never lose an opportunity of showing us their
supreme contempt! You are aware that, on account of those bad feelings, it is
absolutely forbidden to an Oblate to confess to a Jesuit, as we know it is
forbidden to the Jesuits to confess to an Oblate, or to any other priest.
"I need not tell you, for you know, that their vow of poverty is a mask to
help them to become rich with more rapidity than the rest of the world. Is it
not under the mask of that vow that the monks of England, Scotland, and France
became the masters of the richest lands of those countries, which the nations
were forced, by bloody revolutions, to wrench from their grasp?
"Is it not still under the mask of extreme poverty that the monks of Italy
are among the richest proprietors in that unfortunate country?
"I have seen much more of the world than you. When a young priest, I was
the chaplain, confessor, and intimate friend of the Duchess de Berry, the
mother of Henry V, now the only legitimate king of France. When, in the midst
of those great and rich princes and nobles of France, I never saw such a love
of money, of honour, of vain glory, as I have seen among the monks since I have
become one of them. When the Duchess de Berry finished her providential work in
France, after making the false step which ruined her, I threw myself into the
religious order of the Chartreux. I have lived several years in their palatial
monastery of Rome; have cultivated and enjoyed their sweet fruits in their
magnificent gardens; but I was not there long without seeing the fatal error I
had committed in becoming a monk. During the many years I resided in that
splendid mansion, where laziness, stupidity, filthiness, gluttony,
superstition, tediousness, ignorance, pride, and unmentionable immoralities,
with very few exceptional cases, reigned supreme, I had every opportunity to
know what was going on in their midst. Life soon became an unbearable burden,
but for the hope I had of breaking my fetters. At last I found out that the
best, if not the only way of doing this, was to declare to the Pope that I
wanted to go and preach the gospel to the savages of America, which was, and is
still true.
"I made my declaration, and by the Pope's permission the doors of my goal
were opened, with the condition that I should join the order of the Oblates
Immaculate, in connection with which I should evangelize the savages of the
Rocky Mountains.
"I have found among the monks of Canada the very same things I have seen
among those of France and Italy. With very few exceptions they are all corpses,
absolutely dead to every sentiment of true honesty and real Christianity; they
are putrid carcasses, which have lost the dignity of manhood.
"My dear Father Chiniquy," he added, "I trust you as I trust
myself, when I tell you for our own good a secret which is known to God alone.
When I am on the Rocky Mountains, I will raise myself up, as the eagles of those
vast countries, and I shall go up to the regions of liberty, light, and life; I
will cease being a corpse, to become what my God has made me a free and
intelligent man: I will cease to be a corpse, in order to become one of the
redeemed of Christ, who serve God in spirit and in truth.
"Christ is the light of the world; monachism is its night! Christ is the
strength, the glory, the life of man; monachism is its decay, shame, and death!
Christ died to make us free; the monastery is built up to make slaves of us!
Christ died that we might be raised to the dignity of children of God;
monachism is established to bring us down much below he living brutes, for it
transforms us into corpses! Christ is the highest conception of humanity;
monachism is its lowest!
"Yes, yes, I hope my God will soon give me the favour I have asked so
long! When I shall be on the top of the Rocky Mountains, I will, for ever,
break my fetters. I will rise from my tomb; I will come out from among the
dead, to sit at the table of the redeemed, and eat the bread of the living
children of God!"
I do regret that the remarkable monk, whose abridged views on monachism I have
here given, should have requested me never to give his name, when he allows me
to tell some of his adventures, which will make a most interesting romance.
Faithful to his promise, he went, as an Oblate, to preach to the savages of the
Rocky Mountains, and there, without noise, he slipped out of their hands; broke
his chains to live the life of a freedman of Christ, in the holy bonds of a
Christian marriage with a respectable American lady.
Weak and timid soldier that I was once; frightened by the ruins spread
everywhere on the battle-field, I looked around to find a shelter against the
impending danger; I thought that the monastery of the Oblates of Mary
Immaculate was one of those strong towers, built by my God, where the arrows of
the enemy could not reach me, and I threw myself into it.
But, hardly beginning to hope that I was out of danger, behind those dark and
high walls, when I saw them shaking like a drunken man; and the voice of God
passed like a hurricane over me.
Suddenly, the high towers and walls around me fell to the ground, and were
turned into dust. Not one stone remained on another.
And I heard a voice saying to me: "Soldier! come out and get in the light
of the sun; trust no more in the walls built by the hand of man; they are
nothing but dust. Come and fight in the open day, under the eyes of God,
protected only by the gospel banner of Christ! come out from behind those walls
they are a diabolical deception, a snare, a fraud!"
I listened to the voice, and I bade adieu to the inmates of the monastery of
the Oblates of Mary Immaculate.
When, on the 1st of November, 1847, I pressed them on my heart for the last
time, I felt the burning tears of many of them falling on my cheeks, and my
tears moistened their faces: for they loved me, and I loved them. I had met
there several noble hearts and precious souls worthy of a better fate. Oh! if I
could have, at the price of my life, given them the light and liberty which my
merciful God had given me! But they were in the dark; and there was no power in
me to change their darkness into light. The hand of God brought me back to my
dear Canada, that I might again offer it the sweat and the labours, the love
and life of the least of its sons.
.
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CHAPTER 43 Back to Top
The
eleven months spent in the monastery of the Oblates of Mary Immaculate, were
among the greatest favours God has granted me. What I had read of the monastic
orders, and what my honest, though deluded imagination, had painted of the
holiness, purity, and happiness of the monastic life, could not be blotted out
of my mind, except by a kind of miraculous interposition. No testimony whatever
could have convinced me that the monastic institutions were not one of the most
blessed of the Gospel. Their existence, in the bosom of the Church of Rome,
was, for me, an infallible token of her divine institution, and miraculous preservation;
and their absence among Protestants, one of the strongest proofs that these
heretics were entirely separated from Christ. Without religious orders the
Protestant denominations were to me, as dead and decayed branches cut from the
true vine, which are doomed to perish.
But, just as the eyes of Thomas were opened, and his intelligence was convinced
of the divinity of Christ, only after he had seen the wounds in his hands and
side, so I could never have believed that the monastic institutions were of
heathen and diabolical origin, if my God had not forced me to see with my own
eyes, and to touch with my fingers, their unspeakable corruptions.
Though I remained, for some time longer, a sincere Catholic priest, I dare say
that God Himself had just broken the strongest tie of my affections and respect
for that Church.
It is true that several pillars remained, on which my robust faith in the
holiness and apostolicity of the Church rested for a few years longer, but I
must here confess to the glory of God, that the most solid of these pillars had
for ever crumbled to pieces, when in the monastery of Longueuil.
Long before my leaving the Oblates, many influential priests of the district of
Montreal had told me that my only chance of success, if I wanted to continue my
crusade against the demon of drunkenness, was to work alone. "Those monks
are pretty good speakers on temperance," they unanimously said, "but
they are nothing else than a band of comedians. After delivering their eloquent
tirades against the use of intoxicating drinks, to the people, the first thing
they do is to ask for a bottle of wine, which soon disappears! What fruit can
we expect from the preaching of men who do not believe a word of what they say,
and who are the first, among themselves, to turn their own arguments into
ridicule? It is very different with you; you believe what you say; you are
consistent with yourself; your hearers feel it; your profound, scientific, and
Christian convictions pass into them with an irresistible power. God visibly
blesses your work with a marvelous success! Come to us," said the curates,
"not as sent by the superior of the Oblates, but as sent, by God Himself,
to regenerate Canada. Present yourself as a French
Canadian priest; a child of the people. That people will hear you with more
pleasure, and follow your advice with more perseverance. Let them know and feel
that Canadian blood runs in your veins; that a Canadian heart beats in your
breast; continue to be, in the future, what you have been in the past. Let the
sentiments of the true patriot be united with those of a Catholic priest; and
when you address the people of Canada, the citadels of Satan will crumble
everywhere before you in the district of Montreal, as they have done in that of
Quebec."
At the head of the French Canadian curates, who thus spoke, was my venerable
personal friend and benefactor, the Rev. Mr. Brassard, curate of Longueuil. He
had not only been one of my most devoted friends and teachers, when I was
studying in the college at Nicolet, but had helped me, with his own money, to
go through the last four years of my studies, when I was too poor to meet my
collegiate expenses. No one had thought more highly than he of the Oblates of
Mary Immaculate, when they first settled in Canada. But their monastery was too
near his parsonage for their own benefit. His sharp eyes, high intelligence,
and integrity of character, soon detected that there was more false varnish
than pure gold, on their glittering escutcheon. Several love scrapes between
some of the Oblates and the pretty young ladies of his parish, and the long
hours of night spent by Father Allard with the nuns, established in his
village, under the pretext of teaching them grammar and arithmetic, had filled
him with disgust. But what had absolutely destroyed his confidence, was the
discovery of a long-suspected iniquity, which at first seemed incredible to
him. Father Guigues, the superior, after his nomination, but before his
installation to the Bishopric of Ottawa, had been closely watched, and at last
discovered when opening the letters of Mr. Brassard, which, many times, had
passed from the post office, through his hands. That criminal action had come
very near to being brought before the legal courts by Mr. Brassard; this was
avoided only by Father Guigues acknowledging his guilt, asking pardon in the
most humiliating way, before me and several other witnesses.
Long before I left the Oblates, Mr. Brassard had said to me: "The Oblates
are not the men you think them to be. I have been sorely disappointed in them,
and your disappointment will be no less than mine, when your eyes are opened. I
know that you will not remain long in their midst. I offer you, in advance, the
hospitality of my parsonage, when your conscience calls you out of their
monastery!"
I availed myself of this kind invitation on the evening of the 1st of November,
1847.
The next week was spent in preparing the memoir which I intended to present to
my Lord Bourget, Bishop of Montreal, as an explanation of my leaving the
Oblates. I knew that he was disappointed and displeased with the step I had
taken.
The curate of Chambly, Rev. Mr. Mignault, having gone to the bishop, to express
his joy that I had left the monks, in order to serve again in the church, in
the ranks of the secular clergy, had been very badly received. The bishop had
answered him: "Mr. Chiniquy may leave the Oblates if he likes; but he will
be disappointed if he expects to work in my diocese. I do not want his
services."
This did not surprise me. I knew that those monks had been imported by him,
from France, and that they were pets of his. When I entered their monastery,
just eleven months before, he was just starting for Rome, and expressed to me
the pleasure he felt that I was to join them. My reasons, however, were so
good, and the memoir I was preparing was so full of undoubted facts and
unanswerable arguments, that I was pretty sure, not only to appease the wrath
of my bishop, but to gain his esteem more firmly than before. I was not
disappointed in my expectation.
A few days later I called upon his lordship, and was received very coldly. He
said: "I cannot conceal from you my surprise and pain at the rasp step you
have taken. What a shame, for all your friends to see your want of consistency
and perseverance! Had you remained among those good monks, your moral strength,
could have been increased more than tenfold. But you have stultified yourself
in the eyes of the people, as well as in mine; you have lost the confidence of
your best friends, by leaving, without good reasons, the company of such holy
men. Some bad rumours are already afloat against you, which give us to
understand that you are an unmanageable man, a selfish priest, whom the
superiors have been forced to turn out as a black sheep, whose presence could
not be any longer tolerated inside the peaceful walls of that holy
monastery."
Those words were uttered with an expression of bad feeling which told me that I
had not heard the tenth part of what he had in his heart. However, as I came into
his presence prepared to hear all kinds of bad reports, angry reproaches, and
humiliating insinuations, I remained perfectly calm. I had, in advance,
resolved to hear all his unfriendly, insulting remarks, just as if they were
addressed to another person, a perfect stranger to me. The last three days had
been spent in prayers to obtain that favour. My God had evidently head me; for
the storm passed over me without exciting the least unpleasant feelings in my
soul.
I answered: "My lord, allow me to tell you that, in taking the solemn step
of leaving the monastery of Longueuil, I was not afraid of what the world would
say, or think of me. My only desire is to save my soul, and give the rest of my
life to my country and my God, in a more efficacious way than I have yet done.
The rumours which seem to trouble your lordship about my supposed expulsion
from the Oblates do not affect me in the least, for they are without the least
foundation. From the first to the last day of my stay in that monastery, all
the inmates, from the superior to the last one, have overwhelmed me with the
most sincere marks of kindness, and even of respect. If you had seen the tears
which were shed by the brothers, when I bade them adieu, you would have
understood that I never had more devoted and sincere friends than the members
of that religious community. Please read this important document, and you will
see that I have kept my good name during my stay in that monastery." I
handed him the following testimonial letter which the superior had given me
when I left:
.
"I, the undersigned, Superior of the Noviciate of the
Oblates of Mary Immaculate at Longueuil, do certify that the conduct of Mr.
Chiniquy, when in our monastery, has been worthy of the sacred character which
he possesses, and after this year of solitude, he does not less deserve the
confidence of his brethren in the holy ministry than before. We wish, moreover,
to give our testimony of his preserving zeal in the cause of temperance. We
think that nothing was more of a nature to give a character of stability to
that admirable reform, and to secure its perfect success, than the profound
reflections and studies of Mr. Chiniquy, when in the solitude of Longueuil, on
the importance of that work.
"T. F. Allard,
"Superior of the Noviciate O.M.I."
It
was really most pleasant for me to see that every line of that document read by
the bishop was blotting out some of the stern and unfriendly lines which were
on his face, when speaking to me. Nothing was more amiable than his manners,
when he handed it back to me, saying: "I thank God to see that you are
still as worthy of my esteem and confidence, as when you entered that
monastery. But would you be kind enough to give me the real reasons why you
have so abruptly separated from the Oblates?"
"Yes, my lord, I will give them to you; but your lordship knows that there
are things of such a delicate nature, that the lips of man shiver and rebel
when required to utter them. Such are some of the deplorable things which I
have to mention to your lordship. I have put those reasons in these pages,
which I respectfully request your lordship to read," and I handed him the
Memoir, about thirty pages long, which I had prepared. The bishop read, very
carefully five or six pages, and said: "Are you positive as to the
exactness of what you write here?"
"Yes, my lord! They are as true and real as I am here."
The bishop turned pale and remained a few minutes silent, biting his lips, and
after a deep sigh, said: "Is it your intention to reveal those sad mysteries
to the world, or can we hope that you will keep that secret?"
"My lord," I answered, "if your lordship and the Oblates deal
with me, as I hope they will do, as with an honourable Catholic priest; if I am
kept in the position which an honest priest has a right to fill in the church,
I consider myself bound, in conscience and honour, to keep those things secret.
But, if from any abuse, persecutions emanating from the Oblates, or any other
party, I am obliged to give to the world the true reasons of my leaving that
monastic order, your lordship understands that, in self-defense, I will be
forced to make these revelations!"
"But the Oblates cannot say a word, or do anything wrong against
you," promptly answered the bishop, "after the honourable testimony they
have given you."
"It is true, my lord, that I have no reason to fear anything from the
Oblates!" I answered; "but those religious men are not the only ones
who might force me to defend myself. You know another who has my future
destinies in his hands. You know that my future course will be shaped by h is
own toward me."
With an amiable smile the bishop answered:
"I understand you. But I pledge myself that you have nothing to fear from
that quarter. Though I frankly tell you that I would have preferred seeing you
work as a member of that monastic institution, it may be that it is more
according to the will of God, that you should go among the people, as sent by
God, rather than by a superior, who might be your inferior in the eyes of many,
in that glorious temperance, of which you are evidently the blessed apostle in
Canada. I am glad to tell you that I have spoken of you to his holiness, and he
requested me to give you a precious medal, which bears his most perfect
features, with a splendid crucifix. His holiness has graciously attached three
hundred days' for indulgences to every one who will take the pledge of
temperance in kissing the feet of that crucifix. Wait a moment," added the
bishop, "I will go and get them and present them to you."
When the bishop returned, holding in his hands those two infallible tokens of
the kind sentiments of the Pope towards me, I fell on my knees to receive them
and press them both to my lips with the utmost respect. My feelings of joy and
gratitude in that happy hour cannot be expressed. I remained mute, for some
time, with surprise and admiration, when holding those precious things which
were coming to me, as I then sincerely believed, from the very successor of
Peter, and the true Vicar of Christ Himself. When handing me those sacred
gifts, the bishop addressed me the kindest words which a bishop can utter to
his priest, or a father to his beloved son. He granted me the power to preach
and hear confessions all over his diocese, and he dismissed me only after
having put his hand on my head and asked God to pour upon me His most abundant
benedictions everywhere I should go to work in the holy cause of temperance in
Canada.
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 44 Back to Top
Our
adorable Saviour said: "What king, going to make war against another king,
sitteth not down first, and consulteth whether he be able, with ten thousand,
to meet him that cometh against him with twenty thousand? (Luke xiv. 31). To
follow that advice, how often had I fallen on my knees before my God, to
implore the necessary strength and wisdom to meet that terrible enemy which was
marching against me and my brethren! Often I was so discouraged by the sense of
my personal incapacity, that I came near fainting and flying away at the sight
of the power and resources of the foe! But the dear Saviour's voice had as many
times strengthened me, saying! "Fear not, I am with thee!" He seemed
at every hour to whisper in my ears, "Be of good cheer, I have overcome
the world!" (John xvi. 33). Trusting, then, in my God, alone, for victory,
I nevertheless understood that my duty was to arm myself with the weapons which
the learned and the wise men of the past ages had prepared. I again studied the
best works written on the subject of wine, from the learned naturalist, Pliny,
to the celebrated Sir Astley Cooper. I not only compiled a multitude of
scientific notes, arguments, and facts from these books, but prepared a
"Manual of Temperance," which obtained so great a success, for such a
small country as Canada, that it went through four editions of twenty-five
thousand copies in less than four years. But my best source of information and
wisdom was from letters received from Father Mathew, and my personal interviews
with him, when he visited the United States.
The first time I met him, in Boston, he told me how he regretted his having, at
first, too much relied on the excitement and enthusiasm of the multitudes.
"Those fits," he said, "pass away as quickly as the clouds of
the storm; and they, too often, leave no more traces of their passage.
Persevere in the resolution you have taken in the beginning, never to give the
pledge, except when you give a complete course of lectures on the damning
effects of intoxicating drinks. How can we expect that the people will for ever
give up beverages which they honestly, though ignorantly, believe to be
beneficial and necessary to their body? The first thing we do we must
demonstrate to them that these alcoholic drinks are absolutely destructive of
their temporal, as well as of their eternal life. So long as the priest and the
people believe, as they do today, that rum, brandy, wine, beer, and cider give
strength to help man to keep up his health in the midst of his hard labours;
that they warm his blood in winter and cool it in the summer; all our efforts,
and even our successes, will be like the bundle of straw, which makes a bright
light, attracts the attention for a moment, and leaves nothing but smoke and
cinders.
"Hundreds of times I have seen my Irish countrymen honestly taking the
pledge for life; but before a week had elapsed, they had obtained a release
from their priests, under the impression that they were unable to earn their
own living and support their families, without drinking those detestable drugs.
Very few priests in Ireland have taken the pledge, and still fewer have kept
it. In New York, only two Irish priests have given up their intoxicating glass,
and the very next week I met both of them drunk! Archbishop Hughes turned my
humble efforts into ridicule, before his priests, in my own presence, and drank
a glass of brandy to my health with them at his own table to mock me. And here
in Boston the drinking habits of the bishop and his priests are such, that I
have been forced, through self-respect, to quietly withdraw from his palace and
come to this hotel. This bad conduct paralyses and kills me."
In saying these last words, that good and noble man burst into a fit of
convulsive sobs and tears; his breast was heaving under his vain efforts to
suppress his sighs. He concealed his face in his hands, and for nearly ten
minutes he could not utter a word. The spectacle of the desolation of a man
whom God has raised so high, and so much blessed, and the tears of one who had
himself dried so many tears, and brought so much joy, peace, and comfort, to so
many desolate homes, has been one of the most solemn lessons my God ever gave
me. I then learned more clearly than ever, that all the glory of the world is
Vanity, and that one of the greatest acts of folly is to rely, for happiness,
on the praises of men and the success of our own labours. For who had received
more merited praises, and who had seen his own labours more blessed by God and
man, than Father Mathew, whom all ages will call "The Apostle of
Temperance of Ireland?"
My gratitude to Mr. Brassard caused me to choose his parish, near Montreal, for
the first grand battlefield of the impending struggle against the enemy of my
God and my country; and the first week of Advent determined upon for the
opening of the campaign. But the nearer the day chosen to draw the sword
against the modern Goliath, the more I felt the solemnity of my position, and
the more I needed the help of Him on whom alone we can trust for light and
strength.
I had determined never to lecture on temperance in any place, without having
previously inquired, from the most reliable sources, about: (1) The number of
deaths and accidents caused by drunkenness the last fifteen or twenty years.
(2) The number of orphans and widows made by drunkenness. (3) The number of
rich families ruined, and the number of poor families made poorer by the same
cause. (4) The approximate sum of money expended by the people during the last
twenty years.
As the result of my enquiries, I learned that during that short period, that 32
men had lost their lives when drunk; and through their drunkenness 25 widows
and 73 orphans had been left in the lowest degree of poverty! 72 rich families
had been entirely ruined and turned out of their once happy homes by the demon
of intemperance, and 90 kept poor. More than three hundred thousand dollars
(300,000 dollars) had been paid in cash, without counting the loss of time, for
the intoxicating beverages drank by the people of Longueuil during the last
twenty years.
For three days, I spoke twice a day to crowded houses. My first text was:
"Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in
the cup: when it moveth itself aright. At the last it biteth like a serpent,
and stingeth like an adder" (Prov. xxiii. 31,32).
The first day I showed how alcoholic beverages were biting like a serpent and
stinging like an adder, by destroying the lungs, the brains, and the liver, the
nerves and the muscles, the blood and the very life of man. The second day I
proved that intoxicating drinks were the most implacable and cruel enemies of
the fathers, the mothers, the children; of the young and the old; of the rich
and the poor; of the farmers, the merchants, and the mechanics; the parish and
the country. The third day I proved, clearly, that those intoxicating liquors
were the enemy of the intelligence, and the soul of man; the gospel of Christ
and of His holy Church; the enemy of all the rights of man and the laws of God.
My conclusion was, that we were all bound to raise our hands against that
gigantic and implacable foe, whose arm was raised against every one of us. I
presented the thrilling tableau of our friends, near and dear relations, and
neighbours, fallen and destroyed around us; the thousands of orphans and
widows, whose fathers and husbands had been slaughtered by strong drink. I
brought before their minds the true picture of the starving children, the
destitute widows and mothers, whose life had to be spent in tears, ignominy,
desolation and unspeakable miseries, from the daily use of strong drink. I was
not half through my address when tears flowed from every eye. The cries and
sobs so much drowned my voice, that I had several times to stop speaking for a
few minutes.
Then holding the crucifix, blessed and given to me by the Pope, I showed what
Christ had suffered on the cross for sins engendered by the use of intoxicating
drinks. And I requested them to listen to the voices of the thousands of
desolate orphans, widows, wives and mothers, coming from every corner of the land;
the voices of their priests and their church; the voices of the angels, the
Virgin Mary and the saints in heaven; the voice of Jesus Christ their Saviour,
calling them to put an end to the deluge of evils and unspeakable iniquities
caused by the use of those cursed drinks; "for," said I, "those
liquors are cursed by millions of mothers and children, widows and orphans, who
owe to them a life of shame, tears, and untold desolation. They are cursed by
the Virgin Mary and the angels who are the daily witnesses of the iniquities
with which they deluge the world. They are cursed by the millions of souls
which they have plunged into eternal misery. They are cursed by Jesus Christ,
from whose hands they have wrenched untold millions of souls, for whom He died
on Calvary."
Every one of those truths, incontrovertible for Roman Catholics, were falling
with irresistible power on that multitude of people. The distress and
consternation were so profound and universal, that they reacted, at last, on
the poor speaker, who several times could not express what he himself felt
except with his tears and his sobs.
When I hoped that, by the great mercy of God, all resistances were subdued, the
obstacles removed, the intelligence enlightened, the wills conquered, I closed
the address, which had lasted more than two hours, by an ardent prayer to God
to grant us the grace to give up for ever the use of those terrible poisons,
and I requested everyone to repeat with me, in their hearts, the solemn pledge
of temperance in the following words:
"Adorable and dear Saviour, Jesus Christ, who died on the cross to take
away my sins and save my guilty soul, for Thy glory, the good of my brethren
and of my country, as well as for my own good, I promise, with Thy help, never
to drink, not to give to anybody any intoxicating beverages, except when
ordered by an honest physician."
Our merciful God had visibly blessed the work and His unprofitable servant. The
success was above our sanguine expectations. Two thousand three hundred
citizens of Longueuil enrolled under the pledge, I asked them to come to the
foot of the altar and kiss the crucifix I was holding, as the public and solemn
pledge of their engagement.
The first thing done by the majority of the intelligent farmers of Longueuil,
on the return from the church, was to break their decanters and their barrels,
and spill the last drop of the accursed drink on the ground. Seven days later,
there were eighty requests in my hands to go and show the ravages of alcoholic
liquors to man other parishes. Boucherville, Chambly, Varennes, St. Hyacinthe,
ect., Three Rivers, the great city of Montreal, Three Rivers, and St.
Hyacinthe, one after the other, raised the war cry against the usages of
intoxicating drinks, with a unanimity and determination which seemed to be more
miraculous than natural. During the four years, I gave 1,800 public addresses,
in 200 parishes, with the same fruits, and enrolled more than 200,000 people
under the banners of temperance. Everywhere, the taverns, the distilleries and
breweries were shut, and their owners forced to take other trades to make a
living; not on account of any stringent law, but by the simple fact that the
whole people had ceased drinking their beverages, after having been fully
persuaded that they were injurious to their bodies, opposed to their happiness,
and ruinous to their souls.
The convictions were so unanimous and strong on that subject, that, in many
places, the last evening I spent in their midst, the merchants used to take all
their barrels or rum, beer, wine and brandy to the public squares, make a
pyramid of them, to which I was invited to set fire. The whole population,
attracted by the novelty and sublimity of that spectacle, would then fill the
air with their cries and shouts of joy. When the husbands and wives, the
parents and children of the redeemed drunkards rent the air with their cries of
joy at the destruction of their enemy, and the fire was in full blaze, one of
the merchants would give me an axe to stave in the last barrel of rum. After
the last drop was emptied, I usually stood on it to address some parting words
to the people.
Such a spectacle baffles any description. The brilliant light of the pine and
cedar trees, mixed with all kinds of inflammable materials which everyone had
been invited to bring, changed the darkest hour of that night into the
brightest of days. The flames, fed by the fiery liquid, shot forth their
tongues of fire towards heaven, as if to praise their great God, whose merciful
hand had brought the marvelous reformation we were celebrating. The thousand
faces, illuminated by the blaze, beamed with joy. The noise of the cracking
barrels, mixed with that of a raging fire; the cries and shouts of that
multitude, with the singing of the Te Deum, formed a harmony which filled every
soul with sentiments of unspeakable happiness. But where shall I find words to
express my feelings, when I had finished speaking! The mothers and wives to
whom our blessed temperance had given back a loving husband and some dear
children, were crowding around me with their families and redeemed ones, to
thank me, press my hands to their lips, and water them with their grateful
tears.
The only thing which marred that joy were the exaggerated honours and unmerited
praises with which I was really overwhelmed. I was, at first, forced to
received an ovation from the curates and people of Longueuil and the
surrounding parishes, when they presented to me my portrait, painted by the
artist Hamel, which filled me with confusion, for I felt so keenly that I did
not deserve such honours. But it was still worse at the end of May, 1849. Judge
Mondelet was deputed by the bishop and the priests and the city of Montreal,
accompanied by 15,000 people, to present me with a gold medal, and a gift of
four hundred dollars.
But the greatest surprise my God had in store for me, was kept for the end of
June, 1850. At that time, I was deputed by 40,000 tee-totalers, to present a
petition to the Parliament of Toronto, in order to make the rum sellers
responsible for the ravages caused to the families of the poor drunkards to
whom they had sold their poisonous drugs. The House of Commons having kindly
appointed a committee of ten members to help me to frame that bill, it was an
easy matter to have it pass through the three branches. I was present when they
discussed and accepted that bill. Napoleon was not more happy after he had won
the battle of Austerlitz, than I was when I heard that my pet bill had become
law, and that hereafter, the innocent victims of the drunken father or husband
would receive an indemnity from the landsharks who were fattening on their
poverty and unspeakable miseries.
But what was my surprise and consternation, when, immediately after the passing
of that bill, the Hon. Dewitt rose and proposed that a public expression of
gratitude should be given me by Parliament, under the form of a large pecuniary
gift! His speech seemed to me filled with such exaggerated eulogiums, that I
would have been tempted to think it was mockery, had I not known that the
Protestant gentleman was one of my most sincere friends. He was followed by the
Honourables Baldwin and Lafontaine, Ministers at that time, and half a dozen
other members, who went still further into what I so justly consider the
regions of exaggeration. It seemed to me bordering on blasphemy to attribute to
Chiniquy a reformation which was so clearly the work of my merciful God. The
speeches on that subject lasted two hours, and were followed by a unanimous
vote to present me with $500, as a public testimony of the gratitude of the
people for my labours in the temperance reform of Canada. Previous to that, the
Bishops of Quebec and Montreal had given me tokens of their esteem which,
though unmerited, had been better appreciated by me.
When in May, 1850, Archbishop Turgeon, of Quebec, sent the Rev. Charles
Baillargeon, curate of Quebec, to Rome, to become his successor, he advised him
to come to Longueuil, and get a letter from me, which he might present to the
Pope, with a volume of my "Temperance Manual." I complied with his
request, and wrote to the Pope. Some months later, I received the following
lines:
.
Rome, Aug. 10th, 1850.
Rev. Mr. Chiniquy,
Sir and dear friend;Monday, the 12th was the first opportunity given me to have
a private audience with the Sovereign Pontiff. I presented him your book, with
your letter, which he received, I will not say with that goodness which is so
eminently characteristic of him, but with all special marks of satisfaction and
approbation, while charging me to state to you that he accords his apostolic
benediction to you and to the holy work of temperance you preach. I consider
myself happy to have had to offer on your behalf, to the Vicar of Jesus Christ,
a book which, after it had done so much good to my countrymen, had been able to
draw from his venerable lips, such solemn words of approbation of the
temperance society and of blessings on those who are its apostles; and it is
also, for my heart, a very sweet pleasure to transmit them to you.
Your friend,
Charles Baillargeon
Priest.
A
short time before I received that letter from Rome, Bishop Bourget, of
Montreal, had officially given me the title of "Apostle of
Temperance;" in the following document, which, on account of its
importance, the readers will probably like to have in its original Latin:-
.
"IGNATIUS BOURGET, Miseratioine Divina et St e. Sedis
Apostolic e Gratia, Episcopus Marianopolitanensis, Etc., Etc., Etc."
"Universis praesentes litteras inspecturis, notum facimus et attestamur
Venerabilem Carolum Chiniquy, Temperantiae Apostolum, Nostrae Diocoecis
Sacerdotem, Nobis optime notum esse, exploratumque habere illum vitam
laudabilem et professione Ecclesiastica consonam agere, nullisque
ecclesiasticis censuris, saltem quae ad nostram devenerunt Notitiam innodatum;
qua propter, per viscera Misericordiae Dei Nostri, obsecramus omnes et Singulos
Archiepiscopos, Episcopos, coeterasque Ecclesiae dignitates ad quos ipsum
declinare contingerit, ut eum, pro Christi Amore, benigne tractare digentur, et
quando cumque ab eo fuerint requisiti, Sacrum Missae Sacrificium ipsi
celebrare, nec non alia munia Ecclesiastica, et pietatis opera exercere
permittant, paratos nos ad similia et majora exhibentes: In quorum fidem,
praesentes litteras signo sigilloque nostris, ac Secretarii Episcopatus nostri
subscriptione communitas expediri mandavimus Marianopoli, in (Edibus Nostris
Beati Jacobi, anno millesimo quinquagesimo. Die vero mensis Junii Sexta.
IG. EPIS. MARIANOPOLITANENSIS.
"J. O. Pare, Can, Secrius."
Translation
"IGNATIUS BOURGET, By the Divine Mercy and Grace of the Holy Apostolic
See, Bishop of Montreal.
"To all who inspect the present letters, we make known and certify that
the venerable Charles Chiniquy, 'Apostle of Temperance,' Priest of our Diocese,
is very well known to us, and we regard him as proved, to lead a praiseworthy
life, and one agreeable to his ecclesiastical profession. Through the tender
mercies of our God, he is under no ecclesiastical censures, at least, which
have come to our knowledge.
"We entreat each and all, Archbishop, Bishop, and other dignitaries of the
Church, to whom it may happen that he may go, that they, for the love of
Christ, entertain him kindly and courteously, and as often as they may be asked
by him, permit him to celebrate the holy sacrifice of the mass, and exercise
other ecclesiastical privileges of piety, being ourselves ready to grant him
these and other greater privileges. In proof of this we have ordered the
present letters and to be prepared under our sign and seal, and with subscription
of our secretary, in our palace of the blessed James, in the year one thousand
eight hundred and fifty, on the sixth day of the month of June.
IGNATIUS, Bishop of Marianopolis.
"By order of the most illustrious and most Reverend Bishop of Marianopolis,
D.D.
"J. O. Pare, Canon, Secretary."
No
words from my pen can give an idea of the distress and shame I felt when these
unmerited praises and public honours began to flow upon me. For, when the siren
voice of my natural pride was near to deceive me, there was the noise of a
sudden storm in my conscience, crying with a louder voice: "Chiniquy, thou
art a sinner, unworthy of such praises and honours."
This conflict made me very miserable. I said to myself, "Are those great
successes due to my merits, my virtues and my eloquence? NO! Surely, No! They
are due to the great mercy of God for my dear country. Shall I not for ever be
put to shame if I consent to these flattering voices which come to me from
morning till night, to make me forget that to my God alone, and not to me, must
be given the praise and glory of that marvelous reform?"
These praises were coming every day, thinker and thicker, through the thousand
trumpets of the press, as well as through the addresses daily presented me from
the places which had been so thoroughly reformed. Those unmerited honours were
bestowed on me by multitudes who came in carriages and on horseback, bearing
flags, with bands of music, to receive me on the borders of their parishes
where the last parishes had just brought me with the same kind of ovations.
Sometimes, the roads were lined on both sides, by thousands and thousands of
maple, pine or spruce trees, which they had carried from distant forests, in
spite of all my protests.
How many times the curates, who were sitting by me in the best carriages, drawn
by the most splendid horses, asked me: "Why do you look so sad, when you
see all these faces beaming with joy?" I answered, "I am sad, because
these unmerited honours these good people do me, seem to be the shortest way
the devil has found to destroy me." "But the reform you have brought
about is so admirable and so complete the good which is done to the
individuals, as well as to the whole country, is so great and universal, that
the people want to show you their gratitude." "Do you know, my dear
friends," I answered, "that that marvelous change is too great to be
the work of man? It is not evidently the work of God? To Him, and Him alone,
then we ought to give the praise and the glory."
My constant habit, after these days of ovation, was to pass a part of the night
in prayer to God, to the Virgin Mary, and to all the saints in heaven, to
prevent me from being hurt by these worldly honours. It was my custom then to
read the passion of Jesus Christ, from His triumphant entry into Jerusalem to
His death on the cross, in order to prevent this shining dust from adhering to
my soul. There was a verse of the Gospel which I used to repeat very often in
the midst of these exhibitions of the vanities of this world: "What is a
man profited, if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?"
(Matt. xvi. 26).
Another source of serious anxiety for me was then coming from the large sums of
money constantly flowing from the hands of my too kind and grateful reformed countrymen
into mine. It was very seldom that the public expression of gratitude presented
me in their rhetorical addresses were not accompanied by a gift of from fifty
dollars to two hundred dollars, according to the means and importance of the
place. Those sums multiplies by the 365 days of the year would have soon made
of me one of the richest men of Canada. Had I been able to trust in my own
strength against the dangers of riches, I should have been able, easily, to
accumulate a sum of at least seventy thousand dollars, with which I might have
done a great amount of good.
But I confess that, when in the presence of God, I went to the bottom of my
heart, to see if it were strong enough to carry such a glittering weight, I
found it, by far, too weak. I knew so many who, though evidently stronger than
I was, had fallen on the way and perished under too heavy burden of their
treasures, that I feared for myself at the sight of such unexpected and immense
fortune. Besides, when only eighteen years old, my venerable and dear
benefactor, the Rev. Mr. Leprohon, director of the College of Nicolet, had told
me a thing I never had forgotten: "Chiniquy," he said, "I am
sure you will be what we call a successful man in the world. You will easily
make your way among your contemporaries; and, consequently, it is probable that
you will have many opportunities of becoming rich. But when the silver and gold
flow into your hands, do not pile and keep it. For, if you set your affection
on it, you will be miserable in this world and damned in the next. You must not
do like the fattened hogs which give their grease only after their death. Give
it while you are living. Then you will not be blessed only by God and man, but
you will be blessed by your own conscience. You will live in peace and die in
joy."
These solemn warnings from one of the wisest and best friends God had ever
given me, when young, has never gone out of my mind. I found them corroborated
in every page of that Bible which I loved so much, and studied every day. I found
them also written, by God, in my heart. I then, on my knees, took the
resolution, without making an absolute vow to it, to keep only what I wanted
for my daily support and give the rest to the poor, or some Christian or
patriotic object. I kept that promise. The $500 given me by Parliament did not
remain three weeks in my hands. I never put a cent in Canada in the vaults of
any bank; and when I left for Illinois, in the fall of 1851, instead of taking
with me 70,000 dollars, as it would have been very easy, had I been so minded,
I had hardly 1,500 dollars in hand, the price of a part of my library, which
was too heavy to be carried so far away.
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CHAPTER 45 Back to Top
The
15th of August, 1850, I preached in the Cathedral of Montreal, on the Blessed
Virgin Mary's power in heaven, when interceding for sinners, I was sincerely
devoted to the Virgin Mary. Nothing seemed to me more natural than to pray to
her, and rely on her protection. The object of my sermon was to show that Jesus
Christ cannot refuse any of the petitions presented to Him by His mother; that
she has always obtained the favours she asked her Son, Jesus, to grant to her
devotees. Of course, my address was more sentimental than scriptural, as it is
the style among the priests of Rome. But I was honest; and I sincerely believed
what I said.
"Who among you, my dear brethren," I said to the people, "will
refuse any of the reasonable demands of a beloved mother? Who will break and
sadden her loving heart when, with supplicating voice and tears, she presents
to you a petition which it is in your power, nay, to your interest, to grant?
For my own part, were my beloved mother still living, I would prefer to have my
right hand crushed and burned into cinders, to have my tongue cut out, than to
say, No! to my mother, asking me any favour which it was in my power to bestow.
These are the sentiments which the God of Sinai wanted to engrave in the very
hearts of humanity, when giving His laws to Moses, in the midst of lightning
and thunders, and these are the sentiments which the God of the Gospel wanted
to impress on our souls by the shedding of His blood on Calvary. The sentiments
of filial respect and obedience to our mothers, Christ Jesus, the Son of God
and Son of Mary, practiced to perfection. Although God and man, He was still in
perfect submission to the will of His mother, of which He makes a law to each
of us. The Gospel says, in reference to His parents, Joseph and Mary, He 'was
subject unto them' (Luke ii. 51). What a grand and shining revelation we have
in these few short words: Jesus was subject unto Mary! Is it not written, that
Jesus is the same today, as He was yesterday, and will be for ever? (Heb. xiii.
8). He has not changed. He is still the Son of Mary, as He was when only twelve
years old. In His divine humanity, He is still subject unto Mary, as He was
then. This is why our holy Church, which is the pillar and fountain of Truth,
invites you and me, today, to put an unbounded confidence in her intercession.
Remembering that Jesus has always granted the petitions presented to Him by His
divine mother, let us put our petitions in her hands, if we want to receive the
favours we are in need of.
"The second reason why we must all go to Mary, for the favours we want
from heaven, is that we are sinners rebels in the sight of God. Jesus Christ is
our Saviour. Yes! but He is also our God, infinitely just, infinitely holy. He
hates our sins with an infinite hatred. He abhors our rebellions with an
infinite, a godly hatred. If we had loved and served Him faithfully we might go
to Him, not only with the hope, but with the assurance of being welcomed. But
we have forgotten and offended Him; we have trampled His blood under our feet;
we have joined with those who nailed Him on the cross, pierced His heart with
the lance, and shed His blood to the last drop. We belong to the crowd which
mocked at His tortures, and insulted Him at His death. How can we dare to look
at Him and meet His eyes? Must we not tremble in His presence? Must we not fear
before that Lion of the tribe of Judah whom we have wounded and nailed to the
cross? Where is the rebel who does not shiver, when he is dragged to the feet
of the mighty Prince against whom he has drawn the sword? What will he do if he
wants to obtain pardon? Will he go himself and speak to that offended Majesty?
No! But he looks around the throne to see if he can find some of the great
officers, and friends, or some powerful and influential person through whose
intercession he can obtain pardon. If he finds any such, he goes immediately to
him, puts his petitions into their hands, and they go to the foot of the throne
to plead for the rebel, and the favour which would have been indignantly refused
to the guilty subject, had he dared to speak himself, is granted, when it is
asked by a faithful officer, a kind friend, a dear sister, or a beloved mother.
This is why our holy church, speaking through her infallible supreme pontiff,
the Vicar of Christ, Gregory XVI., has told us, in the most solemn manner, that
'Mary is the only hope of sinners.'"
Winding up my arguments, I added: "We are those insolent ungrateful
rebels. Jesus is that King of kings against whom we have, a thousand times,
risen in rebellion. He has a thousand good reasons to refuse our petitions, if
we are impudent enough to speak to Him ourselves. But look at the right hand of
the offended King, and behold His dear and divine mother. She is your mother
also. For it is to every one of us, as well as to John, that Christ said on the
cross, speaking of Mary, 'Behold thy mother' (John xix. 27). Jesus has never
refused any favour asked by that Queen of Heaven. He cannot rebuke His mother.
Let us go to her; let us ask her to be our advocate and plead our cause, and
she will do it. Let us suppliantly request her to ask for our pardon, and she
will get it."
I then sincerely took these glittering sophisms for the true religion of
Christ, as all the priests and people of Rome are bound to take them today, and
presented them with all the earnestness of an honest, though deluded mind.
My sermon had made a visible and deep impression. Bishop Prince, coadjutor of
my Lord Bourget, who was among my hearers, thanked and congratulated me for the
good effect it would have on the people, and I sincerely thought I had said
what was true and right before God.
But when night came, before going to bed, I took my Bible as usual, knelt down
before God, in the neat little room I occupied in the bishop's palace, and read
the twelfth chapter of Matthew, with a praying heart and a sincere desire to
understand it, and be benefited thereby. Strange to say! when I reached the
40th verse, I felt a mysterious awe, as if I had entered for the first time
into a new and most holy land. Though I had read that verse and the following
many times, they came to my mind with a freshness and newness as if I had never
seen them before. There was a lull in my mind for some moments. Slowly, and
with breathless attention, supreme veneration and respect, I read the history
of that visit of Mary to the sacred spot where Jesus, my Saviour, was standing
in the midst of the crowd feeding His happy hearers with the bread of life.
When I contemplated that blessed Mary, whom I loved, as so tenderly approaching
the house where she was to meet her divine Son, who had been so long absent
from her, my heart suddenly throbbed in sympathy with hers. I felt as if
sharing her unspeakable joy at every step which brought her nearer to her
adorable and beloved Son. What tears had she not shed when Jesus had left her
alone, in her now, poor, and cheerless home, that He might preach the Gospel in
the distant places, where His Father had sent Him! With Jesus in her humble
home, was she not more happy then than the greatest queen on her throne! Did
she not possess a treasure more precious than all the world! How sweet to her
ears and heart were the words she had heard from His lips!
How lovely the face of the most beautiful among the sons of men! How happy she
must have felt, when she heard that He was, now, near enough to allow her to go
and see Him! How quick were her steps. How cheerful and interesting the
meeting! How the beloved Saviour will repay by His respectful and divine love
to His beloved mother, the trouble and the fatigue of her long journey! My
heart beat with joy at the privilege of witnessing that interview, and of
hearing the respectful words Jesus would address to His mother!
With heart and soul throbbing with these feelings, I slowly read "While He
yet talked to the people, behold His mother and His brethren stood without,
desiring to speak with Him. Then one said unto Him: Behold, Thy mother and Thy
brethren stand without, desiring to speak with Thee. But He answered and said
unto him that told Him: Who is My mother? and Who are My brethren? And He
stretched forth His hands towards His disciples, and said: Behold My mother and
My brethren! For whosoever shall do the will of My Father which is in Heaven,
the same is My brother, and sister, and mother."
I had hardly finished reading the last verse, when big drops of sweat began to
flow from my face, my heart beat with a tremendous speed, and I came near
fainting; I sat in my large arm-chair, expecting every minute to fall on the
floor. Those alone who have stood several hours at the falls of the marvelous
Niagara, heard the thundering noise of its waters, and felt the shaking of the
rocks under their feet, can have any idea of what I felt in that hour of agony.
A voice, the voice of my conscience, whose thunders were like the voice of a
thousand Niagaras was telling me: "Do you not see that you have preached a
sacrilegious lie this morning, when, from the pulpit, you said to your ignorant
and deluded people, that Jesus always granted the petitions of His mother,
Mary? Are you not ashamed to deceive yourself, and deceive your poor countrymen
with such silly falsehoods?"
"Read, read again these words! and understand that, far from granting all
the petitions of Mary, Jesus has always, except when a child, said No! to her
requests. He has always rebuked her, when she asked Him anything in public!
Here she comes to ask Him a favour before the whole people. It is the easiest,
the most natural favour that a mother ever asked of her son. It is a favour
that a son has never refused to a mother. He answers by a rebuke, a public and
solemn rebuke! It is through want of love and respect for Mary that He gave her
that rebuke? No! Never a son loved and respected a mother as He did. But it was
a solemn protest against the blasphemous worship of Mary as practiced in the
Church of Rome."
I felt at once so bewildered and confounded, by the voice which was shaking my
very bones, that I thought it was the devil's voice; and, for a moment, I
feared less I was possessed of a demon. "My God," I cried, "have
mercy on me! Come to my help! Save me from my enemy's hands!" As quick as
lightning the answer came: "It is not Satan's voice you hear. It is I, thy
Saviour and thy God, who speaks to thee. Read what Mark, Luke, and John tell
you about the way I received her petitions, from the very day I began to work,
and speak publicly as the Son of God, and the Saviour of the world."
These cries of my awakening intelligence were sounding in my ears for more than
one hour, before I consented to obey them. At last, with a trembling hand, and
a distressed mind, I took my Bible and read in St. Mark: "There came then
His brethren and his mother, and standing without, sent unto Him, calling Him.
And the multitude sat about Him and they said unto Him, Behold, Thy mother and
Thy brethren without, seek for Thee. And He answered them, saying, Who is My
mother, or My brethren? And He looked around about on them which sat about Him,
and said, Behold My mother and My brethren. For whosoever shall do the will of
God, the same is My brother, and My sister, and mother" (Mark iii. 31 35).
The reading of these words acted upon me as the shock of a sword going through
and through the body of one who had already been mortally wounded. I felt absolutely
confounded. The voice continued to sound in my ears: "Do you not see you
have presented a blasphemous lie, every time you said that Jesus always granted
the petitions of His mother?"
I remained again, a considerable time, bewildered, not knowing how to fight
down thoughts which were so mercilessly shaking my faith, and demolishing the
respect I had kept, till then, for my Church. After more than half an hour of
vain struggle to silence these thoughts, it came to my mind that St. Luke had
narrated this interview of Mary and Jesus in a very different way. I opened the
holy book again to read the eighth chapter. But how shall I find words to
express my distress when I saw that the rebuke of Jesus Christ was expressed in
a still sterner way by St. Luke than by the two other evangelists! "Then
came to Him His mother and His brethren, and could not come at Him for the
press. And it was told Him by certain which said, Thy mother and Thy brethren
stand without, desiring to see Thee. And He answered and said unto them, My
mother and My brethren are these which hear the word of God, and do it"
(Luke viii. 19-21).
It then seemed to me as if those three evangelists said to me: "How dare
you preach with your apostate and lying Church, that Jesus has always granted all
the petitions of Mary, when we were ordered by God to write and proclaim that
all the public petitions she had presented to Him, when working as the Son of
God, and the Saviour of the world, had been answered by a public rebuke?"
What could I answer? How could I stand the rebuke of these three evangelists?
Trembling from head to foot, I fell upon my knees, crying to the Virgin Mary to
come to my help and pray that I might not succumb to this temptation, and lose
my faith and confidence in her. But the more I prayed, the louder the voice
seemed to say: "How dare you preach that Jesus has always granted the
petitions of Mary, when we tell you the contrary by the order of God
Himself?"
My desolation became such, that a cold sweat covered my whole frame again; my
head was aching, and I think I would have fainted had I not been released by a
torrent of tears. In my distress, I cried: "Oh! my God! my God! look down
upon me in Thy mercy; strengthen my faith in Thy Holy Church! Grant me to
follow her voice and obey her commands with more and more fidelity; she is Thy
beloved Church. She cannot err. She cannot be an apostate Church." But in
vain I wept and cried for help. My whole being was filled with dismay and
terror from the voices of the three witnesses, who were crying louder and
louder:
"How dare you preach that Christ has always granted the petitions of Mary,
when the gospels, written under the inspiration of the Holy Ghost, tell you so
clearly the contrary?"
When I had, in vain, wept, prayed, cried, and struggled from ten at night till
three in the morning, the miraculous change of water into wine, by Christ, at
the request of his mother, suddenly came to my mind. I felt a momentary relief
from my terrible distress, by the hope that I could prove to myself that in
this case the Saviour had obeyed he demands of His holy mother. I eagerly
opened my Bible again and read:
"And the third day there was a marriage in Cana of Galilee; and the mother
of Jesus was there. And both Jesus was called, and His disciples, to the
marriage. And when they wanted wine, the mother of Jesus saith unto Him, They
have no wine. Jesus saith unto her, Woman, what have I to do with thee? Mine
hour is not yet come. His mother saith unto the servants, Whatsoever He saith
unto you, do it" (John ii. 1-5).
Till that hour I had always accepted that text in the sense given in the Church
of Rome, as proving that the very first miracle of Jesus Christ was wrought at
the request of His mother. And I was preparing myself to answer the three mysterious
witnesses: "Here is the proof that you are three devils, and not three
evangelists, when you tell me that Jesus has never granted the petitions of His
mother, except when a child. Here is the glorious title of Mary to my
confidence in her intercession; here is the seal of her irresistible superhuman
power over her divine Son; here is the undeniable evidence that Jesus cannot
refuse anything asked by His divine mother!" But when, armed with these
explanations of the church, I was preparing to meet what Matthew, St. Mark, and
St. Luke had just told me, a sudden distressing thought came to my mind; and
this thought was as if I heard the three witnesses saying: "How can you be
so blind as not to see that instead of being a favour granted to Mary, this first
miracle is the first opportunity chosen by Christ to protest against her
intercession. It is a solemn warning to Mary never to ask anything from Him,
and to us, never to put any confidence in her requests. Here, Mary, evidently
full of compassion for those poor people, who had not the means to provide the
wine for the guests who had come with Jesus, wants her Son to give them the
wine they wanted. How does Christ answer her requests? He answers it by a
rebuke, a most solemn rebuke. Instead of saying, "Yes, mother, I will do
as you wish," He says, "Woman, what have I to do with thee?"
which clearly means, "Woman, thou hast nothing to do in this matter. I do
not want you to speak to me of the bridegroom's distress. It was My desire to
come to their help and show My divine power. I do not want you to put yourself
between the wants of humanity and Me. I do not want the world to believe that
you had any right, any power or influence over me, or more compassion on the
miseries of man than I have. Is it not to Me and Me alone, the lost children of
Adam must look to be saved? Woman, what have I to do with thee in My great work
of saving this perishing world? Nothing, absolutely nothing. I know what I have
to do to fulfill, not our will, but My Father's will!"
This is what Jesus meant by the solemn rebuke given to Mary. He wanted to
banish all idea of her ever becoming an intercessor between man and Christ. He
wanted to protest against the doctrine of the Church of Rome, that it is
through Mary that He will bestow His favour to His disciples, and Mary
understood it well when she said, "Whatsoever He saith unto you, do
it." Never come to me, but got to Him. "For there is none other name
under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved" (Acts iv. 12).
Every one of these thoughts passed over my distressed soul like a hurricane.
Every sentence was like a flash of lightning in a dark night. I was like the
poor dismantled ship suddenly overtaken by the tempest in the midst of the
ocean.
Till the dawn of day, I felt powerless against the efforts of God to pull down
and demolish the huge fortress of sophisms, falsehoods, idolatries, which Rome
had built around my soul. What a fearful thing it is to fight against the Lord!
During the long hours of that night, my God was contending with me, and I was
struggling against Him. But though brought down to the dust, I was not
conquered. My understanding was very nearly convinced. My rebellious and proud
will was not yet ready to yield.
The chains by which I was tied to the feet of the idols of Rome, though rudely
shaken, were not yet broken. However, to say the truth, my views about the
worship of Mary had received a severe shock, and were much modified. That night
had been sleepless; and in the morning my eyes were red, and my face swollen
with my tears. When at breakfast, Bishop Prince, who was sitting by me, asked:
"Are you sick? Your eyes are as if you had wept all night?"
"Your lordship is not mistaken, I have wept the whole night!" I
answered. "Wept all the night!" replied the bishop. "Might I
know the cause of your sorrow?" "Yes, my lord. You can, you must know
it. But please come to your room. What I have to say is of such a private and
delicate nature, that I want to be alone with your lordship, when opening my
mind to the cause of my tears."
Bishop Prince, then coadjutor of Bishop Bourget and late bishop of St.
Hyacinthe, where he became insane in 1858 and died in 1860, had been my
personal friend from the time I entered the college at Nicolet, where he was
professor of Rhetoric. He very often came to confession to me, and had taken a
lively interest in my labours on temperance.
When alone with him, I said: "My lord, I thank you for your kindness in
allowing me to unburden my heart to you. I have passed the most horrible night
of my life. Temptations against our holy religion such as I never had before,
have assailed me all night. Your lordship remembers the kind words you
addressed to me yesterday about the sermon I preached. But, last night, very
different things came to my mind, which have changed the joys of yesterday into
the most unspeakable desolation. You congratulated me yesterday on the manner I
had proved that Jesus had always granted the requests of His mother, and that
He cannot refuse any of her petitions. The whole night it has been told me that
this was a blasphemous lie, and from the Holy Scriptures themselves, I have
been nearly convinced that you and I, nay, that our holy church, are preaching
a blasphemous falsehood every time we proclaim the doctrines of the worship of
Mary as the Gospel truth."
The poor bishop, thunderstruck by this simple and honest declaration, quickly
answered: "I hope you have not yielded to these temptations, and that you
will not become a Protestant as so many of your enemies whisper to each
other."
"It is my hope, my lord, that our merciful God will keep me, to the end of
my life, a dutiful and faithful priest of our holy church. However, I cannot
conceal from your lordship that my faith was terribly shaken last night.
"As a bishop, your portion of light and wisdom must be greater than mine.
I hope you will grant me some of the lights which will brightly shine before
your eyes: I have never been so much in need of the counsels of your piety and
the help of your scriptural knowledge as today. Please help me to come out from
the intellectual slough in which I spent the night.
"Your lordship has congratulated me for having said that Jesus Christ has
always granted the petitions of Mary. Please tell me how you reconcile that proposition
with the text;" and I handed him the Gospel of Matthew, pointing to the
last five verses of the twelfth chapter, I requested him to read them aloud.
He read them and said: "Now, what do you want from me?"
"My lord, I want respectfully to ask you how we can say that Jesus has
always granted the requests of His mother, when this evangelist tells us that
He never granted her petitions, when acting in His capacity of Saviour of the
world.
"Must we not fear that we proclaim a blasphemous falsehood when we support
a proposition directly opposed to the Gospel?"
The poor bishop seemed absolutely confounded by this simple and honest
question. I also felt confused and sorry for his humiliation. Beginning a
phrase, he would give it up; trying arguments, he could not push to their
conclusion. It seemed to me that he had never read that text, of if he had read
it, he, like myself and the rest of the priests of Rome, had never noted that
they entirely demolish the stupendous impostures of the church, in reference to
the worship of Mary.
In order to help him out of the inextricable difficulties into which I had at
once pushed him, I said: "My lord, will you allow me to put a few more
questions to you?"
"With pleasure," he answered.
"Well! my lord, who came to this world to save you and me? Is it Jesus or
Mary?"
"It is Jesus," answered the bishop.
"Now, please allow me a few more questions."
"When Jesus and Mary were on earth, whose heart was most devoted to
sinners? Who loved them with a more efficacious and saving love; was it Jesus
or Mary?"
"Jesus, being God, His love was evidently more efficacious and saving than
Mary's," answered the bishop.
"In the days of Jesus and Mary, to whom did Jesus invite sinners to go for
their salvation; was it to Himself or Mary?" I asked again.
The bishop answered: "Jesus has said to all sinners, 'Come unto Me.' He
never said, come or go to Mary."
"Have we any examples, in the Scriptures, of sinners, who, fearing to be
rebuked by Jesus, have gone to Mary and obtained access to Him through her, and
been saved through her intercessions?"
"I do not remember of any such cases," replied the bishop.
I then asked: "To whom did the penitent thief on the cross address himself
to be saved; was it to Jesus or Mary?"
"It was to Jesus," replied the bishop.
"Did that penitent thief do well to address himself to Jesus on the cross,
rather than to Mary who was at his feet?" said I.
"Surely he did better," answered the bishop.
"Now, my lord, allow me only one question more. You told me that Jesus
loved sinners, when on earth, infinitely more than Mary; that He was infinitely
more their true friend than she was; that He infinitely took more interest in
their salvation than Mary; that it was infinitely better for sinners to go to
Jesus than to Mary, to be saved; will you please tell me if you think that
Jesus has lost, in heaven, since He is sitting at the right hand of His Father,
any of His divine and infinite superiority of love and mercy over Mary for
sinners; and can you show me that what Jesus has lost has been gained by
Mary?"
"I do not think that Christ has lost any of His love and power to save us
now that He is in heaven," answered the bishop.
"Now, my lord, if Jesus is still my best friend, my most powerful,
merciful, and loving friend, why should I not go directly to Him? Why should
we, for a moment, go to any one who is infinitely inferior, in power, love, and
mercy, for our salvation?"
The bishop was stunned by my question.
He stammered some unintelligible answer, excused himself for not being able to
remain any longer, on account of some pressing business; and extending his hand
to me before leaving, he said, "You will find an answer to your questions
and difficulties in the Holy Fathers."
"Can you lend me the Holy Fathers, my lord?"
He replied, "No, sir, I have them not."
This last answer, from my bishop, shook my faith to its foundation, and left my
mind in a state of great distress. With the sincere hope of finding in the Holy
Fathers some explanations which would dispel my painful doubts, I immediately
went to Mr. Fabre, the great bookseller of Montreal, who got me, from France,
the splendid edition of the Holy Fathers, by Migne. I studied, with the utmost
attention, every page where I might find what they taught of the worship of
Mary, and the doctrines that Jesus Christ had never refused any of her prayers.
What was my desolation, my shame, and my surprise to find that the Holy Fathers
of the first six centuries had never advocated the worship of Mary, and that
the many eloquent pages on the power of Mary in heaven, and her love for
sinners, found in every page of my theologians, and other ascetic books I had
read till then, were but impudent lies; additions interpolated in their works,
a hundred years after their death. When discovering these forgeries, under the
name of the Holy Fathers, of which my church was guilty, how many times, in the
silence of my long nights of study and prayerful meditations, did I hear a
voice telling me: "Come out of Babylon!"
But where could I go? Out of the Church of Rome, where could I find that
salvation which was to be found only within her walls? I said to myself,
"Surely there are some errors in my dear church! The dust of ages may have
fallen on the precious gold of her treasures, but will I not find still more
damnable errors among those hundreds of Protestant churches, which, under the
name of Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Baptists, Methodists, ect., ect., are
divided and subdivided into scores of contemptible sects, anathematizing and
denouncing each other before the world?"
My ideas of the great family of evangelical churches, comprised under the broad
name of Protestantism, were so exaggerated then, that it was absolutely
impossible for me to find in them that unity, which I considered the essentials
of the church of Christ. The hour was not yet come, but it was coming fast,
when my dear Saviour would make me understand His sublime words: "I am the
vine, and ye are the branches."
It was some time later, when under the beautiful vine I had planted in my own
garden, and which I had cultivated with mine own hands, I saw that there was
not a single branch like another in that prolific vine. Some branches were very
big, some very thin, some very long, some very short, some going up, some going
down, some straight as an arrow, some crooked as a flash of lightning, some
turning to the west, some to the east, some to the north, and others to the
south. But, although the branches were so different from each other in so many
things, they all gave me excellent fruit, so long as they remained united to
the vine.
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CHAPTER 46 Back to Top
The
most desolate work of a sincere Catholic priest is the study of the Holy
Fathers. He does not make a step in the labyrinth of their discussions and
controversies without seeing the dreams of his theological studies and
religious views disappear as the thick morning mist, when the sun rises above
the horizon. Bound as he is, by a solemn oath, to interpret the Holy Scriptures
only according to the unanimous consent of the Holy Fathers, the first thing
which puzzles and distresses him is their absolute want of unanimity on the
greater part of the subjects which they discuss. The fact is, that more than
two-thirds of what one Father has written is to prove that what some other Holy
Father has written is wrong and heretical.
The student of the Fathers not only detects that they do not agree with one
another, but finds that many of them do not even agree with themselves. Very often
they confess that they were mistaken when they said this or that; that they
have lately changed their minds; that they now hold for saving truth what they
formerly condemned as a damning error!
What becomes of the solemn oath of every priest in presence of this undeniable
fact? How can he make an act of faith when he feels that its foundation is
nothing but falsehood?
No words can give an idea of the mental tortures I felt when I saw positively
that I could not, any longer, preach on the eternity of the suffering of the
damned, nor believe in the real presence of the body, soul, and divinity of
Christ in the sacrament of communion; nor in the supremacy of the sovereign
Pontiff of Rome, nor in any of the other dogmas of my church, without perjuring
myself! For there was not one of those dogmas which had not been flatly and
directly denied by some Holy Fathers.
It is true, that in my Roman Catholic theological books I had long extracts of
Holy Fathers, very clearly supporting and confirming my faith in those dogmas.
For instance, I had the apostolic liturgies of St. Peter, St. Mark, and St.
James, to prove that the sacrifice of the mass, purgatory, prayers for the
dead, transubstantiation, were believed and taught from the very days of the
apostles. But what was my dismay when I discovered that those liturgies were
nothing else than vile and audacious forgeries presented to the world, by my
Popes and my church, as gospel truths. I could not find words to express my
sense of shame and consternation, when I became sure that the same church which
had invented those apostolical liturgies, had accepted and circulated the false
decretals of Isidore, and forged innumerable additions and interpolations to
the writings of the Holy Fathers, in order to make them say the very contrary
of what they intended.
How many times, when alone, studying the history of the shameless fabrications,
I said to myself: "Does the man whose treasury is filled with pure gold,
forge false coins, or spurious pieces of money? No! How, then, is it possible
that my church possess the pure truth, when she has been at work during so many
centuries, to forge such egregious lies, under the names of liturgies and
decretals, about the holy mass, purgatory, the supremacy of the Pope, ect. If
those dogmas could have been proved by the gospel and the true writings of the
Fathers, where was the necessity of forging lying documents? Would the Popes
and councils have treasuries with spurious bank bills, if they had had
exhaustless mines of pure gold in hand? What right has my church to be called
holy and infallible, when she is publicly guilty of such impostures."
From my infancy I had been taught, with all the Roman Catholics, that Mary is
the mother of God, and many times, every day, when praying to her, I used to
say, "Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for me." But what was my
distress when I read in the "Treatise on Faith and Creed," by
Augustine, Chapter iv. 9, these very words: "When the Lord said, 'Woman,
what have I to do with thee? Mine hour is not yet come' (John ii. 4), He rather
admonishes us to understand that, in respect of His being God, there was no
mother for Him."
This was so completely demolishing the teachings of my church, and telling me
that it was blasphemy to call Mary mother of God, that I felt as if struck with
a thunderbolt.
Several volumes might be written, if my plan were to give the story of my
mental agonies, when reading the Holy Fathers. I found their furious battles
against each other, and reviewed their fierce divisions on almost every
subject. The horror of many of them, at the dogmas which my church had taught
to make me believe from my infancy, as the most solemn and sacred revelations
of God to man, such as transubstantiation, auricular confession, purgatory, the
supremacy of Peter, the absolute supremacy of the Pope over the whole Church of
Christ. Yes! what thrilling pages I would give to the world, were it my
intention to portray, in their true colours, the dark clouds, the flashing
lights and destructive storms which, during the long and silent hours of many
nights I spent in comparing the Fathers with the Word of God and the teachings
of my church. Their fierce and constant conflicts; their unexpected, though
undeniable oppositions to many of the articles of the faith I had to believe
and preach, were coming to me, day after day, as the barbed darts thrown at the
doomed whale when coming out of the dark regions of the deep to see the light
and breathe the pure air.
Thus, as the unexpected contradictions of the Holy Fathers to the tenets of my
church, and their furious and uncharitable divisions among themselves, were
striking me, I plunged deeper and deeper in the deep waters of the Fathers and
the Word of God, with the hope of getting rid of the deadly darts which were
piercing my Roman Catholic conscience. But, it was in vain. The deeper I went,
the more the deadly weapons would stick to the flesh and bone of my soul. How
deep was the wound I received from Gregory the Great, one of the most learned
Popes of Rome, against the supremacy and universality of the power of the Pope
of Rome as taught today, the following extracts from his writings will show:
"I say confidently, Whosoever calls himself Universal Priest, or desires
so to be called, is in his pride the forerunner of Antichrist, because, in his
pride, he sets himself before the rest." *
These words wounded me very painfully. I showed them to Mr. Brassard, saying:
"Do you not see here the incontrovertible proof of what I have told you
many times, that, during the first six centuries of Christianity, we do not
find the least proof that there was anything like our dogma of the supreme
power and authority of the Bishop of Rome, or any other bishop, over the rest
of the Christian world? If there is anything which comes to the mind with an
irresistible force, when reading the Fathers of the first centuries, it is
that, not one of them had any idea that there was, in the church, any man
chosen by God, to be, in fact or name, the universal and supreme Pontiff. With
such an undeniable fact before us, how can we believe and say that the religion
we profess and teach is the same which was preached from the beginning of
Christianity?"
"My dear Chiniquy," answered Mr. Brassard, "did I not tell you,
when you bought the Holy Fathers, that you were doing a foolish and dangerous
thing? In every age, the man who singularizes himself and walks out of the
common tracks of life is subject to fall into ridicule. As you are the only
priest in Canada who has the Holy Fathers, it is thought and said, in many
quarters, that it is through pride you got them; that it is to raise yourself
above the rest of the clergy, that you study them, not at home, but that you
carry some wherever you go. I see, with regret, that you are fast losing ground
in the mind, not only of the bishop, but of the priests in general, on account
of your indomitable perseverance in giving all your spare time to their study.
You are also too free and imprudent in speaking of what you call the
contradictions of the Holy Fathers, and their want of harmony with some of our
religious views. Many say that this too great application to study, without a
moment of relaxation, will upset your intelligence and trouble your mind. They
even whisper that there is danger ahead of your faith, which you do not
suspect, and that they would not be surprised if the reading of the Bible and
the Holy Fathers would drive you into the abyss of Protestantism. I know that
they are mistaken, and I do all in my power to defend you. But, I thought, as your
most devoted friend, that it was my duty to tell you those things, and warn you
before it is too late."
I replied: "Bishop Prince told me the very same things, and I will give
you the answer he got from me; 'When you ordain a priest, do you not make him
swear that he will never interpret the Holy Scriptures except according to the
unanimous consent of the Holy Fathers? Ought you not, then, to know what they
teach? For, how can we know their unanimous consent without studying them? Is
it not more than strange that, not only the priests do not study the Holy
Fathers, but the only one in Canada who is trying to study them, is turned into
ridicule and suspected of heresy? Is it my fault if that precious stone, called
'unanimous consent of the Holy Fathers,' which is the very foundation of our
religious belief and teaching, is to be found nowhere in them? Is it my fault
if Origen never believed in the eternal punishment of the damned; if St.
Cyprian denied the supreme authority of the Bishop of Rome; if St. Augustine
positively said that nobody was obliged to believe in purgatory; if St. John
Chrysostom publicly denied the obligation of auricular confession, and the real
presence of the body of Christ in the eucharist? Is it my fault if one of the
most learned and holy Popes, Gregory the Great, has called by the name of
Antichrist, all his successors, for taking the name of supreme Pontiff, and
trying to persuade the world that they had, by divine authority, a supreme
jurisdiction and power over the rest of the church?"
"And what did Bishop Prince answer you?" rejoined Mr. Brassard.
"Just as you did, by expressing his fears that my too great application to
the study of the Bible and the Holy Fathers, would either send me to the
lunatic asylum, or drive me into the bottomless abyss of Protestantism."
I answered him, in a jocose way: "That if the too great study of the Bible
and the Holy Fathers were to open me the gates of the lunatic asylum, I feared
I would be left alone there, for I know that they are keeping themselves at a
respectable distance from those dangerous writings." I added seriously,
"So long as God keeps my intelligence sound, I cannot join the
Protestants, for the numberless and ridiculous sects of these heretics are a
sure antidote against their poisonous errors. I will not remain a good Catholic
on account of the unanimity of the Holy Fathers, which does not exist, but I
will remain a Catholic on account of the grand and visible unanimity of the
prophets, apostles, and the evangelists with Jesus Christ. My faith will not be
founded upon the fallible, obscure, and wavering words of Origen, Tertullian,
Chrysostom, Augustine, or Jerome; but on the infallible word of Jesus, the Son
of God, and of His inspired writers: Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Peter, James,
and Paul. It is Jesus, and not Origen, who will now guide me; for the second
was a sinner, like myself, and the first is for ever my Saviour and my God. I
know enough of the Holy Fathers to assure your lordship that the oath we take
of accepting the Word of God according to their unanimous consent is a
miserable blunder, if not a blasphemous perjury. It is evident that Pius IV.,
who imposed the obligation of that oath upon us all, never read a single volume
of the Holy Fathers. He would not have been guilty of such an incredible
blunder, if he had known that the Holy Fathers are unanimous in only one thing,
which is to differ from each other on almost everything; except, we suppose,
that, like the last Pope, he was too fond of good champagne, and that he wrote
that ordinance after a luxurious dinner."
I spoke this last sentence in a half-serious and half-joking way.
The Bishop answered: "Who told you that about our last Pope?"
"Your lordship," I answered, "told me that, when you
complimented me on the apostolical benediction which the present Pope sent me
through my Lord Baillargeon, 'that his predecessor would not have given me his
benediction for preaching temperance, because he was too fond of wine!'"
"Oh yes! yes! I remember it now," answered the bishop. "But it
was a bad joke on my part, which I regret."
"Good or bad joke," I replied, "it is not the less a fact that
our last Pope was too fond of wine. There is not a single priest of Canada who
has gone to Rome without bringing that back as a public fact from Italy."
"And what did my Lord Prince say to that," asked again Mr. Brassard.
"Just as when he was cornered by me, on the subject of the Virgin Mary, he
abruptly put an end to the conversation by looking at his watch, and saying
that he had a call to make at that very hour."
Not long after that painful conversation about the Holy Fathers, it was the
will of God, that a new arrow should be thrust into my Roman Catholic
conscience, which went through and through, in spite of myself.
I had been invited to give a course of three sermons at Vareness. The second
day, at tea time, after preaching and hearing confessions for the whole
afternoon, I was coming from the church with the curate, when, half-way to the
parsonage, we were met by a poor man, who looked more like one coming out of
the grave, than a living man; he was covered with rags, and his pale and
trembling lips indicated that he was reduced to the last degree of human
misery. Taking off his hat, through respect for us, he said to Rev. Primeau,
with a trembling voice: "You know, Mr. le Cure, that my poor wife died,
and was buried ten days ago, but I was too poor to have a funeral service sung
the day she was buried, and I fear she is in purgatory, for almost every night
I see her, in my dreams, wrapped up in burning flames. She cries to me for
help, and asks me to have a high mass sung for the rest of her soul. I come to
ask you to be so kind as to sing that high mass for her."
"Of course," answered the curate, "your wife is in the flames of
purgatory, and suffers there the most unspeakable tortures, which can be
relieved only by the offering of the holy sacrifice of mass. Give me five
dollars and I will sing that mass to-morrow morning."
"You know very well, Mr. le Cure," answered the poor man, in a most
supplicating tone, "that my wife has been sick, as well as myself, a good
part of the year. I am too poor to give you five dollars!"
"If you cannot pay, you cannot have any mass sung. You know it is the
rule. It is not in my power to change it."
These words were said by the curate with a high and unfeeling tone, which were
in absolute contrast with the solemnity and distress of the poor sick man. They
made a very painful impression upon me, for I felt for him. I know the curate
was well-off, at the head of one of the richest parishes of Canada; that he had
several thousand dollars in the bank. I hoped, at first, that he would kindly
grant the petition presented to him without speaking of the pay, but I was
disappointed. My first thought, after hearing this hard rebuke, was to put my
hand in my pocket and take out one of the several five-dollar gold pieces I
had, and give it to the poor man, that he might be relieved from his terrible
anxiety about his wife. It came also to my mind to say to him: "I will
sing you high mass for nothing to-morrow." But alas! I must confess, to my
shame, I was too cowardly to do that noble deed. I had a sincere desire to do
it, but was prevented by the fear of insulting that priest, who was older than
myself, and for whom I had always entertained great respect. It was evident to
me that he would have taken my action as a condemnation of his conduct. When I
was feeling ashamed of my own cowardice, and still more indignant against
myself than against the curate, he said to the disconcerted poor man:
"That woman is your wife; not mine. It is your business, and not mine, to
see how to get her out of purgatory."
Turning to me, he said, in the most amiable way: "Please, sir, come to
tea."
We hardly started, when the poor man, raising his voice, said, in a most
touching way: "I cannot leave my poor wife in the flames of purgatory; if
you cannot sing a high mass, will you please say five low masses to rescue her
soul from those burning flames?"
The priest turned towards him and said: "Yes, I can say five masses to
take the soul of your wife out of purgatory, but give me five shillings; for
you know the price of a low mass is one shilling."
The poor man answered: "I can no more give one dollar than I can five. I
have not a cent; and my three poor little children are as naked and starving as
myself."
"Well! well," answered the curate, "when I passed this morning
before your house, I saw two beautiful sucking pigs. Give me one of them, and I
will say your five low masses."
The poor man said: "These small pigs were given me by a charitable
neighbour, that I might raise them to feed my poor children next winter. They
will surely starve to death, if I give my pigs away."
But I could not listen any longer to that strange dialogue; every word of which
fell upon my soul as a shower of burning coals. I was beside myself with shame
and disgust. I abruptly left the merchant of souls finishing his bargains, went
to my sleeping-room, locked the door, and fell upon my knees to weep to my
heart's content.
A quarter of an hour later, the curate knocked at my door, and said, "Tea
is ready; please come down!" I answered: "I am not well; I want some
rest. Please excuse me if I do not take my tea to-night."
It would require a more eloquent pen than mine, to give the correct history of
that sleepless night. The hours were dark and long.
"My God! my God!" I cried, a thousand times, "is it possible
that, in my so dear Church of Rome, there can be such abominations as I have
seen and heard today? Dear and adorable Saviour, if Thou wert still on earth,
and should see the soul of a daughter of Israel fallen into a burning furnace,
wouldst Thou ask a shilling to take it out? Wouldst Thou force the poor father,
with his starving children, to give their last morsel of bread, to persuade
Thee to extinguish the burning flames? Thou hast shed the last drop of Thy
blood to save her. And how cruel, how merciless, we, Thy priests, are, for the
same precious soul! But are we really Thy priests? Is it not blasphemous to
call ourselves Thy priests, when not only we will not sacrifice anything to
save that soul, but will starve the poor husband and his orphans? What right
have we to extort such sums of money from Thy poor children to help them out of
purgatory? Do not Thy apostles say that Thy blood alone can purify the soul?
"Is it possible that there is such a fiery prison for the sinners after
death, and that neither Thyself nor any of Thy apostles has said a word about
it? Several of the Fathers consider purgatory as of Pagan origin. Tertullian
spoke of it only after he had joined the sect of the Montanists, and he
confesses that it is not through the Holy Scriptures, but through the
inspiration of the Paraclete of Montanus that he knows anything about purgatory.
Augustine, the most learned and pious of the Holy Fathers, does not find
purgatory in the Bible, and positively says that its existence is dubious; that
every one may believe what he thinks proper about it. Is it possible that I am
so mean as to have refused to extend a helping hand to that poor distressed
man, for fear of offending the cruel priest? "We priests believe, and say
that we can help souls out of the burning furnace of purgatory, by our prayers
and masses: but instead of rushing to their rescue, we turn to the parents,
friends, the children of those departed souls, and say: 'Give me five dollars;
give me a shilling, and I will put an end to those tortures; but if you refuse
us that money, we will let your father, husband, wife, child, or friend endure
those tortures, hundreds of years more! Would not the people throw us into the
river, if they could once understand the extent of our meanness and avarice?
Ought we not to be ashamed to ask a shilling to take out of the fire a human
being who calls us to the rescue? Who, except a priest, can descend so low in
the regions of depravity?"
It would take too long to give the thoughts which tortured me during that
terrible night. I literally bathed my pillow with my tears. Before saying my
mass next morning, I went to confess my criminal cowardice and want of charity
towards that poor man, and also the terrible temptation against my faith which
tortured my conscience during the long hours of that night! And I repaired my
cowardice by giving five dollars to that poor man.
I spent the morning in hearing confessions till ten o'clock, when I delivered a
very exciting sermon on the malice of sin, proved by the sufferings of Christ
on the cross. This address gave a happy diversion to my mind, and made me forget
the sad story of the sucking pig. After the sermon, the curate took me by the
hand to his dining-room, where he gave me, in spite of myself, the place of
honour.
He had the reputation of having one of the best cooks of Canada, in the widow
of one of the governors of Nova Scotia, whom he had as his housekeeper. The
dishes before our eyes did not diminish his good reputation. The first dish was
a sucking pig, roasted with an art and perfection as I had never seen; it
looked like a piece of pure gold, and its smell would have brought water to the
lips of the most penitent anchorite.
I had not tasted anything for the last twenty-four hours; had preached two
exciting sermons, and spent six hours in hearing confessions. I felt hungry;
and the sucking pig was the most tempting thing to me. It was a real epicurean
pleasure to look at it and smell its fragrance. Besides, that was a favourite
dish with me. I cannot conceal that it was with real pleasure that I saw the
curate, after sharpening his long, glittering knife on the file, cutting a
beautiful slice from the shoulder, and offering it to me. I was too hungry to
be over patient. My knife and fork had soon done their work. I was carrying to
my mouth the tempting and succulent mouthful when, suddenly, the remembrance of
the poor man's sucking pig came to my mind. I laid the piece on my plate, and
with painful anxiety, looked at the curate and said: "Will you allow me to
put you a question about this dish?"
"Oh! yes: ask me not only one, but two questions, and I will be happy to
answer you to the best of my ability," answered he, with his fine manners.
"Is this the sucking pig of the poor man of yesterday?" I asked.
With a convulsive fit of laughter, he replied: "Yes; it is just it. If we
cannot take away the soul of the poor woman out of the flames of purgatory, we
will, at all events, eat a fine sucking pig!" The other thirteen priests
filled the room with laughter, to show their appreciation of their host's wit.
However, their laughter was not of long duration. With a feeling of shame and
uncontrollable indignation, I pushed away my plate with such force, that it
crossed the table and nearly fell on the floor; saying, with a sentiment of
disgust which no pen can describe: "I would rather starve to death than
eat of that execrable dish; I see in it the tears of the poor man; I see the
blood of his starving children; it is the price of a soul. No! no, gentlemen;
do not touch it. You know, Mr. Curate, how 30,000 priests and monks were
slaughtered in France, in the bloody days 1792. It was for such iniquities as
this that God Almighty visited the church in France. The same future awaits us
here in Canada, the very day that people will awaken from their slumber and see
that, instead of being ministers of Christ, we are the vile traders of souls,
under the mask of religion."
The poor curate, stunned by the solemnity of my words, as well as by the
consciousness of his guilt, lisped some excuse. The sucking pig remained
untouched; and the rest of the dinner had more the appearance of a burial
ceremony than of a convivial repast. By the mercy of God, I had redeemed my
cowardice of the day before. But I had mortally wounded the feelings of that
curate and his friends, and for ever lost their goodwill.
It is in such ways that God was directing the steps of His unprofitable servant
through ways unknown to him. Furious storms were constantly blowing around my
fragile bark, and tearing my sails into fragments. But every storm was pushing
me, in spite of myself, towards the shores of eternal life, where I was to land
safely, a few years later.
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 47 Back to Top
On
the 15th of December, 1850, I received the following letter:
.
"Chicago, Ill., December 1st, 1850.
"Rev. Father Chiniquy:
"Apostle of Temperance of Canada.
"Dear Sir: When I was in Canada, last fall, I intended to confer with you
on a very important subject, but you were then working in the diocese of
Boston, and my limited time prevented me from going so far to meet you. You are
aware that the lands of the State of Illinois and the whole valley of the
Mississippi are among the richest and most fertile of the world. In a near
future, those regions, which are now a comparative wilderness, will be the
granary, not only of the United States, but of the whole world; and those who
will possess them will not only possess the very heart and arteries of this
young and already so great republic, but will become its rulers.
"It is our intention, without noise, to take possession of those vast and
magnificent regions of the west in the name and for the benefit of our holy
Church. Our plan to attain that object, is as sure as easy. There is, every
year, an increasing tide of emigration from the Roman Catholic regions of
Europe and Canada towards the United States. Unfortunately, till now, our
emigrants have blindly scattered themselves among the Protestant populations,
which too often absorb them and destroy their faith.
"Why should we not direct their steps to the same spot? Why should we not,
for instance, induce them to come and take possession of these fertile states
of Illinois, Missouri, Iowa, Kansas, ect. They can get those lands now, at a
nominal price. If we succeed, as I hope we will, our holy Church will soon
count her children here by ten and twenty millions, and through their numbers,
their wealth and unity, they will have such a weight in the balance of power
that they will rule everything.
"The Protestants, always divided among themselves, will never form any
strong party without the help of the united vote of our Catholic people; and
that party alone, which will ask and get our help by yielding to our just
demands, will rule the country. Then, in reality, though not in appearance, our
holy Church will rule the United States, as she is called by our Saviour
Himself to rule the whole world. There is, today, a wave of emigrants from
Canada towards the United States, which, if not stopped or well directed, is
threatening to throw the good French Canadian people into the mire of
Protestantism. Your countrymen, when once mixed with the numberless sects which
try to attract them, are soon shaken in their faith. Their children sent to
Protestant schools, will be unable to defend themselves against the wily and
united efforts made to pervert them.
"But put yourself at the head of the emigrants from Canada, France and
Belgium; prevent them from settling any longer among the Protestants, by
inducing them to follow you to Illinois, and with them, you will soon see here,
a Roman Catholic people, whose number, wealth and influence will amaze the
world. God Almighty has wonderfully blessed your labours in Canada in that holy
cause of temperance. But now the work is done, the same Great God presents to
your Christian ambition a not less great and noble work for the rest of your
life. Make use of your great influence over your countrymen to prevent them
from scattering any longer among Protestants, by inducing them to come here, in
Illinois. You will then lay the foundation of a Roman Catholic French people,
whose piety, unity, wealth and number will soon renew and revive, on this
continent, the past and fading glories of the Church of France.
"We have already, at Bourbonnais, a fine colony of French Canadians. They
long to see and hear you. Come and help me to make that comparatively small,
though thriving people, grow with the immigrants from the French-speaking
countries of Europe and America, till it covers the whole territory of Illinois
with its sturdy sons and pious daughters. I will ask the Pope to make you my
coadjutor, and you will soon become my successor, for I already feel too weak
and unhealthy to bear alone the burden of my too large diocese.
"Please consider what I propose to you before God, and answer me. But be
kind enough to consider this overture as strictly confidential between you and
me, till we have brought our plans into execution.
"Truly yours, Olvi Vandeveld,
"Bishop of Chicago."
I
answered him that the Bishops of Boston, Buffalo and Detroit, had already
advised me to put myself at the head of the French Canadian immigration, in
order to direct its tide towards the vast and rich regions of the west. I wrote
him that I felt as he did, that it was the best way to prevent my countrymen
from falling into the snares laid before them by Protestants, among whom they
were scattering themselves. I told him that I would consider it a great honour
and privilege to spend the last part of my life in extending the power and
influence of our holy Church over the Untied States, and that I would, in June
next, pay my respects to him in Chicago, when on my way towards the colony of
my countrymen at Bourbonnais Grove. I added that after I should have seen those
territories of Illinois and the Mississippi valley, with my own eyes, it would
be more easy to give him a definite answer. I ended my letter by saying:
"But I respectfully request your lordship to give up the idea of selecting
me for your coadjutor, or successor. I have already twice refused to become a
bishop. That high dignity is too much above my merits and capacities to be ever
accepted by me. I am happy and proud to fight the battles of our holy Church;
but let my superiors allow me to continue to remain in her ranks as a simple
soldier, to defend her honour and extend her power. I may, then, with the help
of God, do some good. But I feel, and know that I would spoil everything, if
raised to an elevated position, for which I am not fit."
Without speaking to anybody of the proposition of the Bishop of Chicago, I was
preparing to go and see the new field where he wanted me to work, when, in the
beginning of May, 1851, I received a very pressing invitation from my Lord
Lefebre, Bishop of Detroit, to lecture on temperance to the French Canadians
who were, then, forming the majority of the Roman Catholics of that city.
That bishop had taken the place of Bishop Rese, whose public scandals and
infamies had covered the whole Catholic Church of America with shame. During
the last years he had spent in his diocese, very few weeks had past without his
being picked up beastly drunk in the lowest taverns, and even in the streets of
Detroit, and dragged, unconscious to his place.
After long and vain efforts to reform him, the Pope and bishops of America had
happily succeeded in persuading him to go to Rome, and pay his respects to the
so-called vicar of Jesus Christ. This was a snare too skillfully laid to be
suspected by the drunken bishop. He had hardly set his feet in Rome when the
inquisitors threw him into one of their dungeons, where he remained till the
republicans set him at liberty, in 1848, after Pope Pius IX. had fled to Civita
Vecchia. In order to blot out from the face of his Church the black spots with
which his predecessor had covered it, Bishop Lefebre made the greatest display
of zeal for the cause of temperance. As soon as he was inducted, he invited his
people to follow his example and enroll themselves under its banners, in a very
powerful address on the evils caused by the use of intoxicating drinks. At the
end of his eloquent sermon, laying his right hand on the altar, he made a
solemn promise never to drink any alcoholic liquors.
His telling sermon on temperance, with his solemn and public promise, were
published through almost all the papers of that time, and I read it many times
to the people with good effect. When, on my way to Illinois, I reached the city
of Detroit to give the course of lectures demanded by the bishop, in the first
week of June. Though the bishop was absent, I immediately began to preach to an
immense audience in the Cathedral. I had agreed to give five lectures, and it
was only during the third one that Bishop Lefebre arrived. After paying me
great compliments for my zeal and success in the temperance cause, he took me
by the hand to his dining-room, and said: "Let us go and refresh
ourselves."
I shall never forget my surprise and dismay when I perceived the long dining
table, covered with bottles of brandy, wine, beer, ect., prepared for himself
and his six or seven priests, who were already around it, joyfully emptying
their glasses. My first thought was to express my surprise and indignation, and
leave the room in disgust, but by a second and better thought I waited a little
to see more of that unexpected spectacle. I accepted the seat offered me by the
bishop at his right hand.
"Father Chiniquy," he said, "this is the sweetest claret you
ever drank." And before I could utter a word, he had filled my large glass
with the wine, and drank his own to my health.
Looking at the bishop in amazement, I said, "What does this mean, my
lord?"
"It means that I want to drink with you the best claret you ever
tasted."
"Do you take me for a comedian?" I replied, with lips trembling with
indignation.
"I did not invite you to play a comedy," he answered. "I invited
you to lecture on temperance to my people, and you have done it in a most
admirable way, these last three days. Though you did not see me, I was present
at this evening's address. I never heard anything so eloquent on that subject
as what you said. But now that you have fulfilled your duty, I must do mine,
which is to treat you as a gentleman, and drink that bottle of wine with
you."
"But, my lord, allow me to tell you that I would not deserve to be called
or treated as a gentleman, were I vile enough to drink wine after the address I
gave this evening."
"I beg your pardon for differing from you," answered the bishop.
"Those drunken people to whom you spoke so well against the evils on
intemperance, are in need of the stringent and bitter remedies you offer them
in your teetotalism. But here we are sober men and gentlemen, we do not want
such remedies. I never thought that the physicians were absolutely bound to
take the pills they administered to their patients."
"I hope your lordship will not deny me the right you claim for yourself,
to differ with me in this matter. I entirely differ from you, when you say that
men who drink as you do with your priests, have a right to be called sober
men."
"I fear, Mr. Chiniquy, that you forget where you are, and to whom you
speak just now," replied the bishop.
"It may be that I have made a blunder, and that I am guilty of some grave
error in coming here, and speaking to you as I am doing, my lord. In that case,
I am ready to ask your pardon. But before I retract what I have said, please
allow me to respectfully ask you a very simple question."
Then taking from my pocket-book his printed address, and his public and solemn
promise never to drink, neither to offer any intoxicating drinks to others, I
read it aloud, and said: "Are you the same Bishop of Detroit, called
Lefebre, who has made this solemn promise? If you are not the same man, I will
retract and beg your pardon, but if you are the same, I have nothing to
retract."
My answer fell upon the poor bishop as a thunderbolt.
He lisped some unintelligible and insignificant explanation, which, however, he
ended by a coup d'etat, in saying:
"My dear Mr. Chiniquy, I did not invite you to preach to the bishop, but
only to the people of Detroit."
"You are right, my lord, I was not called to preach to the bishop, but
allow me to tell you that if I had known sooner, that when the Bishop of
Detroit, with his priests, solemnly, publicly, and with their right hand on the
altar, promised that they would never drink any intoxicating drinks, it means
that they will drink and fill themselves with those detestable liquors, till
their brains shiver with their poisonous fumes, I would not have troubled you
with my presence or my remarks here. However, allow me to tell your lordship to
be kind enough to find another lecturer for your temperance meetings. For I am
determined to take the train to-morrow morning for Chicago."
There is no need to say that, during that painful conversation, the priests
(with only one exception) were as full of indignation against me as they were
full of wine. I left the table and went to my sleeping apartment, overwhelmed
with sadness and shame.
Half an hour later, the bishop was with me, conjuring me to continue my
lectures, on account of the fearful scandals which would result from my sudden
and unexpected exit from Detroit, when the whole people had the assurance from
me, that very night, that I would continue to lecture the two following
evenings. I acknowledged that there would be a great scandal, but I told him
that he was the only one responsible for it by his want of faith and
consistency.
He, at first, tried to persuade me that he was ordered to drink, by his own
physicians, for his health; but I showed him that this was a miserable
illusion. He then said that he regretted what had occurred, and confessed that
it would be better if the priests practiced what they preached to the people.
After which, he asked me, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, to forget the
errors of the bishops and priests of Detroit, in order to think only of the
good which the conversion of the numberless drunkards of that city would do to
the people.
He spoke to me with such earnestness of the souls saved, the tears dried, the
happiness restored to hundreds of families, by temperance, that he touched the
most sensitive chords of my heart, and got from me the promise that I would
deliver the other two expected lectures. He was so glad, that he pressed me on
his bosom, and gave me, what we call in France, Le baiser de paix (kiss of
peace), to show me his esteem and gratitude.
When alone, I tried to drown in a sound sleep the sad emotions of that evening;
but it was impossible. That night was to be again a sleepless one to me. The
intemperance of that high dignitary and his priests filled me with an
unspeakable horror and disgust. Many times, during the dark hours of that
night, I head as if it were a voice saying to me, "Do you not see that the
bishops and priests of your church do not believe a word of their religion?
Their only object is to throw dust in the eyes of the people, and live a jolly
life. Do you not see that you do not follow the Word of God, but only the vain
and lying traditions of men in the Church of Rome? Come out of it. Break the
heavy yoke which is upon you, and follow the simple, pure religion of Jesus
Christ."
I tried to silence that voice by saying to myself: "These sins are not the
sins of my holy church; they are the sins of individuals. It was not the fault
of Christ if Judas was a thief! It is not more the fault of my holy church if
this bishop and his priests are drunkards and worldly men. Where will I go if I
leave my church? Will I not find drunkards and infidels everywhere I may go in
search of a better religion?"
The dawn of the next day found me feverish, and unable to get any rest in my
bed. Hoping that the first fresh air of the morning would do me good, I went to
the beautiful garden, covered with fruit trees of all kinds, which was, then,
around the episcopal residence. But what was my surprise to see the bishop
leaning on a tree, with his handkerchief over his face, and bathed in tears. I
approached him with the least noise possible. I saw that he did not perceive
me. By the motion of his head and shoulders, it became evident to me that he was
in anguish of soul. I said to him: "My dear bishop, what is the matter?
Why do you weep and cry at such an earl hour?"
Pressing my hand convulsively in his, he answered:
"Dear Father Chiniquy, you do not yet know the awful calamity which has
befallen me this night?"
"What calamity?" I asked.
"Do you not remember," he answered, "that young priest who was
sitting at your right hand last evening? Well! he went away, during the night,
with the wife of a young man, whom he had seduced, and stole four thousand
dollars from me before he left."
"I am not at all surprised at that, when I remember how that priest
emptied his glasses of beer and wine last night," I answered. "When
the blood of a man is heated by those fiery liquors, it is sheer absurdity to
think that he will keep his vow of chastity."
"You are right! You are right! God Almighty has punished me for breaking
the public pledge I had taken never to drink any intoxicating drinks. We want a
reform in our midst, and we will have it,'" he answered. "But what
horrible scandal! One of my young priests gone with that young wife, after
stealing four thousand dollars from me! Great God! Must we not hide our face
now, in this city?"
I could say nothing to alleviate the sorrow of the poor bishop, but to mingle
my tears of shame and sorrow with his. I went back to my room, where I wept a
part of the day, to my heart's content, on the unspeakable degradations of that
priesthood of which I had been so proud, and about which I had such exalted
views when I entered its ranks, before I had an inside view of its dark
mysteries.
Of course, the next two days that I was the guest of Bishop Lefebre, not a
single drop of intoxicating drink was seen on the table. But I know that not
long after, that representative of the Pope forgot again his solemn vows, and
continued with his priests, drinking, till he died a most miserable death in
1875.
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 48 Back to Top
The
journey from Detroit to Chicago, in the month of June, 1851, was not so
pleasant as it is today. The Michigan Central Railroad was completed, then,
only to New Buffalo. We took the steamer there and crossed Lake Michigan to
Chicago, where we arrived the next morning, after nearly perishing in a
terrible storm. On the 15th of June, I first landed, with the greatest
difficulty, on a badly wrecked wharf, at the mouth of the river. Some of the
streets I had to cross in order to reach the bishop's place were almost
impassable. In many places loose planks had been thrown across them to prevent
people from sinking in the mud and quicksands.
The first sight of Chicago, was then far from giving an idea of what that city
has become in 1884. Though it had rapidly increased the last ten years, its
population was then not much more than 30,000. The only line of railroad
finished was from Chicago to Aurora, about forty miles. The whole population of
the State of Illinois was then not much beyond 200,000. today, Chicago alone
numbers more than 500,000 souls within her limits. Probably more grain, lumber,
beef and pork, are now bought and sold in a single day in Chicago than were
then in a whole year.
When I entered the miserable house called the "bishop's palace," I
could hardly believe my eyes. The planks of the lower floor, in the diningroom,
were floating, and it required a great deal of ingenuity to keep my feet dry
while dining with him for the first time. But the Christian kindness and
courtesy of the bishop, made me more happy in his poor house, than I felt,
later, in the white marble palace built by his haughty successor, C. Regan.
There were, then, in Chicago about 200 French Canadian families, under the
pastorate of the Rev. M. A. Lebel, who, like myself, was born in Kamouraska.
The drunkenness and other immoralities of the clergy, pictured to me by that
priest, surpassed all I had ever heard known.
After getting my promise that I would never reveal the fact before his death,
he assured me that the last bishop had been poisoned by one of his grand vicars
in the following way. He said, the grand vicar, being father confessor of the
nuns of Loretto, had fallen in love with one of the so-called virgins, who died
a few days after becoming the mother of a still-born child.
This fact having transpired, and threatening to give a great deal of scandal,
the bishop thought it was his duty to make an inquest, and punish his priest,
if he should be found guilty. But the grand vicar, seeing that his crime was to
be easily detected, found that the shortest way to escape exposure was to put
an end to the inquest by murdering the poor bishop. A poison very difficult to
detect, was administered, and the death of the prelate soon followed, without
exciting any surprise in the community.
Horrified by the long and minute details of that mystery of iniquity, I came
very near returning to Canada, immediately, without going any further. But
after more mature consideration, it seemed to me that these awful iniquities on
the part of the priests of Illinois was just the reason why I should not shut
my eyes to the voice of God, if it were His will that I should come to take
care of the precious souls He would trust to me. I spent a week in Chicago
lecturing on temperance every evening, and listening during the days to the
grand plans the bishop was maturing, in order to make our Church of Rome the
mistress and ruler of the magnificent valley of the Mississippi, which included
the States of Minnesota, Iowa, Missouri, Kansas, Mississippi, ect. He clearly
demonstrated to me, that once mistress of the incalculable treasures of those
rich lands, through the millions of her obedient children, our church would
easily command the respect and the submission of the less favoured States of
the east. My zeal for my church was so sincere that I would have given, with
pleasure, every drop of my blood, in order to secure to her such a future of
power and greatness. I felt really happy and thankful to God that He should
have chosen me to help the Pope and the bishops realize such a noble and
magnificent project. Leaving Chicago, it took me nearly three days to cross
that vast prairies, which were then a perfect wilderness, between Chicago and
Bourbonnais, where I spent three weeks in preaching and exploring the country,
extending from Kankakee river to the south-west, towards the Mississippi. It
was only then that I plainly understood the greatness of the plans of the
bishop, and that I determined to sacrifice the exalted position God had given
me in Canada to guide the steps of the Roman Catholic emigrants from France,
Belgium and Canada, towards the regions of the west, in order to extend the
power and influence of my church all over the United States. On my return to
Chicago, in the second week of July, all was arranged with the bishop of my
coming back in the autumn, to help him to accomplish his gigantic plans.
However, it was understood between us that my leaving Canada for the United
States, would be kept a secret till the last hour, on account of the stern
opposition I expected from my bishop. The last thing to be done, on my return
to Canada, in order to prepare the emigrants to go to Illinois, rather than any
other part of the United States, was to tell them through the press the
unrivaled advantages which God had prepared for them in the west. I did so by a
letter, which was published not only by the press of Canada, but also in many
papers of France and Belgium. The importance of that letter is such, that I
hope my readers will bear with me in reproducing the following extracts from
it.
.
Montreal, Canada East.
August 13th, 1851.
It is impossible to give our friends, by narration, an idea of what we feel,
when we cross, for the first time, the immense prairies of Illinois. It is a
spectacle which must be seen to be well understood. As you advance in the midst
of these boundless deserts, where your eyes perceive nothing but lands of
inexhaustible richness, remaining in the most desolating solitude, you feel
something which you cannot express by any words. Is your soul filled with joy,
or your heart broken by sadness? You cannot say; you lift up your eyes to
heaven, and the voice of your soul is chanting a hymn of gratitude. Tears of
joy are trickling down your cheeks, and you bless God, whose curse seems not to
have fallen on the land where you stand: "Cursed is the ground for thy
sake;" "thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee"
(Gen. iii. 17, 18).
You see around you the most luxuriant verdure; flowers of every kind, and
magnificent above description. But, if in the silence of meditation, you look
with new attention on those prairies, so rich, so magnificent, you feel an
inexpressible sentiment of sadness, and addressing yourself to the blessed
land, you say, "Why art thou so solitary? Why is the wild game alone here
to glorify my God?" And if you continue to advance through those immense
prairies, which, like a boundless ocean, are spreading their rolling waves
before you, and seem to long after the presence of man, to cover themselves
with incalculable treasures, you remember your friends in Canada, and more particularly
those among them who, crushed down by misery, are watering with the sweat of
their brow a sterile and desolated soil, you say: "Ah! if such and such of
my friends were here, how soon they would see their hard and ungrateful labours
changed into the most smiling and happy position.
Perhaps I will be accused then of trying to depopulate my country, and drive my
countrymen from Canada to the United States. No! no. I never had so perverse a
design. Here is my mind about the subject of emigration, and I see no reason to
be ashamed of it, or to conceal it. It is a fact that a great number (and much
greater than generally believed) of French Canadians are yearly emigrating from
Canada, and nobody regrets it more than I do; but as long as those who govern Canada
will not pay more attention to that evil, it will be an incurable one, and
every year Canada will lose thousands and thousands of its strongest arms and
noblest hearts, to benefit our happy neighbours. With many others, I had the
hope that the eloquent voice of the poor settlers of our eastern townships
would be heard, and that the government would help them; but that hope is gone
like a dream, and we have now every reason to fear that our unfortunate
settlers of the east will be left to themselves. The greatest part of them, for
the want of roads to the markets of Quebec and Montreal, and still more by the
tyranny of their cruel landlords, will soon be obliged to bid an eternal adieu
to their country, and with an enraged heart against their haughty oppressors,
they will seek, in exile to a strange land, the protection they could not find
in their own country. Yes! If our Canadian government continues a little longer
to show the same incomprehensible and stupid apathy for the welfare of its own
subjects, emigration will increase every year from Canada, to swell the ranks
of the American people.
Since we cannot stop that emigration, is it not our first duty to direct it in
such a way that it will be, to the poor emigrants, as beneficial as possible?
Let us do everything to hinder them from going to the large cities of the
United States. Drowned in the mixed population of American cities, our
unfortunate emigrating countrymen would be too much exposed to losing their
morality and their faith. Surely there is not another country under the heavens
where space, bread, and liberty are so universally assured to every member of
the community, as the United States. But it is not in the great cities of the
United States that our poor countrymen will sooner find these three gifts. The
French Canadian who will stop in the large cities, will not, with a very few
exceptions, raise himself above the unenviable position of a poor journeyman.
But those among them who will direct their steps toward the rich and extensive prairies
of Bourbonnais, will certainly find a better lot. Many in Canada would believe
that I am exaggerating, were I to publish how happy, prosperous, and
respectable is the French Canadian population of Bourbonnais. The French
Canadians of Bourbonnais have had the intelligence to follow the good example
of the industrious American farmers, in the manner of cultivating the lands. On
their farms as well as on those of their neighbours, you will find the best
machinery to cut their crops, to thresh their grain. They enjoy the just
reputation of having the best horses of the country, and very few can beat them
for the number and quality of their cattle.
Now, what can be the prospect of a young man in Canada, if he has not more than
two hundred dollars? A whole life of hard labour and continued privation is his
too certain lot. But, let that young man go directly to Bourbonnais, and if he
is industrious, sober, and religious, before a couple of years he will see
nothing to envy in the most happy farmer of Canada.
As the land he will take in Illinois is entirely prepared for the plough, he
has no trees to cut or eradicate, no stones to move, no ditch to dig; his only
work is to fence and break his land and sow it, and the very first year the
value of the crop will be sufficient to pay for his farm. Holy Providence has
prepared everything for the benefit of the happy farmers of Illinois. That
fertile country is well watered by a multitude of rivers and large creeks,
whose borders are generally covered with the most rich and extensive groves of
timber of the best quality, as black oak, maple, white oak, burr oak, ash, ect.
The seeds of the beautiful acacia (locust), after five or six years, will give
you a splendid tree. The greatest variety of fruits are growing naturally in
almost every part of Illinois; coal mines have been discovered in the very
heart of the country, more than sufficient for the wants of the people. Before
long, a railroad from Chicago to Bourbonnais will bring our happy countrymen to
the most extensive market, the Queen city of the west Chicago.
I will then say to my young countrymen who intend emigrating from Canada:
"My friend, exile is one of the greatest calamities that can befall a man.
Young Canadian, remain in the country, keep thy heart to love it, thy
intelligence to adorn it, and thine arms to protect it. Young and dear
countrymen, remain in thy beautiful country; there is nothing more grand and
sublime in the world than the waters of the St. Lawrence. It is on its deep and
majestic waters that, before long, Europe and America will meet and bind
themselves to each other by the blessed bonds of an eternal peace; it is on its
shores that they will exchange their incalculable treasures. Remain in the
country of thy birth, my dear son. Let the sweat of thy brow continue to
fertilize it, and let the perfume of thy virtues bring the blessing of God upon
it. But, my dear son, if thou has no more room in the valley of the St.
Lawrence, and if, by the want of protection from the Government, thou canst not
go to the forest without running the danger of losing thy life in a pond, or
being crushed under the feet of an English or Scotch tyrant, I am not the man
to invite thee to exhaust thy best days for the benefit of the insolent
strangers, who are the lords of the eastern lands. I will sooner tell thee, 'go
my child,' there are many extensive places still vacant on the earth, and God
is everywhere. That great God calleth thee to another land, submit thyself to
His Divine will. But, before you bid a final adieu to thy country, engrave on
thy heart and keep as a holy deposit, the love of thy holy religion, of thy
beautiful language, and of the dear and unfortunate country of thy birth. On
thy way to the land of exile, stop as little as possible in the great cities,
for fear of the many snares thy eternal enemy has prepared for thy perdition.
But go straight to Bourbonnais. There you will find many of thy brothers who
have erected the cross of Christ; join thyself to them, thou shalt be strong of
their strength; go and help them to conquer to the Gospel of Jesus those rich
countries, which shall, very soon, weigh more than is generally believed, in
the balance of the nations.
"Yes, go straight to Illinois. Thou shalt not be entirely in a strange and
alien country. Holy Providence has chosen thy fathers to find that rich
country, and to reveal to the world its admirable resources. More than once
that land of Illinois has been sanctified by the blood of thy ancestors. In
Illinois thou shalt not make a step without finding indestructible proof of the
perseverance, genius, bravery, and piety of the French forefathers. Go to
Illinois, and the many names of Bourbonnais, Joliet, Dubuque, Le Salle, St.
Charles, St. Mary, ect., that you will meet everywhere, will tell you more than
my words, that that country is nothing but the rich inheritance which your
fathers have found for the benefit of their grandchildren.
"C. Chiniquy."
I
would never have published this letter, if I had foreseen its effects on the
farmers of Canada. In a few days after its appearance, their farms fell to half
their value. Every one, in some parishes, wanted to sell their lands and
emigrate to the west. It was only for want of purchasers that we did not see an
emigration which would have surely ruined Canada. I was frightened by its
immediate effect on the public mind. However, while some were praising me to
the skies for having published it, others were cursing me and calling me a
traitor. The very day after its publication, I was in Quebec, where the Bishops
of Canada were met in council. The first one I met was my Lord De Charbonel,
Bishop of Toronto. After having blessed me, he pressed my hand in his, and
said:
"I have just read your admirable letter. It is one of the most beautiful
and eloquently written articles I ever read. The Spirit of God has surely
inspired every one of its sentences. I have, just now, forwarded six copies of
it to different journals of France and Belgium, where they will be republished,
and do an incalculable amount of good, by directing the French-speaking
Catholic emigrants towards a country where they will run no risk of losing
their faith, with the assurance of securing a future of unbounded prosperity
for their families. Your name will be put among the names of the greatest
benefactors of humanity."
Though these compliments seemed to me much exaggerated and unmerited, I cannot
deny that they pleased me, by adding to my hopes and convictions that great
good would surely come from the plan I had of gathering all the Roman Catholic
emigrants on the same spot, to form such large and strong congregations; that
they would have nothing to fear from heretics. I thanked the bishop for his
kind and friendly words, and left him to go and present my respectful
salutations to Bishop Bourget, of Montreal, and give him a short sketch of my
voyage to the far west. I found him alone in his room, in the very act of
reading my letter. A lioness, who had just lost her whelps, would not have
broken upon me with more angry and threatening eyes than that bishop did.
"Is it possible," he said, "Mr. Chiniquy, that your hand has
written and signed such a perfidious document? How could you so cruelly pierce
the bosom of your own country, after her dealing so nobly with you? Do you not
see that your treasonable letter will give such an impetus to emigration that
our most thriving parishes will soon be turned into solitude? Though you do not
say it, we feel at every line of that letter that you will leave your country,
to give help and comfort to our natural enemies."
Surprised by this unexpected burst of bad feeling, I kept my sang froid, and
answered: "My lord, your lordship has surely misunderstood me, if you have
found in my letter my treasonable plan to ruin our country. Please read it again,
and you will see that every line has been inspired by the purest motives of
patriotism, and the highest views of religion. How is it possible that the
worthy Bishop of Toronto should have told me that the Spirit of God Himself had
directed every line of that letter, when my good bishop's opinion is so
completely opposite?" The abrupt answer the bishop gave to these remarks,
clearly indicated that my absence would be more welcome than my presence. I
left him, after asking his blessing, which he gave me in the coldest manner
possible.
On the 25th of August, I was back at Longueuil, from my voyage to Quebec, which
I had extended as far as Kamouraska, to see again the noblehearted
parishioners, whose unanimity in taking the pledge of temperance, and admirable
fidelity in keeping it then, had filled my heart with such joy.
I related my last interview with Bishop Bourget to my faithful friend Mr.
Brassard. He answered me: "The present bad feelings of the Bishop of
Montreal against you are not a secret to me. Unfortunately the lowminded men
who surround and counsel him are as unable as the bishop himself to understand
your exalted views in directing the steps of the Roman Catholics towards the
splendid valley of the Mississippi. They are besides themselves, because they
see that you will easily succeed in forming a grand colony of French-speaking
people in Illinois. Now, I am sure of what I say, though I am not free to tell
you how it came to my knowledge, there is a plot somewhere to dishonour and
destroy you at once. Those who are at the head of that plot hope that if they
can succeed in destroying your popularity, nobody will be tempted to follow you
to Illinois. For, though you have concealed it as well as you could, it is
evident to everyone now, that you are the man selected by the bishops of the
west to direct the uncertain steps of the poor emigrants towards those rich
lands."
"Do you mean, my dear Mr. Brassard," I replied, "that there are
priests around the Bishop of Montreal, cruel and vile enough to forge calumnies
against me, and spread them before the country in such a way that I shall be
unable to refute them?"
"It is just what I mean," answered Mr. Brassard; "mind what I
tell you; the bishop has made use of you to reform his diocese. He likes you for
that work. But your popularity is too great today for your enemies; they want
to get rid of you, and no means will be too vile or criminal to accomplish your
destruction, if they can attain their object."
"But, my dear Mr. Brassard, can you give me any details of the plots which
are in store against me?" I asked.
"No! I cannot, for I know them not. But be on your guard; for your few,
but powerful enemies, are jubilant. They speak of the absolute impotency to
which you will soon be reduced, if you accomplish what they so maliciously and
falsely call your treacherous objects."
I answered: "Our Saviour has said to all His disciples: 'In the world ye
shall have tribulation. But be of good cheer, I have overcome the world' (John
xvi. 33). I am more determined than ever to put my trust in God, and to fear no
man."
Two hours after this conversation, I received the following from the Rev. M.
Pare, secretary to the bishop:
.
To the Rev. Mr. Chiniquy,
Apostle of Temperance.
My Dear Sir, My Lord Bishop of Montreal would like to see you upon some
important business. Please come at your earliest convenience.
Yours truly,
Jos. Pare, Secretary.
The
next morning I was alone with Monseigneur Bourget, who received me very kindly.
He seemed at first to have entirely banished the bad feelings he had shown in
our last interview at Quebec. After making some friendly remarks on my
continual labours and success in the cause of temperance, he stopped for a
moment, and seemed embarrassed how to resume the conversation. At last he said:
"Are you not the father confessor of Mrs. Chenier?"
"Yes, my lord. I have been her confessor since I lived in Longueuil."
"Very well, very well," he rejoined, "I suppose that you know
that her only child is a nun, in the Congregation Convent?"
"Yes! my lord, I know it," I replied.
"Could you not induce Mrs. Chenier to become a nun also?" asked the
bishop.
"I never thought of that, my lord," I answered, "and I do not
see why I should advise her to exchange her beautiful cottage, washed by the fresh
and pure waters of the St. Lawrence, where she looks so happy and cheerful, for
the gloomy walls of the nunnery."
"But she is still young and beautiful; she may be deceived by temptations
when she is there, in that beautiful house, surrounded by all the enjoyments of
her fortune," replied the bishop.
"I understand your lordship. Yes, Mrs. Chenier has the reputation of being
rich; though I know nothing of her fortune; she has kept well the charms and
freshness of her youth. However, I think that the best remedy against the
temptations you seem to dread so much for her, is to advise her to marry. A
good Christian husband seems to me a much better remedy against the dangers to
which your lordship alludes, than the cheerless walls of a nunnery."
"You speak just as a Protestant," rejoined the bishop, with an
evident nervous irritation. "We remark that, though you hear the
confessions of a great number of young ladies, there is not a single one of
them who has ever become a nun. You seem to ignore that the vow of chastity is
the shortest way to a life of holiness in this world and happiness in the
next."
"I am sorry to differ from your lordship, in that matter," I replied.
"But I cannot help it, the remedy you have found against sin is quite
modern. The old remedy offered by our God Himself, is very different and much
better, I think."
"'It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make an help meet
for him' (Gen. ii. 18)., said our Creator in the earthly paradise.
'Nevertheless, to avoid fornication, let every man have his own wife, and let
every woman have her own husband' (1 Cor. vii. 2), said the same God, through
His Apostle Paul."
"I know too well how the great majority of nuns keep their vows of
chastity, to believe that the modern remedy against the temptations you
mention, is an improvement on the old one found and given by our God!" I
answered.
With an angry look, the bishop replies: "This is Protestantism, Mr.
Chiniquy. This is sheer Protestantism."
"I respectfully ask your pardon for differing from your lordship. This is
not Protestantism. It is simply and absolutely the 'pure Word of God.' But, my
lord, God knows that it is my sincere desire, as it is my interest and my duty,
to do all in my power to deserve your esteem. I do not want to vex nor disobey
you. Please give me a good reason why I should advise Mrs. Chenier to enter a
monastery, and I will comply with you request the very first time she comes to
confess."
Resuming his most amiable manner, the bishop answered me, "My first reason
is, the spiritual good which she would receive from her vows of perpetual
chastity and poverty in a nunnery. The second reason is, that the lady is rich,
and we are in need of money. We would soon possess her whole fortune; for her
only child is already in the Congregation Convent."
"My dear bishop," I replied, "you already know what I think of
your first reason. After having investigated that fact, not in the Protestant
books, but from the lips of the nuns themselves, as well as from their father
confessors, I am fully convinced that the real virtue of purity is much better
kept in the homes of our Christian mothers, married sisters, and female friends
than in the secret rooms, not to say prisons, where the poor nuns are enchained
by the heavy fetters assumed by their vows, which the great majority curse when
they cannot break them. And for the second reason, your lordship gives me to
induce Mrs. Chenier becoming a nun, I am again sorry to say that I cannot
conscientiously accept it. I have not consecrated myself to the priesthood to
deprive respectable families of their legal inheritance in order to enrich
myself, or anybody else. I know she has poor relations who need her fortune
after her death."
"Do you pretend to say that your bishop is a thief?" angrily rejoined
the bishop.
"No, my lord! By no means. No doubt, for your high standpoint of view,
your lordship may see things in a very different aspect, from what I see them,
in the low position I occupy in the church. But, as your lordship is bound to
follow the dictates of his conscience in everything, I also feel obligated to
give heed to the voice of mine."
This painful conversation had already lasted too long. I was anxious to see the
end of it; for I could easily read in the face of my superior, that every word
I uttered was sealing my doom. I rose up to take leave of him, and said:
"My lord, I beg your pardon for disappointing your lordship."
He coldly answered me: "It is not the first time; though I would it were
the last, that you show such a want of respect and submission to the will of
your superiors. But, as I feel it is a conscientious affair on your part, I
have no ill-will against you, and I am happy to tell you that I entertain for
you all my past esteem. The only favour I ask from you just now is, that this
conversation may be kept secret."
I answered: "It is still more to my interest than your to keep this
unfortunate affair a secret between us. I hope that neither your lordship nor
the great God, who alone has heard us, will ever make it an imperious duty for
me to mention it."
"What good news do you bring me from the bishop's palace?" asked my
venerable friend, Mr. Brassard, when I returned, late in the afternoon.
"I would have very spicy, though unpalatable news to give you, had not the
bishop asked me to keep what has been said between us a secret."
Mr. Brassard laughed outright at my answer, and replied: "A secret! a
secret! Ah! but it is a gazette secret; for the bishop has bothered me, as well
as many others, with that matter, frequently, since your return from Illinois.
Several times he has asked us to persuade you to advise your devoted penitent,
Mrs. Chenier, to become a nun. I knew he invited you to his palace yesterday
for that object. The eyes and heart of our poor bishop," continued Mr.
Brassard, "are too firmly fixed on the fortune of that lady. Hence, his
zeal about the salvation of her soul through the monastic life. In vain I tried
to dissuade the bishop from speaking to you on that subject, on account of your
prejudices against our good nuns. He would not listen to me. No doubt you have
realized my worst anticipations; you have, with your usual stubbornness,
refused to yield to his demands. I fear you have added to his bad feelings, and
consummated your disgrace."
"What a deceitful man that bishop is!" I answered, indignantly.
"He has given me to understand that this was a most sacred secret between
him and me, when I see, by what you say, that it is nothing else than a
farcical secret, known by the hundreds who have heard of it. But, please, my
dear Mr. Brassard, tell me, is it not a burning shame that our nunneries are
changed into real traps, to steal, cheat, and ruin so many unsuspecting
families? I have no words to express my disgust and indignation, when I see that
all those great demonstrations and eloquent tirades about the perfection and
holiness of the nuns, on the part of our spiritual rulers, are nothing else, in
reality, than a veil to conceal their stealing operations. Do you not feel,
that those poor nuns are the victims of the most stupendous system of swindling
the world has ever seen? I know that there are some honourable exceptions. For
instance, the nunnery you have founded here is an exception. You have not built
it to enrich yourself, as you have spent your last cent in its erection. But
you and I are only simpletons, who have, till now, ignored the terrible secrets
which put that machine of the nunneries and monkeries in motion. I am more than
ever disgusted and terrified, not only by the unspeakable corruptions, but also
by the stupendous system of swindling, which is their foundation stone. If the
cities of Quebec and Montreal could know what I know of the incalculable sums
of money secretly stolen through the confessional, to aid our bishops in building
the famous cathedrals and splendid palaces; or to cover themselves with robes
of silk, satin, silver, and gold: to live more luxurious than the Pashas of
Turkey; they would set fire to all those palatial buildings; they would hang
the confessors, who have thrown the poor nuns into these dungeons under the
pretext of saving their souls, when the real motive was to lay hands on their
inheritance, and raise their colossal fortunes. The bishop has opened before me
a most deplorable and shameful page of the history of our church. It makes me
understand many facts which were a mystery to me till today. Now I understand
the terrible wrath of the English people in the days of old, and of the French
people more recently, when they so violently wrenched from the hands of the
clergy the enormous wealth they had accumulated during the dark ages. I have
condemned those great nations till now. But, today, I absolve them. I am sure
that those men, though blind and cruel in their vengeance, were the ministers
of the justice of God. The God of Heaven could not, for ever, tolerate a
sacrilegious system of swindling, as I know, now, to be in operation from one
end to the other, not only of Canada, but of the whole world, under the mask of
religion. I know that the bishop and his flatterers will hate and persecute me
for my stern opposition to his rapacity. But I do feel happy and proud of his
hatred. The God of truth and justice, the God of the gospel, will be on my side
when they attack me. I do not fear them; let them come. That bishop surely did
not know me, when he thought that I would consent to be the instrument of his
hypocrisy, and that, under the false pretext of a delusive perfection, I would
throw that lady into a dungeon for her life, that he might become rich with her
inheritance."
Mr. Brassard answered me: "I cannot blame you for your disobeying the
bishop, in this instance. I foretold him what has occurred; for I knew what you
think of the nuns. Though I do not go so far as you in that, I cannot
absolutely shut my eyes to the facts which stare us in the face. Those monkish
communities have, in every age, been the principal cause of the calamities
which have befallen the church. For their love of riches, their pride and
laziness, with their other scandals, have always been the same. Had I been able
to foresee what has occurred inside the walls of the nunnery I built up here, I
never would have erected it. However, now that I have built it, it is as the
child of my old age, I feel bound to support it to the end. This does not
prevent me from being afflicted when I see the facility with which our poor
nuns yield to the criminal desires of their too weak confessors. Who could have
thought, for instance, that that lean and ugly superior of the Oblates, Father
Allard, could have fallen in love with his young nuns, and that so many would
have lost their hearts on his account. Have you heard how the young men of our
village, indignant at his spending the greater part of the night with the nuns,
have whipped him, when he was crossing the bridge, not long before his leaving
Longueuil for Africa? It is evident that our bishop multiplies too fast those
religious houses. My fear is that they will, sooner than we expect, bring upon
our Church of Canada the same cataclysms which have so often desolated her in
England, France, Germany, and even in Italy."
The clock struck twelve just when this last sentence fell from the lips of Mr.
Brassard. It was quite time to take some rest. When leaving me for his sleeping
room he said:
"My dear Chiniquy, gird your loins well, sharpen your sword for the
impending conflict. My fear is that the bishop and his advisers will never
forget your wrenching from their hands the booty they were coveting so long.
They will never forgive the spirit of independence with which you have rebuked
them. In fact, the conflict is already begun, may God protect you against the
open blows, and the secret machinations they have in store for you."
I answered him: "I do not fear them. I put my trust in God. It is for His
honour I am fighting and suffering. He will surely protect me from those
sacrilegious traders in souls."
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 49 Back to Top
The
first week of September, 1851, I was hearing confessions in one of the churches
of Montreal, when a fine-looking girl came to confess sins, whose depravity
surpassed anything I had ever heard. Though I forbade her twice to do it, she
gave me the names of several priests who were the accomplices of her orgies.
The details of her iniquities were told with such cynical impudence, that the
idea struck me at once, that she was sent by some one to ruin me. I abruptly
stopped her disgusting stories by saying: "The way you confess your sins
is a sure indication that you do not come here to reconcile yourself to God,
but to ruin me. By the grace of God, you will fail. I forbid you to come any
more to my confessional. If I see you again among my penitents, I will order
the beadle to turn you out of the church."
I instantly shut the door of the small aperture through which she was speaking
to me. She answered something which I could not understand. But the tone of her
voice, the shaking of her hands and head, with her manner of walking, when she
left the confessional, indicated that she was beside herself with rage, as she
went to speak a few words to a carter who was in the church, preparing himself
to confess.
The next evening, I said to Rev. Mr. Brassard that I suspected that a girl was
sent to my confessional to ruin me.
He answered: "Did I not warn you, some time ago, that there was a plot to
destroy you? I have not the least doubt but that that girl was hired to begin
that diabolical work. You have no idea of my anxiety about you. For I know your
enemies will not shrink from any iniquity to destroy your good name, and
prevent you from directing the tide of emigration from Canada to the valley of
Mississippi."
I replied, "That I could not partake of his fears; that God knew my
innocence and the purity of my motives; He would defend and protect me."
"My dear Chiniquy," replied Mr. Brassard, "I know your enemies.
They are not numerous, but they are implacable, and their power for mischief
knows no limits. Surely, God can save you from their hands; but I cannot share
your security for the future. Your answer to the bishop, in reference to Mrs.
Chenier, when you refused to send her to the nunnery, that he might inherit her
fortune, has for ever alienated him from you. Bishop Bourget has the merited
reputation of being the most revengeful man in Canada. He will avail himself of
the least opportunity to strike you without mercy."
I answered, "Though there should be a thousand Bishops Bourget to plot
against me, I will not fear them, so long as I am in the right, as I am
today." As the clock struck twelve, I bade him good-night, and ten minutes
later, I was sound asleep.
The following days, I went to deliver a course of lectures on temperance to
several parishes south of Laprairie, till the 28th of September, after which I
came back from St. Constant to rest for a few days, and prepare to start for
Chicago. On my arrival, I found, on my table, a short letter from Bishop
Bourget telling me, that, for a criminal action, which he did not want to
mention, committed with a person he would not name, he had withdrawn all my
priestly powers and interdicted me. I handed the letter to Mr. Brassard and
said: "Is not this the fulfillment of your prophecies? What do you think
of a bishop who interdicts a priest without giving him a single fact, and
without even allowing him to know his accusers?"
"It is just what I expected from the implacable vengeance of the Bishop of
Montreal. He will never give you the reasons of your interdict, for he knows
well you are innocent, and he will never confront you with your accusers; for
it would be too easy for you to confound them."
"But is not this against all the laws of God and man? Is it not against
the laws of the church?" I replied.
"Of course it is," answered he, "but do you not know that, on
this continent of America, the bishops have, long ago, thrown overboard all the
laws of God and man, and all the laws of the church, to rule and enslave the
priests?"
I replied: "If it be so, are not Protestants correct, when they say that
our church has rejected the Word of God to follow the traditions of man? What
can we answer them when they tell us that our church has no right to be called
the church of God? Would the Son of God have given up His life on the cross to
save men, that they might be the property of a few lawless tyrants, who should
have the right to take away their honour and life?"
"I am not ready to answer those puzzling questions," he answered,
"but this is the fact. Though it is absolutely against all the laws of the
church to condemn a priest without showing him his guilt, and confronting him
with his accusers, our modern bishops, every week, condemn some of their
priests without specifying any fact, or even giving them the names of their
accusers."
"Mind what I tell you," I replied. "I will not allow the bishop
to deal with me in that way. If he dares to trample the laws of the Gospel
under his feet, to accomplish my ruin, and satisfy his vengeance, I will teach
him a lesson that he will never forget. Thanks be to God, it is not the gory
cross of the bloody Inquisition, but the emblem of the British Lion, which I
see there floating on the tower, to protect our honour and life, in Canada. I
am innocent; God knows it. My trust is in Him; He will not forsake me. I will
go immediately to the bishop. If he never knew what power there is in an honest
priest, he will learn it today."
Two hours later, I was knocking at the bishop's door. He received me with icy
politeness. "My lord," I said, "you already know why I am in
your presence. Here is a letter from you, accusing me of a crime which is not
specified, under the testimony of accusers whom you refuse to name! And before
hearing me, and confronting me with my accusers, you punish me as guilty! You
not only take away my honour with that unjust sentence, but my life! I come in
the name of God, and of His Son, Jesus Christ, to respectfully ask you to tell
me the crime of which I am accused, that I may show you my innocence. I want to
be confronted with my accusers, that I may confound them."
The bishop was, at first, evidently embarrassed by my presence; his lips were
pale and trembling, but his eyes were dry and red, like the tiger's eyes, in
the presence of his prey. He answered: "I cannot grant your request,
sir."
Opening then my New Testament, I read: "Receive no accusation against a
priest, except under two or three witnesses" (1st Tim. v. 19). I added:
"It was after I had heard this voice of God, and of His holy church, that
I consented to be a priest. I hope it is not the intention of your lordship to
put aside this Word of God and of His church. It is not your intention to break
that solemn covenant made by Christ with His priests, and sealed with His
blood?"
With an air of contempt and tyrannical authority, which I had never suspected
to be possible in a bishop, he answered: "I have no lesson of Scripture or
canonical law to receive from you, sir, and no answer to give to your
impertinent questions; you are interdicted! I have nothing to do with
you."
These words, uttered by the man whom I was accustomed to consider as my
superior, had a strange effect upon me. I felt as if awakening from a long and
painful dream. For the first time, I understood the sad prophecies of the Rev.
Mr. Brassard, and I realized the honour of my position. My ruin was
accomplished. Though I knew that that high dignitary was a monster of
hypocrisy, injustice and tyranny, he had, among the masses, the reputation of a
saint. His unjust sentence would be considered as just and equitable by the
multitude over whom he was reigning supremely; at a nod of his head the people
would fall at his feet, and obey his commands to crush me. All ears would be
shut, and all hearts hardened against me. In that fatal hour, for the first
time in my life, my moral strength and courage failed me. I felt as if I had
just fallen into a bottomless abyss, out of which it was impossible to escape.
What would my innocence, known only to God, avail me, when the whole world
would believe me guilty? No words can give an idea of the mental torture of
that horrible hour.
For more than a quarter of an hour, not a word was exchanged between the bishop
and me. He seemed very busy writing letters, while I was resting my head
between my hands, and shedding torrents of tears. At last I fell on my knees,
took the hands of the bishop in mine, and, with a voice half-choked with sighs,
I said: "My lord, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, and in the
presence of God, I swear that I have done nothing which could bring such a
sentence against me. I again implore your lordship to confront me with my
accusers, that I may show you my innocence."
With a savage insolence, the bishop withdrew his hands, as if I had
contaminated them, and said, after rising from his chair: "You are guilty;
go out of my presence."
A thousand times since I have thanked my God that I had no dagger with me, for
I would have plunged it into his heart. But, strange to say, the diabolical
malice and dishonesty of that depraved man suddenly brought back my former
self-respect and courage. I, at once took the stern resolution to face the
storm. I felt, in my soul, that giant strength which often God Himself implants
in the breast of the oppressed, when he is in the presence of his merciless
tyrants. It seemed that a flash of lightning had passed through my soul, after
having written in letters of fire, on the walls of the palace: "Mystery of
iniquity."
Relying entirely on the God of truth and justice, who knew my innocence and the
great perversity of my oppressor, I left the room, without saying a word, and
hastened back to Longueuil, to acquaint the Rev. Mr. Brassard with my firm
resolution to fight the bishop to the end. He burst into tears when I told him
what had occurred in the bishop's palace.
"Though innocent, you are condemned," he said. "The infallible
proof of your innocence is the cruel refusal of allowing you to be confronted
with your accusers. Were you guilty, they would be too glad to show it, by
confounding you before those witnesses. But the perversity of your accusers is
so well known, that they are ashamed of giving their names. The bishop prefers
to crush you under the weight of his unmerited reputation for justice and
holiness; for very few know him as we do. My fear is that he will succeed in
destroying you. Though innocent, you are condemned and lost; you will never be
able to contend against such a mighty adversary."
"My dear Mr. Brassard, you are mistaken," I replied. "I never
was so sure of coming out victorious from a conflict as today. The monstrous
iniquity of the bishop carries its antidote with itself. It was not a dream I
saw when he so ignominiously turned me out of his room. A flash of lightning
passed before my eyes, and wrote, as if on the walls of the palace: 'Mystery of
iniquity!' When Canada, the whole of Christendom, shall know the infamous
conduct of that dignitary; when they shall see the 'mystery of iniquity,' which
I shall stamp upon his forehead, there will be only one cry of indignation
against him! Oh! If I can only find out the names of my accusers! How I will
force that mighty tyrant to withdraw that sentence, at double quick. I am
determined to show, not only to Canada, but to the whole world, that this
infamous plot is but the work of the vile male and female slaves by whom the
bishop is surrounded. My first thought was to start immediately for Chicago,
where Bishop Vandeveld expected me. But I am resolved not to go until I have
forced my merciless oppressor to withdraw his unjust sentence. I will
immediately go to the Jesuit College, where I purpose spending the next eight days
in prayer and retreat. The Jesuits are the ablest men under heaven to detect
the most hidden things. I hope they will help me to unearth that dark mystery
of iniquity, and expose it to the world."
I am glad to see that you do not fear that terrible storm which is upon you,
and that your sails are so well trimmed," answered Mr. Brassard. "You
do well in putting your trust in God first, and in the Jesuits afterwards. The
fearless way in which you intend to meet the attacks of your merciless enemies,
will give you an easy victory. My hope is that the Jesuits will help you to
find out the names of your false accusers, and that you will make use of them
to hurl back in the face of the bishop the shame and dishonour he had prepared
for you."
At six p.m., in a modest, well-lighted and ventilated room of the Jesuit
College, I was alone with the venerable Mr. Schneider, its director. I told him
how the Bishop of Montreal, four years before, after giving up his prejudices
against me when I had left the Oblates, had earnestly supported me in my
labours. I acquainted him also with the sudden change of those good feelings
into the most uncontrollable hatred, from the day I had refused to force Mrs.
Chenier to become a nun, that he might secure her fortune. I told him also how
those bad feelings had found new food in my plan to consecrating the rest of my
life to direct the tide of the French Catholic emigration towards the
Mississippi Valley. I exposed to him my suspicions about that miserable girl I
had turned out from my confessional. "I have a double object in
view," I added. "The first is to spend the last eight days of my
residence in Canada in prayer. But my second is to ask the help of your
charity, wisdom, and experience in forcing the bishop to withdraw his unjust
sentence against me. I am determined, if he does not withdraw it, to denounce
him before the whole country, and to challenge him, publicly, to confront me
with my accusers."
"If you do that," answered Mr. Schneider, "I fear lest you not
only do an irreparable damage to the Bishop of Montreal, but to our holy church
also."
I replied: "Our holy church would indeed suffer an irreparable damage, if
she sanctioned the infamous conduct of the bishop; but this is
impossible."
"You are correct," rejoined the Jesuit. "Our holy church cannot
sanction such criminal conduct. She has, hundreds of times, condemned those
tyrannical and unjust actions in other bishops. Such want of common honesty and
justice will be condemned everywhere, as soon as it is known. The first thing
we have to do it to find out the names of your accusers. I have not the least
doubt that they are the blind instruments of Machiavelist plots against you.
But those plots have only to be brought to light, to vanish away. My impression
is, that the miserable girl you have so abruptly and so wisely turned out of
your confessional, knows more than the bishop wants us to find out, about the
plots. It is a pity you did not ask her name and residence. At all events, you
may rely on my efforts to persuade our bishop that his personal interest, as
well as the interest of our holy religion, is, that he should speedily withdraw
that sentence, which is a nullity by itself. It will not be difficult for me to
show him that he is fallen into the very pit he has dug under your feet. He has
taken a position against you which is absolutely untenable. Before your retreat
is at an end, no doubt he will be too happy to make his peace with you. Only
trust in God, and in the blessed Virgin Mary, and you have nothing to fear from
your conflict. Our bishop has put himself above all the laws of man and God, to
condemn the priest he had himself officially named 'the Apostle of Temperance
of Canada.' There is not a single man in the Church, who will allow him to
stand on that ground. The 200,000 soldiers you have enrolled under the holy
banners of temperance, will force him to retreat his too hasty and unjust
sentence."
It would be too long to repeat here all the encouraging words which that wise
Jesuit uttered. Father Schneider was a European priest, who was in Montreal
only since 1849. He had won my confidence the very first time I met him, and I
had chosen him, at once, for my confessor and adviser. The third day of my
retreat, Father Schneider came to my room earlier than usual, and said:
"I have worked hard the last two days, to find out the name and residence
of the carter to whom that miserable girl spoke in the church, after you had
turned her out of your confessional, and I have it. If you have no objection I
will send for him. He may know that girl and induce her to come here."
"By all means, dear father," I answered, "do it without losing a
moment."
Two hours later, the carter was with me. I recognized him as one of those dear
countrymen whom our society of temperance had transformed into a new man. I
asked him if he remembered the name of the girl who, a few days before, had
spoken to him in the church, after going out of my confessional.
"Yes sir! I know her well. She has a very bad name, though she belongs to
a respectable family."
I added: "Do you think you can induce her to come here, by telling her
that a priest, in the Jesuit College, wants to see her? But do not give her my
name."
He answered: "Nothing is more easy. She will be here in a couple of hours,
if I find her at home."
At three p.m., the carter was again knocking at my door, and said, with a low
voice: "The girl you want is in the parlour; she has no idea you are here,
for she told me that you were now preaching in St. Constant, she seems to be very
angry against you, and bitterly complains against your want of courtesy, the
very first time she went to confess to you."
"Is it possible that she told you that?" I replied.
"Yes sir! She told me that to explain her terrible excitement when coming
out of your confessional, the other day; she then requested me to drive her
home. She was really beside herself, and swore that she would make you pay for
your harsh words and rude manners towards her. You will do well to be on your
guard with her. She is one of the most depraved girls of Montreal, and has a
most dangerous tongue, though to the shame of our holy religion, she is daily
seen in the bishop's palace."
I immediately went to Father Schneider, and said: "My dear father, by the
mercy of God, the girl we want to see is in the parlour. But what I have just
heard from the carter who drove her, I have not the least doubt but that she is
the one employed by the bishop to slander me, and get a pretext for what he has
done. Please come with me to witness my innocence. But, take your Gospel, ink,
paper and pen with you."
"All right," answered the wise Jesuit.
Two minutes later we were in her presence. It is impossible to describe her
dismay when she saw me. She came near fainting. I feared she would not be able
to utter a word. I spoke to her very kindly, and ran to get a glass of cold
water, which did her good. When she recovered, I said to her, with a tone of
mixed authority and kind firmness: "You are here in the presence of God
and of two of His priests. That great God will hear every word which will fall
from your lips. You must speak the truth. You have denounced me to the bishop
as guilty of some great iniquity. You are the cause of my being interdicted.
You, alone, can repair the iniquity you have done me. That injury is very
great; but it can be easily repaired by you. In the presence of that venerable
priest, say whether or not, I am guilty of the crime you have brought to my
charge!"
At these words, the unfortunate girl burst into tears. She hid her face in her
handkerchief, and with a voice half-suffocated with sighs, she said: "No
sir! You are not guilty."
I added: "Confess another thing. Is it not a fact that you had come to my
confessional more with the intention of tempting me to sin, than to reconcile
yourself to God?"
"Yes sir!" she added, "this was my wicked intention."
"Continue to tell the truth, and our great and merciful God will forgive
you. Is it not to revenge yourself for my rebuking you, that you have brought
the false accusations to the bishop in order that he might interdict me?"
"Yes sir! that is the only reason I had for accusing you."
After Father Schneider had made four copies of those declarations, signed by
him as witness, and after she had sworn on the Gospel, I forgave her the injury
she had done me, I gave her some good advice and dismissed her.
"Is it not evident," I said to Father Schneider, "that our
merciful God never forsakes those who trust in Him?"
"Yes, I never saw the interposition of God so marvelously manifested as in
this perfect deliverance from the hands of your enemies. But, please, tell me
why you requested me to make four copies of her sworn declaration of your
innocence; was not one sufficient?" asked Mr. Schneider.
I answered: "One of those copies was for the bishop; another will remain
in your hands, Mr. Brassard will have one, and I need one for myself. For the
dishonesty of the bishop is so evident to me, now, that I think him able to
destroy the copy I will send him, with the hope, after its destruction, of
keeping me at his feet. If he does that new act of iniquity, I will confound
him with the three other authentic copies which will remain. Besides, this
unfortunate girl may die sooner than we expect. In that case, I would find
myself again with the bishop's knife on my throat, if I had no other
retractation to the perjured declaration which he has persuaded her to give
him."
"You are right," replied Father Schneider; "now the only thing
for you to do is to send that retractation to the bishop, with a firm and
polite request to retract his unjust sentence against you. Let me do the rest
with him. The battle is over. It has been fierce, but short. However, thanks be
to God, you have a most complete victory over your unjust aggressors. The
bishop will do all in his power, no doubt, to make you forget the darkest page
of his life."
The shrewd Jesuit was correct in his previsions. Never did any bishop receive
me with so many marks, not only of kindness, but I dare say of respect, than
Bishop Bourget, when, after my retreat, I went to take leave of him, before my
departure from Canada for the United States.
"I trust, my lord," I said, "that, today, I can hope to possess
the confidence and friendly feelings of your lordship?"
"Certainly, my dear Mr. Chiniquy, certainly; you possess my full
confidence and friendship. I dare say more; you possess my most sincere
gratitude, for what you have done in my diocese."
I answered: "I am much obliged to your lordship for this expression of
your kind feelings. But, now, I have two new favours to ask from your lordship.
The first, is a written document expressive of those kind feelings. The second,
is a chalice from your hands to offer the holy sacrifice of mass the rest of my
life."
"I will grant you your request with the utmost pleasure," answered
the bishop; and without losing a moment, he wrote the following letter, which I
reproduce here, on account of its importance:
.
Translation.
Montreal, Oct. 13th. 1851.
Sir, You request me to give you permission to leave my diocese, in order to go
and offer your service to the Bishop of Chicago. As you still belong to the
diocese of Quebec, I think you ought to address yourself to my lord of Quebec,
to get the extract you want. As for me, I cannot but thank you for what you
have done in our midst; and in my gratitude towards you, I wish you the most
abundant blessing from heaven. Every day of my life I will remember you. You
will always be in my heart, and I hope that on some future day the providence
of God will give me some opportunity of showing you all the feelings of
gratitude I feel towards you.
I remain, your most obedient servant, Ignace,
Rev. C. Chiniquy.
Bishop of Montreal.
Though
that letter was a most perfect recantation of all he had said and done against
me, and was of immense value to me in such circumstances, the bishop added to
its importance by the exceedingly kind manner in which he handed it to me.
As he was going into another room he said: "I will give you the silver
chalice you want, to offer the holy sacrifice of mass the rest of your
days." But he came back and said: "My secretary is absent, and has
the key of the trunk which contains those vases."
"It makes no difference, my lord," I replied, "please order your
secretary to put that chalice in the hands of Rev. Mr. Brassard, who will
forward it, with a box of books which he has to send me to Chicago next
week."
The bishop very kindly promised to do so; and he fulfilled his promise. The
next day, that precious gift was put in the hands of Mr. Brassard, in presence
of several priests. It was sent, the following week, to Chicago, where I got
it, and that fine silver chalice is still in my possession.
I then fell on my knees, and said: "My lord, I am just leaving Canada for
the Far West, please give me your benediction." He blessed me and pressed
me to his heart with the tenderness of a father, saying, "May God Almighty
bless you, wherever you go and in everything you do, till the end of your
life."
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 50 Back to Top
Though
I had kept my departure from Canada as secret as possible, it had been
suspected by many; and Mr. Brassard, unable to resist the desire that his
people should give me the expression of their kind feelings, had let the secret
slip from his lips two days before I left. I was not a little surprised a few
hours before my taking leave of him, to see his whole parish gathered at the
door of his parsonage, to present me the following address:
.
To the Rev. Father Chiniquy.
Venerable Sir, It is only three years since we presented you with your
portrait, not only as an expression of our gratitude for your labours and
success in the cause of temperance in our midst, but also as a memorial, which
would tell our grandchildren the good you have done to our country. We were,
then, far from thinking that we were so near the day when we would have the
sorrow to see you separating yourself from us.
Your unforeseen exit from Canada fills us with a regret and sadness, which is
increased by the fear we have, that the reform you have started, and so
gloriously established everywhere, will suffer from your absence. May our
merciful God grant that your faithful co-labourers may continue it, and walk in
your footsteps.
While we submit to the decrees of Providence, we promise that we will never
forget the great things you have done for the prosperity of our country. Your
likeness, which is in every Canadian family, will tell to the future
generations what Father Chiniquy has done for Canada.
We console ourselves by the assurance that, wherever you go, you will rise the
glorious banners of temperance among those of our countrymen who are scattered
in the land of exile. May these brethren put on your forehead the crown of
immortality, which you have so well deserved for your noble work in our midst.
Signed,
L. M. Brassard, Priest and Curate.
H. Hicks, Vicar, and 300 others.
I
answered:
.
Gentlemen, I thank you for the honour you do me by your
address. But allow me to tell you, that the more I look upon the incalculable
good resulting from the Temperance Reform I have established, nearly from one
end of Canada to the other, the more I would deceive myself, were I to
attribute to myself the whole merit of that blessed work.
If our God has chosen me, His so feeble servant, as the instrument of His
infinite mercies towards our dear country, it is because He wanted us to
understand that He alone could make the marvelous change we see everywhere, and
that we shall give all the glory to Him.
It is more to the fervent prayers, and to the good examples of our venerable
bishops and curates, than to my feeble efforts, that we owe the triumph of
temperance in Canada; and it is my firm conviction that that holy cause will
lose nothing by my absence.
Our merciful God has called me to another field. I have heard His voice. Though
it is a great sacrifice for me to leave my own beloved country, I must go to
work in the midst of a new people, in the distant lands of Illinois.
From many parts of Europe and Canada multitudes are rushing towards the western
territories of the United States, to secure to their families the incalculable
treasures which the good providence of God has scattered over those broad
prairies.
Those emigrants are in need of priests. They are like those little ones of whom
God speaks in His Word, who wanted bread and had nobody to give them any:
"I have heard their cries, I have seen their wants." And in spite of
the great sacrifice I am called upon to make, I must bless the Good Master who
calls me to work in that vineyard, planted by His own hands in those distant
lands.
If anything can diminish the sadness of my feelings, when I bid adieu to my
countrymen, it is the assurance given me by the noble people of Longueuil, that
I have in Canada many friends whose fervent prayers will constantly ascend to
the throne of grace, to bring the benedictions of heaven upon me wherever I go.
C. Chiniquy.
I
arrived at Chicago on the 29th of October, 1851, and spent six days with Bishop
Vandeveld, in maturing the plans of our Catholic colonization. He gave me the
wisest advices, with the most extensive powers which a bishop can give a
priest, and urged me to begin at once the work, by selecting the most suitable
spot for such an important and vast prospect. May heart was filled with
uncontrollable emotions when the hour came to leave my superior and go to the
conquest of the magnificent State of Illinois, for the benefit of my church. I
fell at his knees to ask his benediction, and requested him never to forget me
in his prayers. He was not less affected than I was, and pressing me to his
bosom, bathed my face with his tears, and blessed me.
It took me three days to cross the prairies from Chicago to Bourbonnais. Those
prairies were then a vast solitude, with almost impassable roads. At the
invitation of their priest, Mr. Courjeault, several people had come long
distances to receive and overwhelm me with the public expressions of their joy
and respect.
After a few days of rest, in the midst of their interesting young colony, I explained
to Mr. Courjeault that, having been sent by the bishop to found a settlement
for Roman Catholic immigrants, on a sufficiently grand scale to rule the
government of Illinois, it was my duty to go further south, in order to find
the most suitable place for the first village I intended to raise. But to my
unspeakable regret, I saw that my proposition filled the heart of that
unfortunate priest with the most bitter feelings of jealousy and hatred. It had
been just the same thing with Rev. Lebel, at Chicago.
The very moment I told him the object of my coming to Illinois, I felt the same
spirit of jealousy had turned him into an implacable enemy. I had expected very
different things from these two priests, for whom I had entertained, till then,
most sincere sentiments of esteem. So long as they were under the impression
that I had left Canada to help them increase their small congregations, by
including the immigrants to settle among them, they loaded me, both in public
and in private, with marks of their esteem. But the moment they saw that I was
going to found, in the very heart of Illinois, settlements of such a large
scale, they banded together to paralyze and ruin my efforts. Had I suspected
such opposition from the very men on whose moral help I had relied for the
success of my colonizing schemes, I would have never left Canada, for Illinois.
But it was now too late to stop my onward march. Trusting in God alone for
success, I felt that those two men were to be put among those unforeseen
obstacles which Heaven wanted me to overcome, if I could not avoid them. I
persuaded six of the most respectable citizens of Bourbonnais to accompany me,
in three wagons, in search of the best site for the centre of my future colony.
I had a compass, to guide me through those vast prairies, which were spread
before me like a boundless ocean. I wanted to select the highest point in
Illinois for my first town, in order to secure the purest air and water for the
new immigrants. I was fortunate enough, under the guidance of God, to succeed
better than I expected, for the government surveyors have lately acknowledged
that the village of St. Anne occupies the very highest point of that splendid
state. To my great surprise, ten days after I had selected that spot, fifty
families from Canada had planted their tents around mine, on the beautiful site
which forms today the town of St. Anne. We were at the end of November, and
though the weather was still mild, I felt I had not an hour to lose in order to
secure shelters for every one of those families, before the cold winds and
chilly rains of winter should spread sickness and death among them. The greater
part were illiterate and poor people, without any idea of the dangers and
incredible difficulties of establishing a new settlement, where everything had
to be created. There were, at first, only two small houses, one 25 by 30, and
the other 16 by 20 feet, to lodge us. With the rest of my dear immigrants,
wrapped in buffalo robes, with my overcoat for my pillow, I slept soundly, many
nights on the bare floor, during the three months which it took to get my first
house erected.
Having taken the census of the people on the first of December, I found two
hundred souls, one hundred of whom were adults. I said to them: "There are
not three of you, if left alone, able to prepare a shelter for your families,
this winter; but if, forgetting yourselves, you work for each other, as true
friends and brethren, you will increase your strength tenfold, and in a few
weeks, there will be a sufficient number of small, but solid buildings, to
protect you against the storms and snow of the winter which is fast coming upon
us. Let us go to the forest together and cut the wood, today; and to-morrow we
will draw that timber to one of the lots you have selected, and you will see
with what marvelous speed the house will be raised, if your hands and hearts
are perfectly united to work for each other, under the eyes and for the love of
the merciful God who gives us this splendid country for our inheritance. But
before going to the forest, let us kneel down to ask our Heavenly Father to
bless the work of our hands, and grant us to be of one mind and one heart, and
to protect us against the too common accidents of those forest and building
works."
We all knelt on the grass, and, as much with our tears as with our lips, we
sent to the mercy seat a prayer, which was surely heard by the One who said
"Ask and it shall be given you" (Matt. vii. 7), and we started for
the forest.
The readers would scarcely believe me, were I to tell them with what marvelous
rapidity the first forty small, but neat houses were put up on our beautiful
prairies. Whilst the men were cutting timber, and raising one another's houses,
with a unity, a joy, a good-will and rapidity, which many times drew from me
tears of admiration, the women would prepare the common meals. We obtained our
flour and pork from Bourbonnais and Momence, at a very low price; and, as I was
a good shot, one or two friends and I used to kill, every day, enough prairie chickens,
quails, ducks, wild geese, brants and deer, to feed more people than there were
in our young colony.
Those delicious viands, which would have been welcomed on the table of the
king, and which would have satisfied the most fastidious gourmand, caused many
of my poor, dear immigrants to say: "Our daily and most common meals here
are more sumptuous and delicate than the richest ones in Canada, and they cost
almost nothing."
When I saw that a sufficient number of houses had been built to give shelter to
every one of the first immigrants, I called a meeting, and said:
"My dear friends, by the great mercy of God, and in almost a miraculous
way (thanks to the unity and charity which have bound you to each other till
now, as members of the same family) you are in your little, but happy homes,
and you have nothing to fear from the winds and snow of the winter. I think
that my duty now is to direct your attention to the necessity of building a
two-story house. The upper part will be used as the schoolhouse for your
children on week days, and for a chapel on Sundays, and the lower part will be
my parsonage. I will furnish the money for the flooring, shingles, and nails,
and the windows, and you will give your work gratis to cut and draw the timber
and put it up. I will also pay the architect, without asking a cent from you.
It is quite time to provide a school for your children; for in this country, as
in any other place, there is no possible prosperity or happiness for a people,
if they neglect the education of their children. Now, we are too numerous to
continue having our Sabbath worship in any private house, as we have done till
now. What do you think of this?"
They unanimously answered: "Yes! after you have worked so hard to give a
home to every one of us, it is just that we should help you to make one for
yourself. We are happy to hear that it is your intention to secure a good
education for our children. Let us begin the work at once." This was the
16th of January, 1852. The sun was as warm as on a beautiful day of May in
Canada. We again fell upon our knees to implore the help of God, and sang a
beautiful French hymn.
The next day, we were seventy-two men in a neighbouring forest, felling the
great oaks; and on the 17th of April, only three months later, that fine
two-story building, nearly forty feet square, was blessed by Bishop Vandeveld.
It was surmounted by a nice steeple, thirty feet high, in which we had put a
bell, weighing 250 pounds, whose solemn sound was to tell our joys and sorrows
over the boundless prairies. On that day, instead of being only fifty families,
as at the last census, we numbered more than one hundred, among whom more than
five hundred persons were adults. The chapel which we thought at first would be
too large, was filled to its utmost capacity on the day of its consecration to
God.
Not a month later, we had to speak of making an addition of forty feet more,
which, when finished, six months later, was found to be still insufficient for
the accommodation of the constantly increasing flood of immigration, which
came, not only from Canada, but from Belgium and France. It soon became
necessary to make a new centre, and expand the limits of my first colony; which
I did by planting a cross at l'Erable, about fifteen miles south-west of St.
Anne, and another at a place we call St. Mary, twelve miles south-east, in the
country of Iroquois. These settlements were soon filled; for that very spring
more than one thousand new families came from Canada to join us.
No words can express the joy of my heart, when I saw with what rapidity my
(then) so dear Church of Rome was taking possession of those magnificent lands,
and how soon she would be unrivaled mistress, not only of the State of
Illinois, but of the whole valley of the Mississippi. But the ways of men are
not the ways of God. I had been called by the Bishops of Rome to Illinois, to
extend the power of that church. But my God had called me there, that I might
give to that church the most deadly blow she has ever received on this Continent.
My task is now to tell my readers, how the God of Truth, and Light, and Life,
broke, one after another, all the charmed bonds by which I was kept a slave at
the feet of the Pope; and how He opened my eyes, and those of my people, to the
unsuspected and untold abominations of Romanism.
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 51 Back to Top
"Please
accompany me to Bourbonnais; I have to confer with you and the Rev. Mr.
Courjeault, on important matters," said the bishop, half an hour before
leaving St. Anne, after having blessed the chapel.
"I intended, my lord, to ask your lordship to grant me that honour, before
you offered it," I answered.
Two hours of good driving took us to the parsonage of the Rev. Mr. Courjeault,
who had prepared a sumptuous dinner, to which several of the principal citizens
of Bourbonnais had been invited.
When all the guests had departed, and the bishop, Mr. Courjeault, and I, were
alone, he drew from his trunk a bundle of weekly papers of Montreal, Canada, in
which several letters, very insulting and compromising for the bishop, were
published, signed R. L. C. Showing them to me, he said:
"Mr. Chiniquy, can I know the reasons you had for writing such insulting
things against your bishop?"
"My lord," I answered, "I have no words to express my surprise
and indignation, when I read those letters. But, thanks be to God, I am not the
author of those infamous writings. I would rather have my right hand cut off,
than allow it to pen such false and perfidious things against you or any one
else."
"Do you assure me that you are not the writer of those letters? Are you
positive in that denial; and do you know the contents of these lying
communications?" replied the bishop.
"Yes, my lord, I know the contents of these communications. I have read
them, several times, with supreme disgust and indignation; and I positively
assert that I never wrote a single line of them."
"Then, can you tell me who did write them?" said the bishop.
I answered: "Please, my lord, put that question to the Rev. Mr.
Courjeault; he is more able than anyone to satisfy your lordship on that
matter."
I looked at Mr. Courjeault with an indignant air, which told him that he could
not any longer wear the mask behind which he had concealed himself for the last
three or four months. The eyes of the bishop were also turned, and firmly fixed
on the wretched priest.
No! Never had I seen anything so strange as the countenance of that guilty man.
His face, though usually ugly, suddenly took a cadaverous appearance; his eyes
were fixed on the floor, as if unable to move.
The only signs of life left in him were given by his knees, which were shaking
convulsively; and by the big drops of sweat rolling down his unwashed face;
for, I must say here, en passant, that, with very few exceptions, that priest
was the dirtiest man I ever saw.
The bishop, with unutterable expressions of indignation, exclaimed: "Mr.
Courjeault; you are the writer of those infamous and slanderous letters! Three
times you have written, and twice, you told me, verbally, that there were
coming from Mr. Chiniquy! I do not ask you if you are the author of these
slanders against me, I see it written in your face. Your malice against Mr.
Chiniquy is really diabolical. You wanted to ruin him in my estimation, as well
as in that of his countrymen. And to succeed the better in that plot, you
publish the most egregious falsehoods against me in the Canadian press, to
induce me to denounce Mr. Chiniquy as an impostor. How is it possible that a
priest can so completely give himself to the Devil?"
Addressing me, the bishop said: "Mr. Chiniquy, I beg your pardon for
having believed and repeated, that you were depraved enough to write those
calumnies against your bishop: I was deceived by that deceitful man. I will
immediately retract what I have written and said against you."
Then, addressing Mr. Courjeault he again said: "The least punishment I can
give you is to turn you out of my diocese, and write to all the Bishops of
America, that you are the vilest priest I ever saw, that they never give you
any position on this Continent."
These last words had hardly fallen from the lips of the bishop, when Mr.
Courjeault fell on his knees before me, and bathing with his tears my hands,
which he was convulsively pressing in his, said: "Dear Mr. Chiniquy, I see
the greatness of my iniquity against you and against our common bishop. For the
dear Saviour, Jesus' sake, forgive me. I take God to witness that you will
never have a more devoted friend than I will be. And you, my lord, allow me to
tell you, that I thank God that my malice and my great sin against both you and
Mr. Chiniquy is known and punished at once. However, in the name of our
crucified Saviour, I ask you to forgive me. God knows that, hereafter, you will
not have a more obedient and devoted priest than I."
It was a most touching spectacle to see the tears, and hear the sobs of that
repentant sinner. I could not contain myself, nor refrain my tears. They were
mingled with those of the returning penitent. I answered: "Yes, Mr.
Courjeault, I forgive you with all my heart, as I wish my merciful God to
forgive me my sins. May the God who sees your repentance forgive you
also!"
Bishop Vandeveld, who was gifted with a most sensitive and kind nature, was
also shedding tears, when I lifted up Mr. Courjeault to press him to my heart,
and to tell him again, with my voice choked by sobs, "I forgive you most
sincerely, as I want to be forgiven."
He asked me: "What do you advise me to do? Must I forgive also? and can I
continue to keep him at the head of this important mission?"
"Yes, my lord. Please forgive and forget the errors of that dear brother,
he has already done so much good to my countrymen of Bourbonnais. I pledge
myself that he will hereafter be one of your best priests."
And the bishop forgave him, after some very appropriate and paternal advice,
admirably mixed with mercy and firmness.
It was then about three o'clock in the afternoon. We separated to say our
vespers and matins (prayers which took nearly an hour). I had just finished
reciting them in the garden, when I saw the Rev. Mr. Courjeault walking from
the church towards me, but his steps were uncertain as one distracted or
half-drunk. I was puzzled at the sight, for he was a strong teetotaler, and I
knew he had no strong drink in the church. He advanced three or four steps,
then retreated. At last he came very near, but his face had such an expression
of terror and sadness, that he was hardly recognizable. He muttered something
that I could not understand. "Please repeat your sentence," I said to
him, "I did not understand you." He, then, put his hands on his face,
and again muttered something; his voice was drowned in his tears and sobs.
Supposing that he was coming to ask me, again, to pardon his past malice and calumnies
against me, I felt an unspeakable compassion for him. As there were a couple of
seats near by, I said to him: "My dear Mr. Courjeault, come and sit here
with me; and do not think any more of the past. I will never think any more of
your momentary errors, you may look upon me as your most devoted friend."
"Dear Mr. Chiniquy," he answered, "I have to reveal to you
another dark mystery of my miserable life. Since more than a year, I have lived
with the beadle's daughter as if she were my wife!
"She has just told me, that she is to become a mother in a few days, and
that I have to see to that, and give her five hundred dollars. She threatens to
denounce me publicly to the bishop and people, if I do not support her and her
offspring. Would it not be better for me to flee away, this night, and go back
to France to live in my own family, and conceal my shame? Sometimes, I am even
tempted to throw myself in the river, to put an end to my miserable and
dishonoured existence. Do you think that the bishop would forgive this new
crime, if I threw myself at his feet and asked pardon? Would he give me some
other place in his vast diocese, where my misfortunes and my sins are not
known? Please tell me what to do?"
I remained absolutely stupefied, and did not know what to answer. Though I had
compassion for the unfortunate man, I must confess that this new development of
his hypocrisy and rascality, filled me with an unspeakable horror and disgust.
He had, till then, wrapped himself in such a thick mantle of deception, that
many of his people looked upon him as an angel of purity. His infamies were so
well concealed under an exterior of extreme moral rigidity, that several of his
parishioners looked upon him as a saint, whose relics could perform miracles.
Not long before, two young couples, of the best families of Bourbonnais, having
danced in a respectable social gathering, had been condemned by him, and
compelled to ask pardon, publicly in the church. This pharisaical rigidity
caused the secret vices of that priest to be still more conspicuous and
scandalous. I felt that the scandal which would follow the publication of this
mystery of iniquity would be awful; that it would even cause many for ever to
lose faith in our church. So many sad thoughts filled my mind, that I was
confused and unable to give him any advice. I answered:
"Your misfortune is really great. If the bishop were not here, I might,
perhaps, tell you my mind about the best thing to do, just now. But the bishop
is here; he is the only man to whom you have to go to know how to come out of
the bottomless abyss into which you have fallen. He is your proper counselor;
go and tell him, frankly, everything, and follow his advice."
With staggering step, and in such deep emotions that his sobs and cries could
be heard for quite a distance, he went to the bishop. I remained alone,
half-petrified at what I had heard.
Half an hour later, the bishop came to me. He was pale and his eyes reddened
with his tears: he said to me:
"Mr. Chiniquy, what an awful scandal! What a new disgrace for our holy
church! That Mr. Courjeault, whom I thought, till today, to be one of my best
priests, is an incarnate devil; what shall I do with him? Please help me by
your advice; tell me what you consider the best way of preventing the scandal,
and protecting the faith of the good people against the destructive storm which
is coming upon them."
"My dear bishop," I answered, "the more I consider these
scandals here, the less I see how we can save the church from becoming a
dreadful wreck. I feel too much the responsibility of my advice to give it. Let
your lordship, guided by the Spirit of God, do what you consider best for the
honour of the church and the salvation of so many souls, which are in danger of
perishing when this scandal becomes known. For me, the only thing I can do, is
to conceal my face with shame, go back to my young colony, to pray, and weep
and work."
The bishop replied: "Here is what I intend to do: Mr. Courjeault tells me
that there is not the least suspicion, among the people, of his sin, and that
it is an easy thing to send that girl to the house provided in Canada for
priests' offenses, without awakening any suspicion. He seems so penitent, that
I hope, hereafter, we have nothing to fear from him. He will now live the life
of a good priest here, without giving any scandal. But if I remove him, then
there will be some suspicious of his fall, and the awful scandal we want to
avoid will come. Please lend me on hundred dollars, which will give to Mr.
Courjeault, to send that girl to Canada as soon as possible; and he will
continue here, to work with wisdom, after this terrible trial. What do you
think of that plan?"
"If our lordship is sure of the conversion of Mr. Courjeault, and that
there is no danger of his great iniquity being known by the people, evidently,
the wisest thing you can do is to send that girl to Canada, and keep Mr.
Courjeault here. Though I see great dangers even in that way of dealing in this
sad affair. But, unfortunately, I have not a cent in hand today, and I cannot
lend you the one hundred dollars you want."
"Then," said the bishop, "I will give a draft on a bank of
Chicago, but you must endorse it."
"I have no objection, my lord, to endorse any draft signed by your
lordship," I replied.
Though it was late in the day, and that I had, at first, proposed to spend the
night, I came back to my dear colony of St. Anne. Bourbonnais appeared to me
like a burning house, in the cellar of which there was a barrel of powder, from
which one could not keep himself too far away.
Five days later, four of the principal citizens of that interesting, but sorely
tried place, knocked at my door. They were sent as a deputation from the whole
village, to ask me what to do about their curate, Mr. Courjeault. They told me
that several of them had, long since, suspected what was going on between that
priest and the beadle's daughter, but they had kept that secret. However,
yesterday, they said the eyes of the parish had been opened to the awful
scandal.
The disgusting demonstrations and attention of the curate, when the victim of
his lust took the diligence, left no doubt in the minds of any one, that she is
to have a child in Montreal.
"Now, Mr. Chiniquy, we are sent here to ask your advice. Please tell us
what to do?"
"My dear friends," I answered, "it is not from me, but from our
common bishop, that you must ask what is to be done, in such deplorable
affairs."
But they replied, "Would you not be kind enough to come to Bourbonnais
with us, and go to our unfortunate priest to tell him that his criminal conduct
is known by the whole people, and that we cannot decently keep him a day longer
as our Christian teacher. He has rendered us great services in the past, which
we will never forget. We do not want to abuse or insult him in any way. Though
guilty, he is still a priest. The only favour we ask from him now, is, that he
quits the place without noise and scandal, in the night, to avoid any
disagreeable demonstrations which might come from his personal enemies, whom his
pharisaical rigidity has made pretty numerous and bitter."
"I do not see any reason to refuse you that favour," I answered.
Three hours later, in the presence of those four gentlemen, I was delivering my
sad message to the unfortunate curate. He received it as his death warrant. But
he was humble and submitted to his fate.
After spending four hours with us in setting his affairs, he fell on his knees,
with torrents of tears, he asked pardon for the scandal he had given, and
requested us to ask pardon from the whole parish, and at twelve o'clock at
night he left for Chicago. That hour was a sad one, indeed, for us all. But my
God had a still sadder hour in store for me. The people of Bourbonnais had
requested me to give them some religious evening services the next week, and I
was just at the end of one of them, the 7th of May, when, suddenly, the Rev.
Mr. Courjeault entered the church, walked through the crowd, saluting this one,
smiling on that one, and pressing the hands of many. His face bore the marks of
impudence and debauchery.
From one end of the church to the other, a whisper of amazement and indignation
was heard.
"Mr. Courjeault! Mr. Courjeault!! Great God! what does this mean?"
I observed that he was advancing towards me, probably with the intention of
shaking hands, before the people, but I did not give him time to do it, I left
by the back door, and went to the parsonage, which was only a few steps
distant. He then went back to the door to have a talk with the people, but very
few gave him that chance. Though he affected to be exceedingly gay, jocose, and
talkative, he could not get many people to stop and hear him. Every one,
particularly the women, were filled with disgust at his impudence. Seeing
himself nearly deserted at the church door, he turned his steps towards the
parsonage, which he entered, whistling. When he beheld me, he laughed, and
said:
"Oh oh! our dear little Father Chiniquy here? How do you do?"
"I am quite unwell," I answered, "since I see that you are so
miserably destroying yourself."
"I do not want to destroy myself," he answered; "but it is you
who want to turn me out of my beautiful parish of Bourbonnais, to take my
place. With the four blockheads who accompanied you, the other day, you have
frightened and persuaded me that my misfortune with Mary was known by all the
people: but our good bishop has understood that this was a trick of yours, and
that it was one of your lying stories; I came back to take possession of my
parish, and turn you out."
"If the bishop has sent you back here to turn me out, that I may go back
to my dear colony, he has just done what I asked him to do; for he knows better
than any man, for what great purpose I came to this country, and that I cannot
do my work as long as he asks me to take care of Bourbonnais. I go, at once,
and leave you in full possession of your parsonage. But I pity you, when I see
the dark cloud which is on your horizon. Good-bye!"
"You are the only dark cloud on my horizon," he answered. "When
you are begone, I will be in as perfect peace as I was before you set your feet
in Illinois. Good-bye; and, please, never come back here, except I invite
you."
I left, and ordered my servant man to drive me back to St. Anne. But when
crossing the village, I saw that there was a terrible excitement among the
people. Several times they stopped me, and requested me to remain in their
midst to advise them what to do. But I refused, saying to them: "It would
be an insult on my part to advise you anything, in a matter where your duty as
men and Catholics is so clear. Consult the respect you owe to yourselves, to
your families, and to your church, and you will know what to do."
It took me all night, which was very dark, to come back to St. Anne, where I
arrived at dawn, the 9th of May, 1852. The next Sabbath day, I held a public
service in my chapel, which was crowded, without making any allusion to that
deplorable affair. On the Monday following, four citizens of Bourbonnais were
deputed to tell me what they had done, and asked me not to desert them in that
hour of trial, but to remember that I was their countryman, and that they had
nobody else to whom they could look, to help to fulfill their religious duties.
Here is the substance of their message:
"As soon as we saw that you had left our village, without telling us what
to do, we called a public meeting, where we passed the following resolutions:
"1st. No personal insult shall be given to Mr. Courjeault.
"2d. We cannot consent to keep him a single hour as our pastor.
"3d. When, next Sabbath, he will begin his sermon, we will instantly leave
the church, and go to the door, that he may remain absolutely alone, and
understand our stern determination not to have him any more for our spiritual
teacher.
"4th. We will send these resolutions to the bishop, and ask him to allow
Mr. Chiniquy to divide his time and attention between his new colony and us,
till we have a pastor able to instruct and edify us."
Strange to say, poor Mr. Courjeault shut up in his parsonage, during that
night, knew nothing of that meeting. He had not found a single friend to warn
him of what was to happen the next Sunday. That Sunday the weather was
magnificent, and there never had been such a multitude of people at the church.
The miserable priest, thinking by that unusual crowd, that everything was to be
right with him that day, began his mass, and went to the pulpit to deliver his
sermon. But he had hardly pronounced the first words, when, at a signal given
by some one, the whole people, without a single exception, ran out of the
church as if it had been on fire, and he remained alone. Of course, this fell
upon him as a thunderbolt, and he came very near fainting. However, recovering
himself, he went to the door, and having, with his tears and sobs, as with his words,
persuaded the people to listen to what he had to tell them, he said: "I
see that the hand of God is upon me, and I deserve it. I have sinned, and made
a mistake by coming back. You do not want me any more to be your pastor. I
cannot complain of that; this is your right, you will be satisfied. I will
leave the place for ever to-night. I only ask you to forgive my past errors and
pray for me."
This short address was followed by the most deadly silence; not a voice was
heard to insult him. Many, on the contrary, were so much impressed with the sad
solemnity of this occurrence that they could not refrain their tears. The whole
people went back to their homes with broken hearts. Mr. Courjeault left
Bourbonnais that very night, never to return again. But the awful scandal he
had given did not disappear with him.
Our Great and Merciful God, who, many times, has made the very sins and errors
of His people to work for good, caused that public iniquity of the priest to
remove the scales from many eyes, and prepare them to receive the light, which
was already dawning at the horizon. A voice from heaven was as if heard by many
of us. "Do you not see that in your Church of Rome, you do not follow the
Word of God, but the lying traditions of men? Is it not evident that your
priests' celibacy is a snare and an institution of Satan?"
Many asked me to show them in the Gospel where Christ had established the law
of celibacy. "I will do better," I added, "I will put the Gospel
in your hands, and you will look for yourselves in that holy book, what is said
on that matter." The very same day I ordered a merchant, from Montreal, to
send me a large box filled with New Testaments, printed by the order of the
Archbishop of Quebec; and on the 25th as many from New York. Very soon it was
known by every one of my immigrants that not only had Jesus never forbidden His
apostles and priests to marry, but he had left them free to have their wives,
and live with them, according to the very testimony of Paul. "Have we not
power to lead about a sister, a wife, as well as other apostles, and as the
brethren of the Lord, and Cephas? (1 Cor. ix. 5); they saw, by their Gospel,
that the doctrine of celibacy of the priests was not brought from heaven by
Christ, but had been forged in darkness, to add to the miseries of man. They
read and read over again these words of Christ: "If ye continue in My
word, then are ye My disciples indeed. And ye shall know the truth, and the
truth shall make you free.... If the Son, therefore, shall make you free, ye
shall be free indeed." (John viii. 31, 32, 36).
And those promises of liberty, which Christ gave to those who read and followed
His Word, made their hearts leap with joy. They fell upon their minds as music
from heaven. They also soon found, by themselves, that every time the disciples
of Christ had asked Him who would be the first ruler, or the Pope, in His
church, He had always solemnly and positively said that, in His church, no body
would ever become the first, the ruler or the Pope. And they began, seriously,
to suspect that the great powers of the Pope and his bishops were nothing but a
sacrilegious usurpation. I was not long without seeing that the reading of the
Holy Scriptures by my dear countrymen was changing them into other men. Their
minds were evidently enlarged and raised to higher spheres of thought. They
were beginning to suspect that the heavy chains which were woulding their
shoulders were preventing them from making progress in wealth, intelligence,
and liberty, as their more fortunate fellow-men, called Protestants.
This was not yet the bright light of the day, but it was the blessed dawn.
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 52 Back to Top
On
the 20th of May, 1852, I received the following letter from Bishop Vandeveld:-
.
"Rev. Mr. Chiniquy.
"My Dear Mr. Chiniquy, The Rev. Courjeault is just returned from
Bourbonnais, where he ought never to have gone back; he has told me of his
complete failure, and ignominious exit. I bitterly regret having allowed him to
go there again. But he had so persuaded me that his criminal conduct with his
servant girl was ignored by the people, that I had yielded to his request.
"I feel that this new attempt, on his part, to impose himself on that
honest people, has added to the enormity of his first scandal. I advise him now
to go back to France, where he can more easily conceal his shame than in
America. But one of the darkest features of that disgusting affair is, that I
am obliged to pay the five hundred dollars which the girl asked, in order to prevent
Mr. Courjeault from being dragged before the civil tribunal, and sent to gaol.
"The malice of that priest against you has received its just reward. Buy
my fear is that you have another implacable enemy here in Mr. Lebel, whose
power to do evil is greater than Mr. Courjeault's.
"Before you began your great work of directing the flood of Roman Catholic
immigration towards this country, to secure it to our holy church, he was in
favour of that glorious scheme, but his jealousy against you has suddenly
changed his mind.
"He has lately addressed a letter to the Canadian press, every word of
which is an unmitigated falsehood. Of course, the Bishop of Montreal, who is
more than ever opposed to our colonization plan, has published that lying
letter in his journal; more than that, he has reproduced the testimony of a
perjured man, who swears that many of the people of Illinois are bitten and
killed by the rattlesnakes, and those who escape are taxed six cents for each
pane of glass of their windows.
"Will you be discouraged by this opposition? I hope not. This opposition
is the greatest evidence we could have that our scheme is from God, and that He
will support you. I am tempted to interdict Mr. Lebel, and send him back to
Canada, for writing things which he so well knows to be false. The want of a
French-speaking priest for your countrymen of Chicago is the only thing which
has prevented me from withdrawing his faculties. But I have warned him that, if
he writes any more against the truth, I will punish him as he deserves.
"For you, my dear Sir, I will address to you the very words which God
Himself addressed to His servant Joshua: 'Be strong, and of good courage; for
unto this people shalt thou divide, for an inheritance, the land which I swear
unto their fathers to give them' (Joshua i. 6).
"I agree with what you wrote in your last letter, that the charge I have
given you of Bourbonnais, pro tempore, will seriously interfere with your other
numberless duties towards your dear immigrants. But there is no help; the only
thing I can promise is to relieve you as soon as possible. I have on other
priest to whom I can trust the interesting mission of Bourbonnais. For Father
Huick is too old and infirm for such a work; it is evidently the will of God
that you should extend your labours over the first limits you had fixed. Be
faithful to the end, and the Lord will be with you, and support you throughout
all your labours and tribulations.
"Truly yours,
"Oliv Vandeveld,
"Bishop of Chicago."
During
the next six months, more than 500 families from France, Belgium, and Canada,
came and gave to our colony a life, power, and prosperity, impossible for me to
depict; the joy I felt at this unforeseen success was much diminished, however,
by the sudden news that Mr. Courjeault had come back from France, where he
spent only one month. Not daring to visit Bourbonnais again, he was lurking on
the frontiers of Indiana, only a few miles distant, evidently with some
sinister intention. Driven to a state of madness by his jealousy and hatred,
that unfortunate man addressed to me, on the 23rd of January, 1853, the most
abusive letter I ever received, and ended it by telling me that the fine
(though unfinished) church of Bourbonnais, which he had built, was to be
burned, and that my life would be in danger if I remained at the head of that
mission.
I immediately sent that letter to the bishop, asking his advice. In his answer,
he told me that he thought that Mr. Courjeault was wicked enough to fulfill his
threats. He added: "Though I have not yet clear evidence of it, it is my
fear that Mr. Lebel is united with Mr. Courjeault, in the diabolical plot of
burning your church of Bourbonnais. Several people have reported to me that he
says that your presence there will be the ruin of that people, and the
destruction of their church. Oh! to what extremities bad priests can go, when
once they have given themselves to their unbridled passions! The first thing I
would advise you, my dear Mr. Chiniquy, in the presence of such a terrible
calamity, is to insure that church without delay. I have tried to do it here,
but they have refused, under the pretext that it is an unfinished, frame
building, and that there are too many dangers of fire when people are still
working at it. My impression is, that Mr. Lebel is on intimate terms with some
insurance gentlemen, and has frightened them by speaking of that rumour of
danger, of which he is probably the father, with that miserable Courjeault.
Perhaps you may have a better chance, by addressing yourself to some insurance
company which you might find at Joliet, or at Springfield."
After vain efforts to insure the church, I wrote to the bishop, "The only
way to escape the impending danger, is to finish the church at once, and insure
it after. I have just made a collection of four hundred dollars among the
people of Bourbonnais, to which I added three hundred dollars from my own
private resources and will go to work immediately if your lordship has no
objections."
Having got the approbation of my superior, on the 1st of March, I began, to put
the last hand to that building. We worked almost day and night, till the 1st of
May, when it was all finished. I dare affirm, that for a country place, that
church was unsurpassed in beauty. The inside framework was all made of the
splendid black oak of Bourbonnais, polished and varnished by most skillful men,
and they looked like a mirror. Very seldom have I seen anything more grand and
beautiful than the altar, made also of that precious black oak. It was late as
night, when, with my fellow-labourers, covered with dust and sweat, we could
say with joy the solemn words, "It is finished!" Afterwards we sung
the Te Deum. Had I had an opportunity, at that late hour, it was my thought and
desire to insure it. But I was forced to postpone this till the next Monday.
The next day (the first Sabbath of May, 1853), the sun seemed to come out from
the horizon and rise above our heads with more than usual magnificence. The air
was calm and pure, and the numberless spring flowers of our gardens mingling
their perfumes with the fragrant leaves of the splendid forest at the front of
the village, the balmy atmosphere, the song of the birds, seemed to tell us
that this Sabbath day was to be the most happy one for me and my dear people of
Bourbonnais. The church had never been so crowded. The hymns we sung had never
been so melodious, and the words of gratitude which I addressed to my God, when
I thanked Him for the church He had given us, in which to adore and bless Him,
had never been so sincere and earnest; never had our tears of joy flowed so
profusely as on that splendid and never-to-be-forgotten Sabbath. Alas! who
would suspect that, six hours later, that same people, gathered around the
smoking ruins of their church, would rend the air with their cries of
desolation! Such, however, was the case.
While taking my dinner, after the public service, two little boys, who had
remained in the church to wait for the hour of the Catechism, ran to the
parsonage, crying: "Fire! Fire!! Fire!!!" Bare headed, and
halfparalyzed with the idea that my church was on fire, I went out to see the
awful reality. A girdle of smoke and fire was already issuing from almost every
part, between the top of the wooden walls and the roof. I had rushed to the
church with a pail of water in my hand. But it was too late to make any use of
it; the flames were already running and leaping with a fearful rapidity over
the fresh varnish, like a long train of powder. In less than two hours all was
finished again. No doubt could remain in our minds. This was the work of an
incendiary, for there was no fire in the church after the service. Many
strangers who had come from a distance had gone through the whole nave and the
upper galleries, to have a better sight of the whole building, and two of them
had been seen by the little boys, remaining ten or fifteen minutes alone; they
had gone back to some of the houses of the village without being remarked by
anybody, for it was dinner time, and there was nobody to watch them.
Though stunned by that awful calamity, the noble-hearted people of Bourbonnais
did not lose their minds. Seeing that they were all gathered around the smoking
ruins, at about six p.m. I addressed to them a few words to support their
courage. I told them that it was only in the midst of great trials and
difficulties that men could show their noblest qualities and their true
manhood; that if we were true men, instead of losing our time in shedding tears
and rending the air with our cries of desolation, we would immediately put our
hands to the work, and begin the very next day, to raise up, not a frame
building, which the flames could turn into ashes in a few minutes, and which
the storm could blow down over our heads, but a stone church, which would stand
before God and man as an imperishable monument of their faith, indomitable
courage and liberality. We immediately started a subscription, to erect,
without a delay, a stone church. In less than one hour, four thousand dollars
in money, and more than five thousand dollars in time, timber and stone and
other material, were subscribed, every cent of which has been faithfully given
for the erection of that fine stone church of Bourbonnais.
The next Thursday, Bishop Vandeveld came from Chicago to confer with me about
what could be done to repair that terrible loss, and to inquire confidentially
of me as to the author of the fire. All the facts we gathered pointed to the
same direction. It was evident that the miserable Courjeault, with Lebel, the
French-Canadian priest of Chicago, had done that evil work through their
emissaries. No doubt of this remained in my mind when I learned that soon
after, Mr. Courjeault had thrown himself into one of those dark dungeons called
a monastery of La Trappe, which Satan has built on earth as a preparation for
the dark hereafter of the wicked.
The unexpected visit of my bishop had at first rejoiced me by the hope that he
would bring me words of encouragement. But what was my disappointment when he
said to me: "Mr. dear Mr. Chiniquy, I must reveal to you a thing that I
have not yet made known to anyone. It is confidential, and I request you not to
say a word before it is accomplished. I cannot remain any longer Bishop of
Illinois! No! I cannot any longer resume the responsibilities of such a high
position, because it is beyond my power to fulfill my duties and do what the
church requires of me. The conduct of the priests of this diocese is such,
that, should I follow the regulations of the canon, I would be forced to
interdict all my priests with the exception of you and two or three others.
They are all either notorious drunkards, or given to public or secret
concubinage; several of them have children by their own nieces, and two by
their own sisters. I do not think that ten of them believe in God. Religion is
nothing to them but a well paying comedy. Where can I find a remedy to such a
general evil? Can I punish one of them and leave the others free in their
abominable doings, when they are almost all equally guilty? Would not the
general interdiction of these priests be the death blow of our church in
Illinois? Besides, how can I punish them, when I know that many of them are
ready to poison me the very moment I raise a finger against them. I suppose
that you do not ignore the fact that my poor predecessor was poisoned, by one
of those priests who had seduced several nuns, when he was in the very act of
investigating the matter. I intend to go to Rome, as soon as I receive my
permit from the Pope, to renounce at his feet the Bishopric of Chicago, which I
will not keep on any consideration. If the Pope does not give me another
diocese, with a better set of priests, I prefer to spend the rest of my life at
the head of a small congregation, where I shall not have, on my shoulders, the
awful responsibility which is killing me here. The last horrible deeds of
Courjeault and Lebel, of which you are the victim today, has filled the bitter
cup which God has put to my lips to drink. It is overflowing. I cannot any
longer endure it."
When speaking so, the bishop's face was bathed with tears. It was very late;
too late, indeed, to make the remonstrances which came to my mind, in order to
change his resolutions.
I determined to wait till the next morning, when I should have plenty of time,
I hoped, to expel his dark thoughts, and give him more courage. Besides, I was
myself so discouraged by those awful disclosures, that I was in need of mental
as well as bodily rest. But, alas! the next day was to be one of the darkest of
my priestly life! When the hour for breakfast came the next morning, I went to
awaken the bishop. What was my dismay when I found him drunk? Before going to
bed, he had secretly asked my housekeeper to give him the bottle of wine which
I used to celebrate mass. It was a large bottle, containing nearly a quart of
wine, which would last me, at least, six mouths the whole of which he had drunk
during the night!
I had been told that Bishop Vandeveld was a drunkard, as well as the greater
part of the bishops of the United States, but I had never believed it. He
always drank very moderately before me, any time I sat at his table or he at
mine. It appears that it was at night, when nobody could see him, that he gave
himself up to that detestable habit. His room was filled with the odour of what
he had vomited, after drinking such an enormous quantity of wine. He left the
room, only at noon, after the fumes of the wine had almost entirely
disappeared, and requested the housekeeper to cleanse it herself, without
letting the servants know anything of the occurrence of the night. But words
would fail to express my consternation, and the discouragement I felt. I had
formed such a good and exalted opinion of that man! I had found in him such
noble qualities! His intelligence was so bright, his learning so extensive, his
heart so large, his plans so grand, his piety so sincere, his charity so worthy
of a bishop of Christ! It was so pleasant for me to know, till then, that I was
honoured with the full confidence of a bishop who, it seemed to me, had not a
superior in our church!
The destruction of my dear church by the hands of incendiaries, was surely a
great calamity for me; but the fall of my bishop, from the high position he had
in my heart and mind, was still greater. I had the means, in hand, to rebuild that
Church; but my confidence in my bishop was irremediably and for ever lost!
Never had a son loved his father more sincerely than I had loved him; and never
had any priest felt a more sincere respect for his bishop than I for him! Oh!
what a terrible wound was made in my heart that day! what tortures I felt! But
how many times since I have blessed my God for these wounds! Without them, I
should never have known that instead of being in the bosom of the Immaculate
Church of Christ, I was slave of that great Babylon which poisons the nations
with the wine of her abominations. My love and respect for Bishop Vandeveld
were very strong chains, by which I was bound to the feet of the idols of Rome.
I will eternally bless God for having Himself broken these chains, on that day
of supreme desolation. The remaining part of the day, as well as the hour of
the next morning which the bishop spent in my house, I remained almost mute in
his presence. He was not less embarrassed when he asked me my views about his
project of leaving the diocese. I answered him, in a few words, that I could
not disapprove the purpose; for I would myself prefer to live in a dark forest,
in the midst of wild animals, than among drunken, atheist priests and bishops.
Some months later I learned, without regret, that the Pope had accepted his
resignation of the Bishopric of Chicago, and appointed him Bishop of Natchez,
in Louisiana. His successor to the Bishopric of Chicago, was Rev. O'Regan. One
of the very first things which this new bishop did, was to bring Bishop
Vandeveld before the criminal tribunals as a thief, accusing him of having
stolen one hundred thousand dollars from the Bishopric of Chicago, and carrying
them away with him. There is no need to say that this action caused a terrible
scandal. Not only in Illinois, but through all the United States, both priests
and laymen had to blush and cast down their eyes before the world. The two
bishops, employing the best lawyers to fight each other, came very near proving
to the world that both of them were equally swindlers and thieves; when the
Pope forced them both to stop their contestation, and bring the affair before
his tribunal at Rome. There it was decided that the one hundred thousand
dollars which had really been taken from Chicago to the Natchez diocese, should
be equally divided between the two bishops.
How many times did I feel my soul brought to the dust, in the midst of those
horrible scandals! How many sleepless nights have I spent, when a voice, which
I could not silence, seemed crying to me, louder than thunder: "What are
you doing here, extending the power of a church which is a den of thieves,
drunkards, and impure atheists? A church, governed by men whom you know to be
godless, swindlers, and vile comedians? Do you not see that you do not follow
the Word of God, but the lying traditions of men, when you consent to bow your
knees before such men? Is it not blasphemy to call such men the ambassadors,
and the disciples of the humble, pure, holy, peaceful, and divine Jesus? Come
out of that Church! Break the fetters, by which you are bound as a vile slave
to the feet of such men! Take the Gospel for thine only guide and Christ for
thine only Ruler!"
I was in desolation at finding that my faith in my Church was, in spite of
myself, shaken by these scandals. With burning tears rolling down my cheeks,
and with a broken and humiliated heart, I fell, one night, on my knees, and
asked my God to have mercy upon me, by strengthening my faith and preserving it
from ruin. But it seemed that neither my tears nor my cries were of any avail,
and I remained the whole night, as a ship stuck by a hurricane, drifting on an
unknown sea, without a compass or a rudder. I was not aware of it then, but I
learned it after, that the divine and sure Pilot was directing my course
towards the port of salvation! The next day, I had a happy diversion, in the
arrival of fifty new immigrants, who knocked at my door, asking my advice about
the best place to select for their future home. It seemed to me, though pretty
long after that, that my duty was to go and pay my respects to my new bishop,
and open to Him my heart as to my best friend, and the guide whom God Himself
had chosen to heal the wounds of my soul, by pouring the oil and wine of
charity into them.
I will never forget the day (the 11th of December, 1854), when I saw Bishop
O'Regan, for the first time, nor the painful impressions I received from that
first interview. He was of medium stature, with a repugnant face, and his head
always in motion: all its motions seemed the expression of insolence, contempt,
tyranny, and pride; there was absolutely nothing pleasant, either in his words
or in his manners. I fell on my knees to ask his benediction, when I had given
him my name and kissed his hand, which seemed as cold as that of a corpse.
"Ah! ah! you are Father Chiniquy," he said. "I am glad to see
you, though you have deferred your visit a long time; please sit down. I want
some explanation from you about a certain very strange document, which I have
just read today;" and he went, at the double quick, to his room to get the
document. There were two Irish priests in the room, who came a few minutes
before me. When we were alone, one of them said: "We had hoped that we
would gain by changing Bishop Vandeveld for this one. But my fear is that we
have only passed from Charybdis into Scylla," and they laughed outright.
But I could not laugh. I was more inclined to weep. After less than ten minutes
of absence, the bishop returned, holding in his hand a paper, which I
understood, at once, to be the deed of the eleven acres of land, which I had
bought, and on which I had built my chapel of St. Anne.
"Do you know this paper?" he asked me in an angry manner.
"Yes, my lord, I know it," I answered.
"But, then," he quickly replied, "you must know that that title
is a nullity a fraud, which you ought never to have signed."
"Your venerable and worthy predecessor has accepted it," I answered,
"and what might have been incorrect has been made valid, I hope, by his
acceptation."
"I do not care a straw about what my predecessor has done," he
abruptly answered, "he is not here to defend himself; neither are we here
to discuss his merits or demerits. We have not to deal with my lord Vandeveld,
but with a document which is a nullity, a deception, which must be thrown into
the fire; you must give me another title of that property!"
And saying this, he flung my deed on the floor. I calmly picked it up and said:
"I exceedingly regret, my lord, that my first interview with your lordship
should be the occasion of such an unexpected act. But I hope that this will not
destroy the paternal sentiments which God must have put into the heart of my
bishop, for the last and least of his priests. I see that your lordship is very
busy; I do not want to trespass on your valuable time; I take this rejected
document with me; to make another one, which I hope will be more agreeable to
your views;" and then I took my departure.
I leave the reader to imagine the sentiments which filled my mind when coming
back to my colony. I did not dare say a word to my people about our bishop.
When questioned by them, I gave the most evasive answers I could. But I felt as
the mariner feels when he hears the rumbling thunder approaching. Though the
sea is calm as the oil of a lamp, he knows the storm is coming, he trims his
sails, and prepares for the impending hurricane. It seemed that my most
pressing duty, after my first interview, was to bring my heart nearer to my God
than ever; to read and study my Bible with more attention, and to get my people
to take more than ever the Word of God as their daily bread. I began, also, to
speak more openly of our Christian rights, as well as of our duties, as these
are set forth in the Gospel of Christ.
Some time, before this, feeling more than ever that I could not do justice to
my colony, by keeping any longer the charge of Bourbonnais, I had respectfully
sent my resignation to the bishop, which had been accepted. A priest had been
called by him to take my place there. But he too, was, ere long, guilty of a
public scandal with his servant girl. The principal citizens of Bourbonnais
protested against his presence in their midst, and soon forced the bishop to
dismiss him. His successor was the miserable priest, Lebel, who had been turned
out of Chicago for a criminal offense with his own niece, and was now to be the
curate of Bourbonnais. But his drunkenness and other public vices caused him to
be interdicted, and expelled from that place in the month of September, 1855.
About the same time, a priest who had been expelled from Belgium for a great
scandal, was sent to Kankakee, as the curate of the French Canadians of that
interesting young city. After his expulsion from Belgium he had come to
Chicago, where, under another name, he had made a fortune, and for five or six
years kept a house of prostitution. Becoming tired of that occupation, he
offered five thousand dollars to the bishop, if he would accept him as one of
his priests, and give him a parish. Bishop O'Regan being in need of money,
accepted the gift, and fulfilled the condition by sending him as missionary to
Kankakee.
As soon as he had taken possession of that interesting mission, he came with
Mr. Lebel to pay me a visit. I received them as politely as possible, thought
they were both half drunk when they arrived. After dinner, they went to shoot
prairie chickens, and got so drunk that one of them, Mr. Lebel, lost his boots
in a slough, and came back to my house barefooted, without noticing his loss. I
had to help them get their carriage and the next day I wrote them, forbidding
them to ever set foot in my house again. But what was my surprise and sadness,
not long before those two infamous priests were ignominiously turned out by
their people, to receive a letter from my bishop, which ended in these words:
"I am sorry to hear that you refuse to live on good terms with your two
neighbouring brother priests. This ought not to be, and I hope to hear soon,
that you have reconciled yourself with them, in a friendly way, as you ought to
have done long ago."
I answered him: "It is my interest, as well as my duty, to obey my bishop.
I know it. But as long as my bishop gives me for neighbours, priests, one of
whom has lived publicly with his own niece, as his wife, and the other who has
kept a house of prostitution in Chicago, I respectfully ask my bishop to be
excused for not visiting them."
The bishop felt insulted by my letter, and was furious against me. It came to
be a public fact that he had said before many people: "I would give
anything to the one who would help me to get rid of that unmanageable
Chiniquy." Among those who heard the bishop, was a land speculator, a real
land-shark, against whom a bill for perjury had been found by the jury of
Iroquois county, the 27th of April, 1854. That man was very angry against me
for protecting my poor countrymen against his too sharp peculations. He said to
the bishop, "If you pay the expense of the suit, I pledge myself to have
Chiniquy put in gaol." The bishop had publicly answered him: "No sum
of money will be too great to be delivered from a priest who alone gives me
more trouble than the rest of my clergy." To comply with the desires of
the bishop, this peculator dragged me before the criminal court of Kankakee, on
the 16th day of May, 1855, but he lost his action, and was condemned to pay the
cost.
It was my impression that the bishop, having so often expressed in public his
bad feelings against me, would not visit my colony. But I was mistaken. On the
11th of June, taking the Rev. Mr. Lebel and Carthuval for his companions, he
came to St. Anne to administer the sacrament of confirmation. As the infamous
conduct of those two priests was known to every one of my people, I felt a
supreme disgust at their arrival, and came very near forbidding them to sit at
my table. Having, however, asked the bishop to give me half-an-hour of private
interview, I respectfully, but energetically protested against the presence of
these two degraded men in my house.
He coldly answered me: "Mr. Chiniquy, you forget that I am the Bishop of
Illinois, and that you are a simple priest, whom I can interdict and remove
from here when I like. I do not come here to receive your lessons, but to
intimate to you my orders. You seem to forget that charity is above all others
the virtue which must adorn the soul of a good priest. Your great zeal is
nothing before God, and it is less than nothing before me, so long as you have
not charity. It is my business, and not yours, to know what priests I must
employ, or reject. Your business is to respect them, and forget their past
errors, the very day I see fit to receive them among my priests."
"My lord," I answered "allow me respectfully to tell you, that
though you are a bishop, and I am a simple priest, the Gospel of Christ, which
we have to preach, tells us to avoid the company of publicly vicious and
profligate men. My conscience tells me that through respect for myself and my
people, and through respect for the Gospel I preach, I must avoid the company
of men, one of whom has lived with his niece as his wife, and the other has,
till very lately, been guilty of keeping a house of prostitution in Chicago.
Your lordship may ignore these things, and, in consequence of that, may give
your confidence to these men; but nothing is more apt to destroy the faith of
our French Canadian people, than to see such men in your company when you come
to administer the sacrament of confirmation. It is through respect for your
lordship that I take the liberty of speaking thus."
He angrily answered me: "I see, now, the truthfulness of what people say
about you. It is to the Gospel you constantly appeal on everything. The Gospel!
The Gospel! is surely a holy book; but remember that it is the Church which
must guide you. Christ has said, 'Hear My Church.' I am here the interpreter,
ambassador the representative of the Church when you disobey me, it is the
Church you disobey."
"Now, my lord, that I have fulfilled what I consider a conscientious duty,
I promise, that through respect for your lordship, and to keep myself in the
bonds of peace with my bishop, I, today, will deal with these two priests, as
if they were worthy of the honourable position you give them."
"All right! all right!" replied the bishop. "But it must be near
the hour for dinner."
"Yes, my lord, I have just heard the bell calling us to the
diningroom."
After the blessing of the table by the bishop, he looked at the Rev. Carthuval,
who was sitting just before him, and said:
"What is the matter with you, Mr. Carthuval, you do not look well?"
"No, my lord," he answered, "I am not well; I want to go to
bed."
He was correct, he was not well, for he was drunk.
During the public services, he had left the chapel to come down and ask for a
bottle of wine I kept to celebrate mass. The housekeeper, thinking he wanted
the wine in the chapel, handed him the bottle, which he drank in her presence
in less than five minutes. After which he went up to the chapel to help the
bishop in administering the confirmation to the 150 people whom I had prepared
for the reception of that rite.
As soon as dinner was finished, the bishop requested me to go and take a walk
with him. After giving me some compliments on the beauty of the site I had
chosen from my first village and chapel, he saw at a short distance a stone
building, which was raised only a little above the windows, and directing his
steps towards it, he stopped only twenty or thirty feet distant, and asked me:
"Whose house is this?"
"It is mine, my lord."
"It is yours!" he replied; "and to whom does that fine garden
belong?"
"It is mine also, my lord."
"Well! well!" he rejoined; "where did you get the money to
purchase that fine piece of land and build that house?"
"I got the money where every honest man gets what he possesses, in my hard
labour, and in the sweat of my brow," I replied.
"I want that house and that piece of land!" rejoined the bishop, with
an imperative voice. "So do I," I replied.
"You must give me that house, with the land on which it is built,"
said the bishop.
"I cannot give them as long as I am in need of them, my lord," I
replied.
"I see that you are a bad priest, as I have often been told, since you
disobey your bishop," he rejoined with an angry manner.
I replied: "I do not see why I am a bad priest, because I keep what my God
has given me."
"Are you ignorant of the fact that you have no right to possess any
property?" he answered.
"Yes! my lord, I am ignorant of any law in our holy church that deprives
me of any such rights. If, however, your lordship can show me any such law, I
will give you the title of that property just now."
"If there is not such a law," he replied, stamping on the ground with
his feet, "I will get one passed."
"My lord," I replied, "you are a great bishop. You have great
power in the church, but allow me to tell you that you are not great enough to
have such a law passed in our holy church!"
"You are an insolent priest," he answered with an accent of terrible
anger, "and I will make you repent for your insolence."
He then turned his face towards the chapel, without waiting for my answer, and
ordered the horses to be put in the carriage, that he might leave in the
shortest possible time. A quarter of an hour later he had left St. Anne, where
he was never to come again. The visit of that mitred thief, with his two
profligate priests, though very short, did much by the mercy of God, to prepare
our minds to understand that Rome is the great harlot of the Bible, which
seduces and intoxicates the nations with the wine of her prostitution. (Rev.
xvii. 2.)
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CHAPTER 53 Back to Top
The
8th December, 1854, Pope Pius IX. was sitting on his throne; a triple crown of
gold and diamonds was on his head; silk and damask- red and white vestments on
his shoulders; five hundred mitred prelates were surrounding him; and more than
fifty thousand people were at his feet, in the incomparable St. Peter's Church
of Rome. After a few minutes of most solemn silence, a cardinal, dressed with
his purple robe, left his seat, and gravely walked towards the Pope, kneeled
before him, and humbly prostrating himself at his feet, said:
"Holy Father, tell us if we can believe and teach that the Mother of God,
the Holy Virgin Mary, was immaculate in her conception."
The Supreme Pontiff answered: "I do not know; let us ask the light of the
Holy Ghost."
The cardinal withdrew; the Pope and the numberless multitude fell on their
knees; and the harmonious choir sang the "Veni Creator Spiritus."
The last note of the sacred hymn had hardly rolled under the vaults of the
temple, when the same cardinal left his place, and again advanced towards the
throne of the Pontiff, prostrated himself at his feet, and said:
"Holy Father, tell us if the Holy Mother of God, the blessed Virgin Mary,
was immaculate in her conception."
The Pope again answered: "I do not know; let us ask the light of the Holy
Ghost."
And again the "Veni Creator Spiritus" was sung.
The most solemn silence had a second time succeeded to the melodious sacred
song, when again the eyes of the multitude were following the grave steps of
the purple-robed cardinal, advancing, for the third time, to the throne of the
successor of St. Peter, to ask him:
"Holy Father, tell us if we can believe that the blessed Virgin Mary, the
Mother of God was immaculate."
The Pope, as if he had just received a direct communication from God, answered
with a solemn voice:
"Yes! we must believe that the Blessed Virgin Mary, the Mother of God, was
immaculate in her conception. * * * There is no salvation to those who do not
believe this dogma!"
And, with a loud voice, the Pope intoned the Te Deum; the bells of the three
hundred churches of Rome rang; the cannons of the citadel were fired. The last
act of the most ridiculous and sacrilegious comedy the world has ever seen, was
over; the doors of heaven were for ever shut against those who would refuse to
believe the anti-scriptural doctrine that there is a daughter of Eve who has
not inherited the sinful nature of Adam, to whom the Lord said in His justice:
"Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return!" (Gen. iii. 19), and
of the children of whom the God of Truth has said, "There is none
righteous; no, not one: for all have sinned!" (Rom. iii. 10, 23).
We look in vain to the first centuries of the Church to find any traces of that
human aberration. The first dark clouds which Satan had brought to mar the
Gospel truth, on that subject, appeared only between the eighth and ninth
centuries. But, in the beginning, that error made very slow progress; those who
propagated it, at first, were a few ignorant fanatics, whose names are lost in
the night of the dark ages. It is only in the twelfth century that it began to
be openly preached by some brainless monks. But then it was opposed by the most
learned men of the time. We have a very remarkable letter of St. Bernard to
refute some monks of Lyons who were preaching this new doctrine. A little
later, Peter Lombard adopted the views of the monks of Lyons, and wrote a book
to support that opinion; but he was refuted by St. Thomas Aquinas, who is
justly considered by the Church of Rome, as the best theologian of that time.
After that, the celebrated order of the Franciscans used all their influence to
persuade the world that "Mary was immaculate in her conception;" but
they were vigorously opposed and refuted by the not less celebrated order of
the Dominicans. These two learned and powerful bodies, during more than a
century, attacked each other without mercy on that subject, and filled the
world with the noise of their angry disputes, both parties calling their
adversaries heretics. They succeeded in driving the Roman Catholics of Europe
into two camps of fierce enemies. The "Immaculate Conception" became
the subject of burning discussions, not only between the learned universities,
between the bishops and the priests and the nuns of those days; but it divided
the families into two fiercely contending parties. It was discussed, attacked
and defended, not only in the chairs of universities, and the pulpits of the
cathedrals, but also in the fields, and in the very streets of the cities. And
when the two parties had exhausted the reasons which their ingenuity, their
learning, or their ignorant fanaticism could suggest to prove or deny the
"Immaculate Conception," they often had recourse to the stick and to
the sword to sustain their arguments.
It will appear almost incredible today, but it is a fact, the greatest number
of the large cities of Europe, particularly in Spain, were then reddened with
the blood of the supporters and opponents of that doctrine. In order to put an
end to these contests, which were troubling the peace of their subjects, the
Kings of Europe sent deputation after deputation to the Popes to know, from
their infallible authority, what to believe on the subject. Philip III. and
Philip IV. made what we may call supreme efforts to force the Popes, Paul V.,
Gregory XV., and Alexander VII. to stop the shedding of blood, and disarm the
combatants, by raising the opinion in favour of the Immaculate Conception to the
dignity of a Catholic dogma. But they failed. The only answer they could get
from the infallible head of the Church of Rome was, that "that dogma was
not revealed in the Holy Scriptures, had never been taught by the Apostles, nor
by the Fathers, and had never been believed or preached by the Church of Rome
as an article of faith!"
The only thing the Popes could do to please the supplicant kings and bishops,
and nations of Europe in those days, was to forbid both parties to call the
other heretics; and to forbid to say that it was an article of faith which
ought to be believed to be saved. At the Council of Trent, the Franciscans, and
all the partisans of the "Immaculate Conception," gathered their
strength to have a decree in favour of the new dogma; but the majority of the
bishops were visibly against that sacrilegious innovation, and they failed. It
was reserved to the unfortunate Pius IX. to drag the Church of Rome to that
last limit of human folly. In the last century, a monk, called Father Leonard, had
a dream, in which he heard the Virgin Mary telling him: "That there would
be an end to the wars in the world, and to the heresies and schisms in the
church, only after a Pope should have obliged, by a decree, all the faithful to
believe that she was 'immaculate in her conception.'" That dream, under
the name of a "celestial vision," had been extensively circulated by
means of little tracts. Many believed it to be a genuine revelation from
heaven; and, unfortunately, the good natured but weak-minded Pius IX. was among
the number. When he was an exile in Gaeta, he had himself a dream, which he
took for a vision, on the same subject. He saw the Virgin, who told him that he
should come back to Rome, and get an eternal peace for the church, only after
he should have promised to declare that the "Immaculate Conception"
was a dogma, which every one had to believe to be saved. He awoke from his
dream much impressed by it; and the first thing he did when up, was to make a
vow to promulgate the new dogma as soon as he should be back to Rome, and the
world has seen how he has fulfilled that vow.
But, by the promulgation of this new dogma, Pius IX., far from securing an
eternal peace to his church, far from destroying what he is pleased to call the
heresies which are attacking Rome on every side, had done more to shake the
faith of the Roman Catholics than all their enemies.
By trying to force this new article of faith on the consciences of his people,
in a time that so many can judge for themselves, and read the records of past
generations, he has pulled down the strongest column which was supporting the
whole fabric of his church; he for ever destroyed the best arguments which the
priests had to offer to the ignorant, deluded multitudes which they keep so
abjectly tied to their feet.
No words can sufficiently express the dignified and supreme contempt with
which, before that epoch, the priests of Rome were speaking of the "new
articles of faith, the novelties of the arch-heretics, Luther, Calvin, Knox,
ect., ect!" How eloquent were the priests of Rome, before the 8th of
December, 1854, when saying to their poor ignorant dupes: "In our holy
Church of Rome there is no change, no innovations, no novelties, no new dogmas.
We believe today just what our fathers believed, and what they have taught us;
we belong to the apostolical church, which means we believe only what Apostles
have believed and preached." And the ignorant multitudes were saying:
"Amen!"
But, alas, for the poor priests of Rome today; those dignified nonsenses, those
precious and dear illusions, are impossible! they have to confess that those
high-sounding denunciations against what they call the new doctrines of the
heretics, were nothing but big guns loaded to the mouth to destroy the
Protestants, which are discharging their deadly missiles against the crumbling
walls of their Church of Rome. They have to confess that their pretensions to
an unchangeable creed is all mere humbug, shameful lies; they have to confess
that the Church of Rome is forging new dogmas, new articles of faith; they do
not any longer dare to say to the disciples of the Gospel: "Where was your
religion before the days of Luther and Calvin?" for the secret voice of
their conscience says today to the Roman Catholics: Where was your religion
before the 8th of December, 1854?" and they cannot answer.
There is an inexorable and irresistible logic in the minds even of the most
unlearned men, which defies, today, all the sophisms of the priests of Rome, if
they dare to speak again on their pet subjects: "The novelties and new
dogmas of the Protestants." There is a silent, but crushing voice, going
today from the crowds to the priest, telling him: "Now, be quiet and
silent on what you are used to call the novelties and new doctrines of the Protestants!
for, are you not preaching to us an awful novelty? As you not damning us today
for disbelieving a thing which the church, during eighteen hundred years has, a
hundred times, solemnly declared, by the mouth of the Popes, had never been
revealed in the Holy Scriptures, had never been taught by the Fathers, had
never been heard by the church herself?"
I will never forget the sadness which overcame me when I received the order
from Bishop O'Regan to proclaim that new dogma to my people (then all Roman
Catholics). It was as if an earthquake had shaken and destroyed the ground on
which my feet were resting. My most cherished illusions about the immutability
and the infallibility of my church were crumbling down, in my intelligence, in
spite of my efforts to keep them up. I have seen old priests, to whom I opened
my mind on that subject, shed tears of sorrow on the injury this new dogma
would do to their church.
The Archbishop of Paris, at the head of the most learned members of the clergy
of France, had sent his protest to the Pope against this dogma before it was
decreed; and he had eloquently foretold the deplorable consequences which would
follow that innovation; but their warning voice failed to make any impression
on the mind of the infatuated Pope.
And we, children of God, must we not acknowledge the hand of the Lord, in that
blindness of "the man of sin" (2 Thess. ii. 3). The days are not far
away that a cry of joy will be heard from one end of the world to the other:
"Fear God, and give glory to Him! Babylon is fallen! Babylon is fallen!
because she made all nations drink of the wine of the wrath of her
fornication" (Rev. xiv. 7; xviii. 2, 3). For, when we see that
"wicked one," "who exalteth himself above all that is called God"
(2 Thess. ii. 4), destroying himself by the excess of his own folly and
impurities, we must bless the Lord.
The proclamation of this new dogma is one of those great moral iniquities which
carry their punishment and their remedy in their own hands. When the Pope, in
the morning of the 8th of December, 1854, answered twice: "I do not
know," to the question put to him, "Is the Virgin Mary Immaculate in
her Conception?" and then, a minute after, to the same question, he
answered: "Yes! I know it: the Holy Virgin Mary was Immaculate in her
Conception," he proved to his most credulous dupes that he was nothing but
a sacrilegious comedian. How would a jury of honest men deal with a witness
who, being interrogated about what he knows of a certain fact, would answer,
"I know nothing about it," and a moment after would acknowledge that
"he knows everything about it?" Would not such a witness be justly
punished as a perjurer?
Such is the sad and unenviable position which the Pope made to himself and to
his church, on the 8th of December, 1854. Interrogated by the nations of Europe
about what was to be believed on the "Conception of the Virgin Mary,"
the Church of Rome, during ten centuries, had answered: "I do not
know." And let everyone remember that she wants to be believed infallible
when she says she "knows nothing about the Immaculate Conception."
But, today, that same church assures us, through the infallible decree of Pius
IX., that she knows, and that she has always known and believed the Virgin Mary
was Immaculate! Has the world ever seen such a want of self-respect, such an
unblushing impudence! What verdict will the Christian world give against that
great mother of lies? What punishment will the God of truth administer to that
great culprit who swears "yes" and "no" on the same
question? It is a fact, that by the promulgation of this decree, Pius IX. has
for ever destroyed his prestige in the minds of millions of his followers.
A few days after I had read to my congregation the decree of the Pope
proclaiming the new dogma, and damning all those who would not believe it, one
of my most intelligent and respectable farmers came to visit me, and put to me
the following questions on the new articles of faith: "Mr. Chiniquy,
please tell me, have I correctly understood the letter from the Pope you read
us last Sabbath? Does the Pope tell us in that letter that we can find this new
dogma of the 'Immaculate Conception' in the Holy Scriptures, that it has been
taught by the Fathers, and that the church has constantly believed it from the
days of the Apostles?"
I answered, "Yes, my friend, the Pope tells us all those things in his
letter which I read in the church last Sabbath."
"But, sir, will you be so kind as to read me the verses of the Holy
Scriptures which are in favour of the Immaculate Conception of the Holy Virgin
Mary?"
"My dear friend," I answered, "I am sorry to say that I have
never found in the Holy Scriptures a single word to tell us that Mary is
immaculate; but I have found many words, and very clear words, which says the very
contrary thing. For instance, the Holy Ghost, in the Epistle of St. Paul to the
Romans, v. 18. 'By the offense of one, judgment came upon all men to
condemnation.' This little, but inexorable 'all,' includes the Virgin Mary in
the condemnation and in the guilt. In the same Epistle to the Romans (ch. iii.
22, 23), the Holy Ghost, speaking of the children of Adam Israelites and
Gentiles says there is no difference, they have all sinned and come short of
the glory of God! and in the 10th verse of the same chapter, the Holy Ghost,
speaking of the Jews and Gentiles, says, 'There is none righteous no, not one!'
And the Lord has never repealed in any part that I know of the Holy Scriptures,
this awful 'no not one!'" "Now, please tell me the name of the Holy
Fathers who have preached that we must believe in the Immaculate Conception, or
be for ever damned, if we do not believe in it?"
I answered to my parishioner: "I would have preferred, my dear friend,
that you should never come to put to me these questions; but as you ask me the
truth, I must tell you the truth. I have studied the Fathers with a pretty good
attention, but I have not yet found a single one of them who was of that
opinion in any way."
"I hope," added the good farmer, "you will excuse me if I put to
you another question on this subject. Perhaps you do not know it, but there is
a great deal of feeling and talking about this new article of faith among us
since last Sabbath; I want to know a little more about it. The Pope says in his
letter that the Church of Rome has always believed and taught that dogma of
Immaculate Conception. Is that correct?"
"Yes, my friend, the Pope says that in his Encyclical; but these last nine
hundred years, more than one hundred Popes have declared that the church had never
believed it. Even several Popes have forbidden to say 'that the Immaculate
Conception was an article of faith' and they solemnly permitted us to believe
and say what we please on that matter."
"If it be so with this new dogma, how can we know it is not so with the
other dogmas of our church, as the confession, the purgatory, ect.?" added
the farmer.
"My dear friend, do not allow the devil to shake your faith. We are living
in bad days indeed. Let us pray God to enlighten us and save us. I would have given
much had you never put to me these questions!"
My honest parishioner had left me; but his awful questions (they were really
awful, as they are still awful for a priest of Rome), and the answers I had
been forced to give were sounding in my soul as thunderclaps. There was in my
poor trembling heart, as the awful noise of an irresistible storm, which was to
destroy all that I had so dearly cherished and respected in my then so dear and
venerated Church of Rome. My head was aching. I fell on my knees; but for a
time I could not utter a word of prayer; big tears were rolling on my burning
cheeks; ;new light was coming before the eyes of my soul; but I took it for the
deceitful temptation of Satan; a voice was speaking to me; it was the voice of
my God, telling me, "Come out from Babylon!" (Rev. xviii. 4). But I
took that voice for the voice of Satan; I was trying to silence it. The Lord
was then drawing me away from my perishing ways; but I did not know Him then; I
was struggling against Him to remain in the dark dungeons of error. But God was
to be the stronger. In His infinite mercy He was to overpower His unfaithful
servant. He was to conquer me, and with me many others.
.
.
.
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CHAPTER 54 Back to Top
There
are two women who ought to be constant objects of the compassion of the
disciples of Christ, and for whom daily prayers ought to be offered at the
mercy-seat the Brahmin woman, who, deceived by her priests, burns herself on
the corpse of her husband to appease the wrath of her wooden gods; and the
Roman Catholic woman, who, not less deceived by her priests, suffers a torture
far more cruel and ignominious in the confessional-box, to appease the wrath of
her wafer-god.
For I do not exaggerate when I say, that for many noble-hearted, welleducated,
high-minded women, to be forced to unveil their hearts before the eyes of a
man, to open to him all the most secret recesses of their souls, all the most
sacred mysteries of their single or married life, to allow him to put to them
questions which the most depraved woman would never consent to hear from her
vilest seducer, is often more horrible and intolerable than to be tied on
burning coals.
More than once I have seen women fainting in the confessional-box, who told me
afterwards that the necessity of speaking to an unmarried man on certain
things, on which the most common laws of decency ought to have for ever sealed
their lips, had almost killed them! Not hundreds, but thousands of times, I
have heard from the lips of dying girls, as well as married women, the awful
words: "I am for ever lost! All my past confessions and communions have
been so many sacrileges! I have never dared to answer correctly the questions
of my confessors! Shame has sealed my lips an damned my soul!"
How many times I remained as one petrified, by the side of a corpse, when these
last words having hardly escaped the lips of one of my female penitents, who
had been snatched out of my reach by the merciless hand of death, before I
could give her pardon through the deceitful sacramental absolution? I then
believed, as the dead sinner herself had believed, that she should not be
forgiven except by that absolution.
For there are not only thousands, but millions of Roman Catholic girls and
women, whose keen sense of modest and womanly dignity, are above all the
sophisms and diabolical machinations of their priests. They can never be
persuaded to answer "Yes" to certain questions of their confessors.
They would prefer to be thrown into the flames, and burnt to ashes with the
Brahmin widows, rather than allow the eyes of a man to pry into the sacred
sanctuary of their souls. Though sometimes guilty before God, and under the
impression that their sins will never be forgiven if not confessed, the laws of
decency are stronger in their hearts than the laws of their perfidious Church.
No consideration not even the fear of eternal damnation, can persuade them to
declare to a sinful man, sins which God alone has the right to know, for He
alone can blot them out with the blood of His Son, shed on the cross.
But what a wretched life must that be of those exceptional noble souls, which
Rome keeps in the dark dungeons of her superstition? They read in all their
books, and hear from all their pulpits, that if they conceal a single sin from
their confessors, they are for ever lost! But, being absolutely able to trample
under their feet the laws of self-respect an decency, which God Himself has
impressed in their souls, they live in constant dread of eternal damnation. No
human words can tell their desolation and distress, when at the feet of their
confessors they find themselves under the horrible necessity of speaking of
things on which they would prefer to suffer the most cruel death rather than to
open their lips, or to be for ever damned if they do not degrade themselves for
ever in their own eyes, by speaking on matters which a respectable woman will
never reveal to her own mother much less t a man!
I have known only too many of these noble-hearted women, who, when alone with
God, in a real agony of desolation and with burning tears, had asked Him to
grant them what they considered the greatest favour, which was to lose so much
of their self-respect as to be enabled to speak of those unmentionable things
just as their confessors wanted them to speak; and, hoping that their petition
had been granted, they went again to the confessional-box, determined to unveil
their shame before the eyes of that inexorable man. But when the moment had
come for the self-immolation, their courage failed, their knees trembled, their
lips became pale as death, cold sweat poured from all their pores! The voice of
modesty and womanly self-respect was speaking louder than the voice of their
false religion. They had to go out of the confessional-box unpardoned nay, with
the burden of a new sacrilege on their conscience.
Oh! how heavy is the yoke of Rome how bitter is human life how cheerless is the
mystery of the cross to those deluded and perishing souls! How gladly they
would rush into the blazing piles with the Brahmin women, if they could hope to
see the end of their unspeakable miseries through the momentary tortures which
would open to them a better life!
I do here publicly challenge the whole Roman Catholic priesthood to deny that
the greater part of their female penitents remain a certain period of time some
longer, some shorter under that most distressing state of mind.
Yes, by far the greater majority of women, at first, find it impossible to pull
down the sacred barriers of self-respect, which God Himself has built around
their hearts, intelligences, and souls, as the best safeguard against the
snares of this polluted world. Those laws of self-respect, by which they cannot
consent to speak an impure word into the ears of a man, and which shut all the
avenues of the heart against his unchaste questions, even when speaking in the
name of God those laws of self-respect are so clearly written in their
conscience, and they are so well understood by them, to be a most Divine gift,
that, as I have already said, many prefer to run the risk of being for ever
lost by remaining silent.
It takes many years of the most ingenious (I do not hesitate to call it
diabolical) efforts on the part of the priests to persuade the majority of
their female penitents to speak on questions, which even pagan savages would
blush to mention among themselves. Some persist in remaining silent on those
matters during the greater part of their lives, and many of them prefer to
throw themselves into the hands of their merciful God, and die without
submitting to the defiling ordeal, even after they have felt the poisonous
stings of the enemy, rather than receive their pardon from a man, who, as they
feel, would surely have been scandalized by the recital of their human
frailties. All the priests of Rome are aware of this natural disposition of
their female penitents. There is not a single one no, not a single one of their
moral theologians, who does not warn the confessors against that stern and
general determination of the girls and married women never to speak in the
confessional matters which may, more or less, deal with sins against the
seventh commandment. Dens, Liguori, Debreyne, Baily, ect., in a word, all the
theologians of Rome own that this is one of the greatest difficulties which the
confessors have to contend with in the confessional-box.
Not a single Roman Catholic priest will dare to deny what I say on this matter;
for they know that it would be easy for me to overwhelm them with such a crowd
of testimonials that their grand imposture would for ever be unmasked.
I intend, at some future day, if God spares me and gives me time for it, to
make known some of the innumerable things which the Roman Catholic theologians
and moralists have written on this question. It will form one of the most
curious books ever written; and it will give unanswerable evidence of the fact
that, instinctively, without consulting each other, and with an unanimity which
is almost marvelous, the Roman Catholic women, guided by the honest instincts
which God has given them, shrink from the snares put before them in the
confessional-box; and that everywhere they struggle to nerve themselves with a
superhuman courage, against the torturer who is sent by the Pope, to finish
their ruin, and to make shipwrecks of their souls. Everywhere woman feels that
there are things which ought never to be told, as there are things which ought
never to be done, in the presence of the God of holiness. She understands that,
to recite the history of certain sins, even of thoughts, is not less shameful
and criminal than to do them; she hears the voice of God whispering into her
ears, "Is it not enough that thou hast been guilty once, when alone in My
presence, without adding to thine iniquity by allowing that man to know what
should never have been revealed to him? Do you not feel that you make that man
your accomplice, the very moment that you throw into his heart and soul the
mire of your iniquities? He is as weak as you are; he is not less a sinner than
yourself; what has tempted you will tempt him; what has made you weak will make
him weak; what has polluted you will pollute him; what has thrown you down into
the dust will throw him into the dust. Is it not enough that My eyes had to
look upon your iniquities? must My ears, today, listen to your impure
conversation with that man? Were that man as holy as My prophet David, may he
not fall before the unchaste unveiling of a new Bathsheba? Were he as strong as
Samson, may he not find in you his tempting Delilah? Were he as generous as
Peter, may he not become a traitor at the maid-servant's voice?"
Perhaps the world has never seen a more terrible, desperate, solemn struggle
than the one which is going on in the soul of a poor trembling young woman,
who, at the feet of that man, has to decide whether or not she will open her
lips on those things which the infallible voice of God, united to the no less
infallible voice of her womanly honour and self-respect, tell her never to
reveal to any man!
The history of that secret, fierce, desperate struggle has never yet, so far as
I know, been fully given. It would draw the tears of admiration and compassion
of the whole world, if it could be written with its simple, sublime, and
terrible realities.
How many times have I wept as a child when some noble-hearted and intelligent
young girl, or some respectable married woman, yielding to the sophisms with
which I, or some other confessor, had persuaded them to give up their
self-respect and their womanly dignity, to speak with me on matters on which a
decent woman should never say a word with a man. They have told me of their
invincible repugnance, their horror of such questions and answers, and they
have asked me to have pity on them. Yes! I have often wept bitterly on my degradation,
when a priest of Rome! I have realized all the strength, the grandeur, and the
holiness of their motives for being silent on these defiling matters, and I
could not but admire them. It seemed at times that they were speaking the
language of angels of light; that I ought to fall at their feet, and ask their
pardon for having spoken to them of questions, on which a man of honour ought
never to converse with a woman whom he respects.
But alas! I had soon to reproach myself, and regret those short instances of my
wavering faith in the infallible voice of my Church; I had soon to silence the
voice of my conscience, which was telling me, "Is it not a shame that you,
an unmarried man, dare to speak on these matters with a woman? Do you not blush
to put such questions to a young girl? Where is your self-respect? Where is
your fear of God? Do you not promote the ruin of that girl by forcing her to
speak on these matters?"
How many times my God has spoken to me as He speaks to all the priests of Rome,
and said with a thundering voice: "What would that young man do, could he
hear the questions you put to his wife? Would he not blow out your brains? And
that father, would he not thrust a dagger through your breast, if he could know
what you ask from his poor trembling daughter? Would not the brother of that
young girl put an end to your miserable life if he could hear the unmentionable
subjects on which you speak with her in the confessional?"
I was compelled by all the Popes, the moral theologians, and the Councils of
Rome, to believe that this warning voice of my merciful God was the voice of
Satan; I had to believe in spite of my own conscience and intelligence, that it
was good, nay, necessary, to put those polluting, damning questions. My
infallible Church was mercilessly forcing me to oblige those poor, trembling,
weeping, desolate girls and women, to swim with me and all her priests in those
waters of Sodom and Gomorrah, under the pretext that their self-will would be
broken down, their fear of sin and humility increased, and that they would be
purified by our absolutions.
With what supreme distress, disgust, and surprise, we see, today, a great part
of the noble Episcopal Church of England struck by a plague which seems
incurable, under the name of Puseyism, or Ritualism, bringing again more or
less openly in many places the diabolical and filthy auricular confession among
the Protestants of England, Australia and America. The Episcopal Church is
doomed to perish in that dark and stinking pool of Popery auricular confession,
if she does not find a prompt remedy to stop the plague brought by the
disguised Jesuits, who are at work everywhere, to poison and enslave her too
unsuspecting daughters and sons.
In the beginning of my priesthood, when I was in Quebec, I was not a little
surprised and embarrassed to see a very accomplished and beautiful young lady,
whom I used to meet almost every week at her father's house, entering the box
of my confessional. She had been used to confess to another young priest of my
acquaintance, and she was always looked upon as one of the most pious girls of
the city. Though she had disguised herself as much as possible, in order that I
might not know her, I felt sure that I was not mistaken she was the amiable
Mary * * *
Not being absolutely certain of the correctness of my impressions, I left her
entirely under the hope that she was a perfect stranger to me. At the beginning
she could hardly speak; her voice was suffocated by her sobs; and through the
little apertures of the thin partition between her and me, I saw two streams of
big tears trickling down her cheeks. After much effort, she said: "Dear
Father, I hope you do not know me, and that you will never try to know me. I am
a desperately great sinner. Oh! I fear that I am lost! But if there is still a
hope for me to be saved, for God's sake do not rebuke me. Before I begin my
confession, allow me to ask you not to pollute my ears by questions which our
confessors are in the habit of putting to their female penitents; I have
already been destroyed by those questions. Before I was seventeen years old,
God knows that His angels are not more pure than I was; but the chaplain of the
nunnery where my parents had sent me for my education, though approaching old
age, put to me, in the confessional, a question which, at first, I did not
understand, but, unfortunately, he had put the same question to one of my young
class-mates, who made fun of them in my presence, and explained them to me, for
she understood them too well. This first unchaste conversation of my life
plunged my thoughts into a sea of iniquity till then absolutely unknown to me;
temptations of the most humiliating character assailed me for a week, day and
night; after which, sins which I would blot out with my blood, if it were
possible, overwhelmed my soul as with a deluge. But the joys of the sinner are
short. Struck with terror at the thought of the judgments of God, after a few
weeks of the most deplorable life, I determined to give up my sins and
reconcile myself to God. Covered with shame, and trembling from head to foot, I
went to confess to my old confessor, whom I respected as a saint and cherished
as a father. It seems to me that, with sincere tears of repentance, I confessed
to him the greatest part of my sins, though I concealed one of them, through
shame and respect for my spiritual guide. But I did not conceal from him that
the strange questions he had put to me at my last confession, were, with the
natural corruption of my heart, the principal cause of my destruction.
"He spoke to me very kindly, encouraged me to fight against my bad
inclinations, and at first gave me very kind and good advice. But when I
thought he had finished speaking, and as I was preparing to leave the
confessional-box, he put to me two new questions of such a polluting character
that I fear neither the blood of Christ, nor all the fires of hell will ever be
able to blot them out from my memory. Those questions have achieved my ruin;
they have stuck to my mind like two deadly arrows; they are day and night
before my imagination; they fill my very arteries and veins with a deadly
poison.
"It is true that, at first, they filled me with horror and disgust; but
alas! I soon got so accustomed to them that they seemed to be incorporated with
me, and as if becoming a second nature. Those thoughts have become a new source
of innumerable criminal thoughts, desires, and actions.
"A month later, we were obliged by the rules of our convent to go and
confess; but by this time I was so completely lost that I no longer blushed at
the idea of confessing my shameful sins to a man; it was the very contrary. I
had a real, diabolical pleasure in the thought that I should have a long
conversation with my confessor on those matters, and that he would ask me more
of his strange questions. In face, when I had told him everything without a
blush, he began to interrogate me, and God knows what corrupting things fell
from his lips into my poor criminal heart! Every one of his questions was
thrilling my nerves and filling me with the most shameful sensations! After an
hour of this criminal tete-a-tete with my old confessor (for it was nothing
else but a criminal tete-a-tete), I perceived that he was as depraved as I was
myself. With some half-covered words he made a criminal proposition, which I
accepted with covered words also; and during more than a year we have lived
together on the most sinful intimacy. Though he was much older than I, I loved
him in the most foolish way. When the course of my convent instruction was
finished, my parents called me back to their home. I was really glad of that
change of residence, for I was beginning to be tired of my criminal life. My
hope was that, under the direction of a better confessor, I should reconcile
myself to God and begin a Christian life.
"Unfortunately for me, my new confessor, who was very young, began also
his interrogations. He soon fell in love with me, and I loved him in a most
criminal way. I have done with him things which I hope you will never request
me to reveal to you, for they are too monstrous to be repeated, even in the
confessional, by a woman to a man.
"I do not say these things to take away the responsibility of my
iniquities with this young confessor from my shoulders, for I think I have been
more criminal than he was. It is my firm conviction that he was a good and holy
priest before he knew me; but the questions he put to me, and the answers I had
to give him, melted his heart I know it just as boiling lead would melt the ice
on which it flows.
"I know this is not such a detailed confession as our holy Church requires
me to make, but I have thought it necessary for me to give you this short
history of the life of the greatest and most miserable sinner who ever asked
you to help her to come out from the tomb of her iniquities. This is the way I
have lived these last few years. But last Sabbath, God, in His infinite mercy,
looked down upon me. He inspired you to give us the Prodigal Son as a model of
true conversion, and as the most marvelous proof of the infinite compassion of
the dear Saviour for the sinner. I have wept day and night since that happy
day, when I threw myself into the arms of my loving, merciful Father. Even now
I can hardly speak, because my regret for my past iniquities, and my joy that I
am allowed to bathe the feet of the Saviour with tears, are so great that my
voice is as choked.
"You understand that I have for ever given up my last confessor I come to
ask you to do me the favour to receive me among your penitents. Oh! do not
reject nor rebuke me, for the dear Saviour's sake! Be not afraid to have at
your side such a monster of iniquity! But before going further, I have two
favours to ask from you. The first is, that you will never do anything to
ascertain my name; the second is, that you ill never put to me any of those
questions by which so many penitents are lost and so many priests for ever
destroyed. Twice I have been lost by those questions. We come to our confessors
that they may throw upon guilty souls the pure waters which flow from heaven to
purify us; but instead of that, with their unmentionable questions they pour
oil on the burning fires which are already raging in our poor sinful hearts.
Oh! dear father, let me become our penitent, that you may help me to go and
weep with Magdalene at the Saviour's feet! Do respect me, as He respected that
true model of all the sinful, but repenting women! Did our Saviour put to her
any questions? did He extort from her the history of things which a sinful
woman cannot say without forgetting the respect she owes to herself and to God!
No! you told us not long ago, that the only thing our Saviour did was to look
at her tears and her love. Well, please do that, and you will save me!"
I was then a very young priest, and never had any words so sublime come to my
ears in the confessional-box. Her tears and her sobs, mingled with the frank
declaration of the most humiliating actions, had made such a profound
impression upon me that I was, for some time, unable to speak. It had come to
my mind also that I might be mistaken about her identity, and that perhaps she
was not the young lady that I had imagined. I could, then, easily grant her
first request, which was to do nothing by which I could know her. The second
part of her prayer was more embarrassing; for the theologians are very positive
in ordering the confessors to question their penitents, particularly those of
the female sex, in many circumstances.
I encouraged her in the best way I could, to persevere in her good resolutions,
by invoking the blessed Virgin Mary and St. Philomene, who was then Sainte a la
mode, just as Marie Alacoque is today among the blind slaves of Rome. I told
her that I would pray and think over the subject of her second request; and I
asked her to come back in a week for my answer.
The very same day I went to my own confessor, the Rev. Mr. Ballargeon, then
curate of Quebec, and afterwards Archbishop of Canada. I told him the singular
and unusual request she had made, that I should never put to her any of those
questions suggested by the theologians, to ensure the integrity of the
confession. I did not conceal from him that I was much inclined to grant her
that favour; for I repeated what I have already several times told him, that I
was supremely disgusted with the infamous and polluting questions which the
theologians forced us to put to our female penitents. I told him frankly that
several old and young priests had already come to confess to me; and that, with
the exception of two, they had told me that they could not put those questions
and hear the answers they elicited without falling into the most damnable sins.
My confessor seemed to be much perplexed about what he should answer. He asked
me to come the next day, that he might review some theological books in the
interval. The next day I took down in writing his answer, which I find in my
old manuscripts, and I give it here in all its sad crudity:-
"Such cases of the destruction of female virtue by the questions of the
confessors is an unavoidable evil. It cannot be helped; for such questions are
absolutely necessary in the greater part of the cases with which we have to
deal. Men generally confess their sins with so much sincerity that there is
seldom any need for questioning them, except when they are very ignorant. But
St. Liguori, as well as our personal observation, tells us that the greatest
part of girls and women, through a false and criminal shame, very seldom
confess the sins they commit against purity. It requires the utmost charity in
the confessors to prevent those unfortunate slaves of their secret passions
from making sacrilegious confessions and communions. With the greatest prudence
and zeal he must question them on those matters, beginning with the smallest
sins, and going, little by little, as much as possible by imperceptible
degrees, to the most criminal actions. As it seems evident that the penitent
referred to in your questions of yesterday is willing to make a full and
detailed confession of all her iniquities, you cannot promise to absolve her
without assuring yourself by wise and prudent questions that she has confessed
everything.
"You must not be discouraged when, through the confessional or any other
way, you learn the fall of priests into the common frailties of human nature
with their penitents. Our Saviour knew very well that the occasions and the
temptations we have to encounter in the confessions of girls and women, are so
numerous and sometimes so irresistible, that many would fall. But He has given
them the Holy Virgin Mary, who constantly asks and obtains their pardon; He has
given them the sacrament of penance, where they can receive their pardon as
often as they ask for it. The vow of perfect chastity is a great honour and
privilege; but we cannot conceal from ourselves that it puts on our shoulders a
burden which many cannot carry for ever. St. Liguori says that we must not
rebuke the penitent priest who falls only once a month; and some other
trustworthy theologians are still more charitable."
This answer was far from satisfying me. It seemed to me composed of soft soap
principles. I went back with a heavy heart and an anxious mind; and God knows
that I made many fervent prayers that this girl should never come again to give
me her sad history. I was then hardly twenty-six years old, full of youth and
life. It seemed to me that the strings of a thousand wasps to my ears could not
do me so much harm as the words of that dear, beautiful, accomplished, but lost
girl.
I do not mean to say that the revelations which she made had, in any way,
diminished my esteem and my respect for her. It was just the contrary. Her
tears and her sobs at my feet; her agonizing expressions of shame and regret;
her noble words of protest against the disgusting and polluting interrogations
of the confessors, had raised her very high in my mind. My sincere hope was
that she would have a place in the kingdom of Christ with the Samaritan woman,
Mary Magdalene, and all the sinners who have washed their robes in the blood of
the Lamb.
At the appointed day, I was in my confessional listening to the confession of a
young man, when I saw Miss Mary entering the vestry, and coming directly to my
confessional-box, where she knelt by me. Though she had, still more than at the
first time, disguised herself behind a long, thick, black veil, I could not be
mistaken; she was the very same amiable young lady in whose father's house I
used to pass such pleasant and happy hours. I had often listened with
breathless attention to her melodious voice, when she was giving us, accompanied
by her piano, some of our beautiful church hymns. Who could then see and hear
her without almost worshiping her? The dignity of her steps, and her whole
mien, when she advanced towards my confessional, entirely betrayed her and
destroyed her incognito.
Oh! I would have given every drop of my blood in that solemn hour, that I might
have been free to deal with her just as she had so eloquently requested me to
do to let her weep and cry at the feet of Jesus to her heart's content. Oh! if
I had been free to take her by the hand and silently show her the dying
Saviour, that she might have bathed His feet with her tears, and spread the oil
of her love on His head, without my saying anything else but "Go in peace:
thy sins are forgiven."
But, there, in that confessional-box, I was not the servant of Christ, to
follow His Divine, saving words, and obey the dictates of my honest conscience.
I was the slave of the Pope! I had to stifle the cry of my conscience, to
ignore the inspirations of my God! There, my conscience had no right to speak;
my intelligence was a dead thing! The theologians of the Pope alone had a right
to be heard and obeyed! I was not there to save, but to destroy; for, under the
pretext of purifying, the real mission of the confessor, often, if not always,
in spite of himself, is to scandalize and damn the souls.
As soon as the young man who was making his confession at my left hand, had
finished, I, without noise, turned myself towards her, and said, through the
little aperture, "Are you ready to begin your confession?"
But she did not answer me. All that I could hear was: "Oh, my Jesus, have
mercy upon me! I come to wash my soul in Thy blood; wilt Thou rebuke me?"
During several minutes she raised her hands and eyes to heaven, and wept and
prayed. It was evident that she had not the least idea that I was observing
her; she thought the door of the little partition between her and me was shut.
But my eyes were fixed upon her; my tears were flowing with her tears, and my
ardent prayers were going to the feet of Jesus with her prayers. I would not
have interrupted her for any consideration, in this, her sublime communion with
her merciful Saviour.
But after a pretty long time, I made a little noise with my hand, and putting
my lips near the opening of the partition which was between us, I said in a low
voice, "Dear sister, are you ready to begin your confession?"
She turned her face a little towards me, and said, with trembling voice,
"Yes, dear father, I am ready."
But she then stopped again to weep and pray, though I could not hear what she
said.
After some time in silent prayer, I said, "My dear sister, if you are
ready, please begin your confession." She then said, "My dear father,
do you remember the prayers which I made to you the other day? Can you allow me
to confess my sins without forcing me to forget the respect that I owe myself,
to you, and to God, who hears us? And can you promise that you will not put to
me any of those questions which have already done me such irreparable injury? I
frankly declare to you that there are sins in me that I cannot reveal to
anyone, except to Christ, because He is my God, and that He already knows them
all. Let me weep and cry at His feet: can you not forgive me without adding to
my iniquities by forcing me to say things that the tongue of a Christian woman
cannot reveal to a man?"
"My dear sister," I answered, "were I free to follow the voice
of my own feelings I would be only too happy to grant your request; but I am
here only as the minister of our holy church, and bound to obey the laws.
Through her most holy Popes and theologians she tells me that I cannot forgive
your sins if you do not confess them all, just as you have committed them. The
church tells me also that you must give the details, which may add to the
malice or change the nature of your sins. I am sorry to tell you that our most
holy theologians make it a duty of the confessor to question the penitent on
the sins which he has good reason to suspect have been voluntarily omitted."
With a piercing cry she exclaimed, "Then, O my God, I am lost for ever
lost!"
This cry fell upon me like a thunderbolt; but I was still more terrorstricken
when, looking through the aperture, I saw she was fainting; I heard the noise
of her body falling upon the floor, and of her head striking against the sides
of the confessional-box.
Quick as lightning I ran to help her, took her in my arms, and called a couple
of men, who were at a little distance, to assist me in laying her on a bench. I
washed her face with some cold water and vinegar. She was as pale as death, but
her lips were moving, and she was saying something which nobody but I could
understand -
"I am lost lost for ever!"
We took her home to her disconsolate family, where, during a month, she lingered
between life and death. Her two first confessors came to visit her; but having
asked every one to go out of the room, she politely, but absolutely, requested
them to go away, and never come again. She asked me to visit her every day,
"for," she said, "I have only a few more days to live. Help me
to prepare myself for the solemn hour which will open to me the gates of
eternity!"
Every day I visited her, and I prayed and I wept with her.
Many times, when alone, with tears I requested her to finish her confession;
but, with a firmness which then seemed to be mysterious and inexplicable, she
politely rebuked me.
One day, when alone with her, I was kneeling by the side of her bed to pray, I
was unable to articulate a single word because of the inexpressible anguish of
my soul on her account, she asked me, "Dear father, why do you weep?"
I answered, "How can you put such a question to your murderer! I weep
because I have killed you, dear friend."
This answer seemed to trouble her exceedingly. She was very weak that day.
After she had wept and prayed in silence, she said, "Do not weep for me,
but weep for so many priests who destroy their penitents in the confessional. I
believe in the holiness of the sacrament of penance, since our holy church has
established it. But there is, somewhere, something exceedingly wrong in the
confessional. Twice I have been destroyed, and I know many girls who have also
been destroyed by the confessional. This is a secret, but will that secret be
kept for ever? I pity the poor priests the day that our fathers will know what
becomes of the purity of their daughters in the hands of their confessors.
Father would surely kill my two last confessors, if he could only know they
have destroyed his poor child."
I could not answer except by weeping.
We remained silent for a long time; then she said, "It is true that I was
not prepared for the rebuke you have given me the other day in the
confessional; but you acted conscientiously as a good and honest priest. I know
you must be bound by certain laws."
She then pressed my hand with her cold hand and said, "Weep not, dear
father, because that sudden storm has wrecked my too fragile bark. This storm
was to take me out from the bottomless sea of my iniquities to the shore where
Jesus was waiting to receive and pardon me. The night after you brought me,
half dead, here to my father's house, I had a dream. Oh, no! it was not a
dream, it was a reality. My Jesus came to me, He was bleeding; His crown of
thorns was on His head, the heavy cross bruising His shoulders. He said to me,
with a voice so sweet that no human tongue can imitate it, 'I have seen thy
tears, I have heard thy cries, and I know thy love for Me: thy sins are
forgiven; take courage, in a few days thou shalt be with Me!'"
She had hardly finished her last word when she fainted, and I feared lest she
should die just then, when I was alone with her.
I called the family, who rushed into the room. The doctor was sent for. He
found her so weak that he thought proper to allow only one or two persons to
remain in the room with me. He requested us not to speak at all,
"For," said he, "the least emotion may kill her instantly; her
disease is, in all probability, an aneurism of the aorta, the big vein which
brings the blood to the heart: when it breaks, she will go as quick as
lightning."
It was nearly ten at night when I left the house to go and take some rest. But
it was not necessary to say that I passed a sleepless night. My dear Mary was
there, pale, dying from the deadly blow which I had given her in the
confessional. She was there, on her bed of death, her heart pierced with the
dagger which my church had put into my hands! and instead of rebuking, and
cursing me for my savage, merciless fanaticism, she was blessing me! She was dying
from a broken heart! and I was not allowed by my church to give her a single
word of consolation and hope, for had she not made her confession? I had
mercilessly bruised that tender plant, and there was nothing in my hands to
heal the wounds I had made!
It was very probable that she would die the next day, and I was forbidden to
show her the crown of glory which Jesus has prepared in His kingdom for the
repenting sinner?
My desolation was really unspeakable, and I think I would have been suffocated
and have died that night, if the stream of tears which constantly flowed from
my eyes had not been as a balm to my distressed heart.
How dark and long the hours of that night seemed to me!
Before the dawn of day, I arose to read my theologians again, and see if I
could not find someone who would allow me to forgive the sins of that dear
child, without forcing her to tell me anything she had done. But they seemed to
me, more than ever, unanimously inexorable, and I put them back on the shelves
of my library with a broken heart.
At nine a.m. the next day, I was by the bed of our dear sick Mary. I cannot
sufficiently tell the joy I felt, when the doctor and whole family said to me,
"She is much better; the rest of last night has wrought a marvelous
change, indeed."
With a really angelic smile she extended her hand towards me, and said, "I
thought, last evening, that the dear Saviour would take me to Him, but He wants
me, dear father, to give you a little more trouble; however, be patient, it
cannot be long before the solemn hour of the appeal will strike. Will you
please read me the history of the suffering and death of the beloved Saviour,
which you read me the other day? It does me so much good to see how He has
loved me, such a miserable sinner."
There was a calm and solemnity in her words which struck me singularly, as well
as all those who were there.
After I had finished reading, she exclaimed, "He has loved me so much that
He died for my sins!" And she shut her eyes as if to meditate in silence,
but there was a stream of big tears rolling down her cheeks.
I knelt down by her bed, with her family, to pray; but I could not utter a
single word. The idea that this dear child was there, dying from the cruel
fanaticism of my theologians and my own cowardice in obeying them, was a
millstone to my neck. It was killing me.
Oh! if by dying a thousand times, I could have added a single day to her life,
with what pleasure I would have accepted those thousand deaths!
After we had silently prayed and wept by her bedside, she requested her mother
to leave her alone with me.
When I saw myself alone, under the irresistible impression that this was her
last day, I fell on my knees again, and with tears of the most sincere
compassion for her soul, I requested her to shake off her shame and obey our
holy church, which requires every one to confess their sins if they want to be
forgiven.
She calmly, but with an air of dignity which no human words can express, said,
"Is it true that, after the sins of Adam and Eve, God Himself made coats
and skins and clothed them, that they might not see each other's
nakedness?"
"Yes," I said, "this is what the Holy Scriptures tell us."
"Well, then, how is it possible that our confessors dare to take away from
us that holy, divine coat of modesty and self-respect? Has not Almighty God
Himself made, with His own hands, that coat of womanly modesty and self-respect
that we might not be to you and to ourselves a cause of shame and sin?"
I was really stunned by the beauty, simplicity, and sublimity of that
comparison. I remained absolutely mute and confounded. Though it was
demolishing all the traditions and doctrines of my church, and pulverizing all
my holy doctors and theologians, that noble answer found such an echo in my
soul, that it seemed to me a sacrilege to try to touch it with my finger.
After a short time of silence, she continued, "Twice I have been destroyed
by priests in the confessional. They took away from me that divine coat of
modesty and self-respect which God gives to every human being who comes to this
world, and twice I have become for those very priests a deep pit of perdition,
into which they have fallen, and where I fear they are for ever lost! My
merciful heavenly Father has given me back that coat of skins, that nuptial
robe of modesty, self-respect, and holiness which had been taken away from me.
He cannot allow you or any other man to tear again and spoil that vestment
which is the work of His hands."
These words had exhausted her; it was evident to me that she wanted some rest.
I left her alone, but I was absolutely beside myself. Filled with admiration
for the sublime lessons which I had received from the lips of that regenerated
daughter of eve, who, it was evident, my theologians shall I say it? yes, I
felt in that solemn hour a supreme disgust for my church, which was cruelly
defiling me and all her priests, in the confessional-box. I felt, in that hour,
a supreme horror for that auricular confession, which is so often a pit of
perdition and supreme misery for the confessor and penitent. I went out and
walked two hours on the Plains of Abraham, to breathe the pure and refreshing
air of the mountains. There, alone, I sat on a stone, on the very spot were
Wolff and Montcalm fought and died; and I wept to my heart's content on my
irreparable degradation, and the degradation of so many priests through the
confessional.
At four o'clock in the afternoon I went back again to the house of dear dying
Mary. The mother took me apart, and very politely said, "My dear Mr. Chiniquy,
do you not think it is time that our dear child should receive the last
sacraments? She seemed to be much better this morning, and we were full of
hope; but she is now rapidly sinking. Please lose no time in giving her the
holy viaticum and the extreme unction."
I said, "Yes, madam; let me pass a few minutes alone with our dear child,
that I may prepare for the last sacraments."
When alone with her, I again fell on my knees, and, amidst torrents of tears, I
said, "Dear sister, it is my desire to give you the holy viaticum and the
extreme unction: but tell me, how can I dare to do a thing so solemn against
all the prohibitions of our holy church? How can I give you the holy communion
without first giving you absolution? and how can I give you absolution when you
earnestly persist in telling me that you have so many sins which you will never
declare to me or any other confessor?
"You know that I cherish and respect you as if you were an angel sent to
me from heaven. You told me, the other day, that you blessed the day that you
first saw and knew me. I say the same thing. I bless the day that I have known
you; I bless every hour that I have spent by your bed of suffering; I bless
every tear which I have shed with you on your sins and on my own; I bless every
hour we have passed together in looking to the wounds of our beloved, dying
Saviour; I bless you for having forgiven me your death! for I know it, and I
confess it in the presence of God, I have killed you, dear sister. But now I
prefer a thousand times to die than to say to you a word which would pain you
in any way, or trouble the peace of your soul. Please, my dear sister, tell me
what I can and must do for you in this solemn hour."
Calmly, and with a smile of joy such as I had never seen before, nor seen
since, she said, "I thank and bless you, dear father, for the parable of
the Prodigal Son, on which you preached a month ago. You have brought me to the
feet of the dear Saviour; there I have found a peace and a joy surpassing
anything that human heart can feel; I have thrown myself into the arms of my
Heavenly Father, and I know He has mercifully accepted and forgiven His poor
prodigal child! Oh, I see the angels with their golden harps around the throne
of the Lamb! Do you not hear the celestial harmony of their songs? I go I go to
join them in my Father's house. I SHALL NOT BE LOST!"
While she was thus speaking to me, my eyes were really turned into two
fountains of tears; I was unable, as well as unwilling, to see anything, so
entirely overcome was I by the sublime words which were flowing from the dying
lips of that dear child, who was no more a sinner; but a real angel of Heaven
to me. I was listening to her words; there was a celestial music in every one
of them. But she had raised her voice in such a strange way, when she had begun
to say, "I go to my Father's house," and she had made such a cry of
joy when she had to let the last words, "not be lost," escape her
lips, that I raised my head and opened my eyes to look at her. I suspected that
something strange had occurred.
I got upon my feet, passed my handkerchief over my face to wipe away the tears
which were preventing me from seeing with accuracy, and looked at her.
Her hands were crossed on her breast, and there was on her face the expression
of a really superhuman joy; her beautiful eyes were fixed as if they were
looking on some grand and sublime spectacle; it seemed to me, at first, that
she was praying.
In that very instant the mother rushed into the room, crying, "My God! my
God! what does that cry 'lost' mean?" For her last words, "not be
lost," particularly the last one, had been pronounced with such a powerful
voice, that they had been heard almost everywhere in the house.
I made a sign with my hand to prevent the distressed mother from making any
noise and troubling her dying child in her prayer, for I really thought that
she had stopped speaking, as she used so often to do, when alone with me, in
order to pray. But I was mistaken. The redeemed soul had gone, on the golden
wings of love, to join the multitude of those who have washed their robes in
the blood of the Lamb, to sing the eternal Alleluia.
The revelation of the unmentionable corruptions directly and unavoidably
engendered by auricular confession, had come to me from the lips of that young
lady, as the first rays of the sun which were to hurl back the dark clouds of
night by which Rome had wrapped my intelligence on that subject.
So miserable by her fall and her sins, but so admirable by her conversion, that
young lady was standing before me, for the rest of my priestly life, as the
bright beacon raised on the solitary rock stands before the sailor whose ship
is drifting through the shoals, in a dark and stormy night.
She was brought there by the merciful hand of God, to right my course.
Lost and degraded by auricular confession, only after having given it up, that
precious soul was to find peace and life, when washed in the blood of the Lamb,
as the only hope and refuge of sinners.
Her words, filled with a superhuman wisdom, and her burning tears, came to me,
by the marvelous Providence of God, as the first beams of the Sun of
Righteousness, to teach me that auricular confession was a Satanic invention.
Had this young person been the only one to tell me that, I might still have
held some doubt about the diabolical origin of that institution. But thousands
and thousands, before and after her, have been sent by my merciful God to tell
me the same tale, till after twenty-five years of experience it became a
certitude to me that that modern invention of Rome must, sooner or later, with
a very few exceptions, drag both the confessor and his female penitents into a
common and irreparable ruin.*
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CHAPTER 55 Back to Top
On
the first of August, 1855, I received the following letter:-
.
The College, Chicago, July 24th, 1855.
Rev. Mr. Chiniquy,
You will have the goodness to attend a spiritual retreat to be given next month
at the college, in Chicago, for the clergy of the diocese of Chicago and Quincy.
The spiritual exercises, which will be conducted by the Rt. Rev. the Bishop of
Louisville, are to commence on Tuesday, the 28th of August, and will terminate
on the following Sunday. This arrangement will necessitate your absence from
your church on Sunday the 14th, after Pentecost, which you will make known to
your congregation. No clergyman is allowed to be absent from his retreat
without the previous written consent of the bishop of the diocese, which
consent will not be given except in cases which he will judge to be of urgent
necessity.
By order of Rt. Rev. Bishop,
Matthew Dillon,
Pro Secretary.
Wishing
to study the personnel of that Irish clergy of which Bishop Vandeveld had told
such frightful things, I went to St. Mary's University, two hours ahead of
time.
Never did I see such a band of jolly fellows. Their dissipation and laughter.
Their exchange of witty, and too often, unbecoming expressions, the tremendous
noise they made in addressing each other, at a distance: Their "Hello,
Patrick!" "hello, Murphy!" "hello, O'Brien! how do you do?
How is Bridget? Is Marguerite still with you?" The answers: "Yes!
yes! She will not leave me;" or "No! no! the crazy girl is
gone," were invariably followed by outbursts of laughter.
Though nine-tenths of them were evidently under the influence of intoxicating
drinks, not one could be said to be drunk. But the strong odour of alcohol,
mixed with the smoke of cigars, soon poisoned the air and made it suffocating.
I had withdrawn in a corner, alone, in order to observe everything.
What stranger, in entering that large hall, would have suspected that those men
were about to begin one of the most solemn and sacred actions of a priest! With
the exception of five or six, they looked more like a band of carousing raftsmen
than priests.
About an hour before the opening of the exercises, I saw one of the priests
with hat in hand, accompanied by two of the fattest and most florid of the
band, going to every one, collecting money and with the utmost hilarity and
pleasure, each one threw his bank bills into the hat. I supposed that this
collection was intended to pay for our board, during the retreat, and I
prepared the fifteen dollars I wanted to give. When they came near me the big
hat was literally filled with five and ten dollar bills. Before handing my
money to them, I asked: "What is the object of that collection?"
"Ah! ah!" they answered with a hearty laugh. "Dear Father
Chiniquy, is it possible that you do not know it yet? Don't you know that, when
we are so crowded as we will be here, this week the rooms are apt to become too
warm, and we get thirsty? Then a little drop to cool the throat and quench the
thirst, is needed," and the collectors laughed outright.
I answered politely, but seriously: "Gentlemen, I came here to meditate
and pray; and when I am thirsty, the fresh and pure water of Lake Michigan will
quench my thirst. I have given up, long ago, the use of intoxicating drinks.
Please excuse me, I am a teetotaler."
"So we are!" they answered, with a laugh; "we have all taken the
pledge from Father Mathew; but this does not prevent us from taking a little
drop to quench our thirst and keep up our health. Father Mathew is not so
merciless as you are."
"I know Father Mathew well," I answered. "I have written to him
and seen him many times. Allow me to tell you that we are of the same mind
about the use of intoxicating drink."
"Is it possible! you know Father Mathew! and you are exchanging letters
with him! What a holy man he is, and what good he has done in Ireland, and
everywhere!" they answered.
"But the good he has done will not last long," I said, "if all
his disciples keep their pledges as you do."
As we were talking, a good number of priests came around us to hear what was
said; for it was evident to all that the bark of their collectors, not only had
come to shallow waters, but had struck on a rock.
One of the priests said: "I thought we were to be preached to by Bishop
Spaulding. I had no idea that it was Father Chiniquy who had that charge."
"Gentlemen," I answered, "I have as much right to preach to you
in favour of temperance as you have to preach to me in favour of intemperance.
You may do as you please about the use of strong drink, during the retreat; but
I hope I also may have the right to think and do as I please in that
matter."
"Of course," they all answered, "but you are the only one who
will not give us a cent to get a little drop."
"So much the worse for you all, gentlemen, if I am the only one. But
please excuse me, I cannot give you a cent for that object."
They then left me, saying something which I could not understand, but they were
evidently disgusted with what they considered my stubbornness and want of good
manners.
I must, however, say here, that two of them, Mr. Dunn, pastor of one of the
best congregations of Chicago, and the other unknown to me, came to
congratulate me on the stern rebuke I had given the collectors.
"I regret," said Mr. Dunn, "the five dollars I have thrown into
the hat. If I had spoken to you before, and had known that you would be brave
enough to rebuke them, I would have stood by you, and kept my money for better
use. It is really a shame that we should be preparing ourselves for a retreat
by wasting five hundred dollars for such a shameful object. They have just told
me that they have raised that sum for the champagne, brandy, whisky and beer
they will drink this week. Ah! what a disgrace! What a cry of indignation would
be raised against us, if such a shameful thing should be known! I am sorry
about the unkind words those priests have spoken to you; but you must excuse
them, they are already full of bad whisky.
"Do not think, however, that you are friendless, here, in our midst. You
have more friends than you think among the Irish priests; and I am one of them,
though you do not know me. Bishop Vandeveld has often spoken to me of your
grand colonization work among the French."
Mr. Dunn, then, pressed my hand in his, and taking me a short distance from the
others, said: "Consider me, hereafter, as your friend: you have won my
confidence by the fearless way in which you have just spoken, and the common
sense of your arguments. You have lost a true friend in Bishop Vandeveld. I
fear that our present bishop will not do you justice. Lebel and Carthuval have
prejudiced him against you. But I will stand by you, if you are ever unjustly
dealt with, as I fear you will, by the present administration of the diocese. I
fear we are on the eve of great evils. The scandalous suit which Bishop O'Regan
has brought against his predecessor is a disgrace. If he has gained fifty
thousand dollars by it, he has for ever lost the respect and confidence of all
his priests and diocesans.
"After the mild and paternal ruling of Bishop Vandeveld, neither the
priests nor the people of Illinois will long bear the iron chains which the
present bishop has in store for us all."
I thanked Mr. Dunn for his kind words, and told him that I had already tasted
the paternal love of my bishop by being twice dragged by Spink before the
criminal courts for having refused to live on good terms with the two most
demoralized priests I have ever known. He, then, speaking with a more subdued
voice, said: "I must tell you, confidentially, that one of those priests,
Lebel, will be turned out ignominiously from the diocese during the retreat.
Last week, a new fact, which surpasses all his other abominations, has been
revealed and proved to the bishop, for which he will be interdicted."
At that moment, the bell called us to the chapel to hear the regulations of the
bishop in reference to the retreat, after which we sang the matins. At 8 p.m.
we had our first sermon by Bishop Spaulding, from Kentucky. He was fat
fine-looking man, a giant in stature, and a good speaker. But the way in which
he treated his subject, though very clever, left, in my mind, the impression
that he did not believe a word of what he said. At certain times, there was
much fire in his elocution, but it was a fire of straw. He delivered two
sermons each day; and the Rev. Mr. Vanhulest, a Jesuit, gave us two
meditations, each of them lasting from forty to fifty minutes. The rest of the
time was spent in reading aloud the life of a saint, reciting the breviarum,
examination of conscience, and going to confession. We had half-an-hour for
meals, followed by one hour of recreation. Thus were the days spent. But the
nights! the nights! what shall I say of them? What pen can describe the orgies
I witnessed during those dark nights! and who can believe what I shall have to
say about them! though I will not and cannot say the half of what I have seen
and heard!
I got from the Rev. Mr. Dunn, then one of the bishop's counselors, and soon
after Vicar General, the statement that the sum of five hundred dollars was
expended in intoxicating drinks during the six days of the retreat. I ought to
say during the five nights. My pen refuses to write what my eyes saw and my
ears heard during the long hours of those nights, which I cannot forget though
I should live a thousand years.
The drinking used to begin about nine o'clock, as soon as the lights were put
out. Some were handing the bottles from bed to bed, while others were carrying
them to those at a distance, at first, with the least noise possible; but
half-an-hour had not elapsed before the alcohol was beginning to unloose the
tongues, and upset the brain. Then the bons mots, the witty stories, at first,
were soon followed by the most indecent and shameful recitals. Then the songs,
followed by the barking of dogs, the croaking of frogs, the howling of wolves.
In a word, the cries of all kinds of beasts, often mixed with the most
lascivious songs, the most infamous anecdotes flying from bed to bed, from room
to room, till one or two o'clock in the morning.
One night, three priests were taken with delirium tremens, almost at the same
time. One cried out that he had a dozen rattle-snakes at his shirt; the second
was fighting against thousands of bats, which were trying to tear his eyes from
their sockets; and the third, with a stick, was repulsing millions of spiders,
which, he said, were as big as wild turkeys, all at work to devour him. The
cries and lamentations of those three priests were really pitiful! To those
cries add the lamentations of some dozens of them whose overload stomachs were
ejecting in the beds and all around, the enormous quantity of drink they had
swallowed! The third day, I was so disgusted and indignant, that I determined
to leave, without noise, under the pretest that I was sick. It was not a false
pretext; for I was really sick. There was no possibility of sleeping before two
or three o'clock. Besides, the stench in the dormitories was horrible.
There was, however, another thing which was still more overwhelming me. It was
the terrible moral struggle in my soul from morning till night, and from night
till morning, when the voice of my conscience, which I had to take for the
voice of Satan, was crying in my ears: "Do you not clearly see that your
church is the devil's church that those priests, instead of being the Lamb's
priests, are the successors of the old Bacchus priests? Read your Bible a
little more attentively, and see if this is not the reign of that great harlot,
which is defiling the world with her abominations? How can you remain in such a
church? how long will you remain in this sea of Sodom? Come out! come out of
Babylon, if you do not want to perish with her! Can the tree which bears such
fruits be the tree of life? Can the priests who surround you, be the priests,
the ambassadors of the Saviour? Can the Son of God come down every morning in
body, in soul, and divinity, into the hands and stomach of such men? Can the
nations be led into the ways of God by them? Are you not guilty of an
unpardonable crime when you are planting, with your own hands, over this
magnificent country, a tree bearing such fruits? How dare you meet your God,
after you have so deceived yourself and the people as to believe and say that
these are the representatives, the leaders, the priests of the church out of
which there is no salvation!"
Oh! what an awful thing it is to resist the voice of God! To take Him for the
evil one, when, by His warnings, He seeks to save your soul! Although the
horrible scandal I had seen distressed me more than human words can tell, those
mental conflicts were still more distressing. Fearing lest I should entirely
lose my faith in my religion, and become an absolute infidel, by remaining any
longer in the midst of such profligacy, I determined to leave; but before doing
so, I wanted to consult a new friend whom the providence of God had given me in
Mr. Dunn. It seemed the unbearable burden which was on my shoulders would
become lighter, by sharing it with such a sympathetic brother priest.
I went to him, after dinner, and taking him apart, I told him all about the
orgies of last night, and asked his advice on my determination not to continue
that retreat, which was evidently nothing else than a blind, and a sacrilegious
comedy, to deceive the world.
He answered: "You teach me nothing, for I spent last night in the same
dormitory were you were. One of the priests told me all about those orgies,
yesterday; I could hardly believe what he said, and I determined to see and
hear for myself what was going on. You do not exaggerate, you do not even
mention half of the horrors of last night. It baffles any description. It is
simply incredible for any one who has not himself witnessed them. However, I do
not advise you to leave. It would for ever ruin you in the mind of the bishop,
who is not already too well disposed in your favour. The best thing you can do
is to go and say everything to Bishop Spaulding. I have done it this morning;
but I felt that he did not believe the half of what I told him. When the same
testimony comes from you, then he will believe it, and will probably take some
measures, with our own bishop, to put an end to those horrors. I have something
to tell you, confidentially, which surpasses, in a measure, anything you know
of the abominations of these last three nights.
"A respectable policeman, who belongs to my congregation, came to me this
morning, to tell me that the first night, six prostitutes, dressed as
gentlemen, and last night twelve came to the University, after dark, entered
the dormitory, and went, directed by signals, to those who had invited them,
each being provided with the necessary key. I have just reported the thing to
Bishop O'Regan; but instead of paying any attention to what I said, he became
furious against me, and nearly turned me out of his room, saying, 'Do you think
that I am going to come down from my dignity of bishop to hear the reports of
degraded policemen, or of vile spies? Shall I become the spies of my priests?
If they want to damn themselves, there is no help, let them go to hell! I am
not more obliged or able than God Himself to stop them! Does God stop them?
Does He punish them? No! Well! you cannot expect from me more zeal and power
than in our common God!'
"With these fine words ringing in my ears," said good Mr. Dunn,
"I had to leave his room at the double quick. It is of no use for us to
speak to Bishop O'Regan on that matter. It will do no good. He wants to get a
large subscription from those priests, at the end of the retreat, and he is
rather inclined to pet than punish them, till he obtains the hundred thousand
dollars he wants to build his white marble palace on the lake shore."
I replied: "Though you add to my desolation, instead of diminishing it, by
what you say of the strange principles of our bishop, I will speak to my lord
Spaulding as you advise me." Without a moment's delay, I went to his room.
He received me very kindly, and did not at all seem surprised at what I said.
It was as if he had been accustomed to see the same, or still worse
abominations. However, when I told him the enormous quantity of liquor drank, and
that the retreat would be only a ridiculous comedy, if no attempt at reform was
tried, he agreed with me; "but it would be advisable to try it," he
said. "Though this is not in our programme, we might give one or two
sermons on the necessity of priests giving an example of temperance to their
people. Will you please come with me to the room of my lord O'Regan, that we
may confer on the matter, after you have told him what is going on?"
Although the Bishop of Chicago seemed puzzled at seeing me entering his room
with my lord Spaulding, he was as polite as possible. He listened with more
attention than I expected to the narrative I gave of what was going on among
the priests. After telling him my sad story, Bishop Spaulding said: "My
lord of Chicago, these facts are very grave, and there cannot be any doubt
about the truth of what we have just heard. Two other gentlemen gave me the
same testimony this morning."
"Yes!" said Bishop O'Regan, "it is very sad to see that our
priests have so little self-respect, even during such solemn days as those of a
public retreat. The Rev. Mr. Dunn has just told me the same sad story as Father
Chiniquy. But what remedy can we find for such a state of things? Perhaps it
might do well to give them a good sermon on temperance. Mr. Chiniquy, I am told
that you are called 'the temperance apostle of Canada,' and that you are a
powerful speaker on that subject; would you not like to give them one or two
addresses on the injury they are doing to themselves and to our holy church, by
their drunkenness?"
"If those priests could understand me in French," I replied, "I
would accept the honour you offer me with pleasure; but to be understood by
them, I would have to speak in English; and I am not sufficiently free in that
language to attempt it. My broken English would only bring ridicule upon the
holy cause of temperance. But my lord Spaulding has already preached on that
subject in Kentucky, and an address from his lordship would be listened to with
more attention and benefit from him than from me."
It was then agreed that he should change his programme, and give two addresses
on temperance, which he did. But though these addresses were really eloquent,
they were pearls thrown before swine. The drunken priests slept, as usual; and
even snored, almost through the whole length of the delivery. It is true that
we could notice a little improvement, and less noise the following nights; the
change, however, was very little.
The fourth day of the retreat, the Rev. Mr. Lebel came to me with his bag in
hand. He looked furious. He said: "Now, you must be satisfied, I am
interdicted and turned out ignominiously from this diocese. It is your work!
But mind what I tell you: you will, also, soon be turned out from your colony
by the mitred tyrant who has just struck me down. He told me, several times,
that he would, at any cost, break your plant of French colonization, by sending
you to the south-west of Illinois, along the Mississippi, to an old French
settlement, opposite St. Louis. He is enraged against you, for your refusing to
give him your fine property at St. Anne."
I answered him: "You are mistaken when you think that I am the author of
your misfortunes. You have disgraced yourself by your own acts. God has given
you talents and qualities which, if cultivated, would have exalted you in the
church, but you have preferred to destroy those great gifts, in order to follow
the evil inclinations of your poor degraded human nature; you reap today what
you have sown. Nobody is more sorry than I am for your misfortune, and my most
sincere wish is that the past may be a lesson to guide your steps in the
future. The desire of the bishop to turn me out of my colony does not trouble
me. If it is the will of God to keep me at the head of that great work, the bishop
of Chicago will go down from his episcopal throne before I go down the
beautiful hill of St. Anne. Adieu!" He soon disappeared. But how the fall
of this priest, whom I had so sincerely loved, saddened me!
The next Sabbath was the last day of the retreat. All the priests went in
procession to the cathedral, to receive the holy communion, and every one of
them ate, what we had to believe was the true body, soul, and divinity of Jesus
Christ. This, however, did not prevent thirteen of them from spending the
greater part of the next night in calabooses, to which they had been taken by
the police, from houses of ill-fame, where they were rioting and fighting. The
next morning they were discharged from the hands of the police by paying pretty
round sums of money for the trouble of the night!
The next day, I went to Mr. Dunn's parsonage to ask him if he could give me any
explanation of the rumour which was afloat, and to which Mr. Lebel had made
allusion, that it was the intention of the bishop to remove me from my colony
to some distant part of his diocese.
"It is unfortunately too true," said he. "Bishop O'Regan thinks
that he has a mission from heaven to undo all his predecessor has done, and as
a one of the best and grandest schemes of Bishop Vandeveld was to secure the
possession of this magnificent State of Illinois to our church, by inducing all
the Roman Catholic emigrants from France, Belgium and Canada, to settle here,
our present bishop does not conceal that he will oppose that plan by removing
you to such a distance, that your colonization plans will be at an end. He says
that the French are, as a general thing, rebels and disobedient to their
bishops. He prefers seeing the Irish coming, on account of their proverbial
docility to their ecclesiastical superiors. I have, in vain, tried to change
his mind. I told you before that he often asks my opinion on what I think the
best thing to be done for the good of the diocese. But do not think that he
intends to follow my advice; it is just the contrary. My impression now is,
that he wants to know our views, only for the pleasure of acting diametrically
in opposition to what we advise."
I must not omit to say that we have been requested to spend the forenoon of
Monday in the University, for an important affair which the bishop had to
propose to his clergy. We were all there, in the great hall, at the appointed
hour. Even the thirteen priests who had spent the best part of the night at the
police station, heard the voice of their bishop, and hey were there, as docile
lambs.
We knew beforehand the proposition which was to be put before us. It was to
build a palace for our bishop, worthy of the great Illinois State, the cost of
which would be about one hundred thousand dollars.
Though every one of us felt that this was most extravagant in such a young and
poor diocese, nobody dared to raise his voice against that act of pride and
supreme folly. Every one promised to do all in his power to raise that sum, and
to show our good-will, we raised among ourselves, at once, seven thousand
dollars, which we gave in cash or in promissory notes. After this act of
liberality, we were blessed and dismissed by our bishop. I was but a few steps
from the University, when an Irish priest, unknown to me, ran after me to say, "My
lord O'Regan wants to see you immediately." And, five minutes later, I was
alone with my bishop, who, without any preface, told me, "Mr. Chiniquy, I
hear very strange and damaging things about you, form every quarter. But the
worst of all is that you are a secret Protestant emissary; that, instead of
preaching the true doctrines of our holy church, about the immaculate
conception, purgatory, the respect and obedience due to their superiors by the
people, auricular confession, ect., ect., you spend a part of your time in
distributing Bibles and New Testaments among your immigrants; I want to know
from your own lips, if this be true or not."
I answered, "A part of what the people told you about the matter is not
true, the other is true. It is not true that I neglect the preaching of the
doctrines of our holy church, about purgatory, immaculate conception of Mary,
auricular confession, or the respect due to our superiors. But it is true that
I do distribute the Holy Bible and the Gospel of Christ, among my people."
"And instead of blushing at such unpriestly conduct, you seem to be proud
of it," angrily replied the bishop.
"I do not understand, my lord, why a priest of Christ could blush for
distributing the Word of God among his people; as I am bound to preach that
Holy Word, it is not only my right but my duty to give it to them. I am fully
persuaded that there is no preaching so efficacious and powerful as the
preaching of our God Himself, when speaking to us in His Holy Book."
"This is sheer Protestantism, Mr. Chiniquy, this is sheer
Protestantism," he answered me angrily.
"My dear bishop," I answered calmly, "if to give the Bible to
the people and invite them to read and meditate on it is Protestantism, our
holy Pope Pius VI. was a good Protestant, for in his letter to Martini, which
is probably in the first pages of the beautiful Bible I see on your lordship's
table, he not only blesses him for having translated that Holy Book into
Italian, but invites the people to read it."
The bishop, assuming an air of supreme contempt, replied: "Your answer
shows your complete ignorance on the subject on which you speak so boldly. If
you were a little better informed on that grave subject, you would know that
the translation by Martini, which the Pope advise the Italian people to read,
formed a work of twenty-three big volumes in folio, which, of course, nobody,
except very rich and idle people could read. Not one in ten thousand Italians
have the means of purchasing such a voluminous work; and not one in twenty thousand
have the time or the will to pursue such a mass of endless commentaries. The
Pope would never have given such an advice to read a Bible, as the one you
distribute so imprudently."
"Then, my lord, do you positively tell me that the Pope gave permission to
read Martini's translation, because he knew that the people could never get it
on account of its enormous size and price, and do you assure me that he would
never have given such advice, had the same people been able to purchase and
read that holy work."
"Yes, sir! It is what I mean," answered the bishop, with an air of
triumph, "for I know positively that this is the fact."
I replied, calmly: "I hope your lordship is unwillingly mistaken; for if
you were correct, the stern and unflinching principles of logic would force me
to think and say that that Pope and all his followers were deceivers, and that
encyclical a public fraud in his own hands; for we Catholic priests make use of
it, all over the world, and reprint it at the head of our own Bibles, to make
the people, both Protestants and Catholics believe that we approve of their
reading our own versions of that Holy Book."
Had I thrown a spark of fire in a keg of powder, the explosion would not have
been more prompt and terrible than the rage of that prelate. Pointing his
finger to my face, he said: "Now, I see the truth of what I have been
told, that you are a disguised Protestant, since the very day that you were
ordained a priest. The Bible! The Bible is your motto! For you the Bible is
everything, and the holy church, with her Popes and bishops is nothing! what an
insolent, I dare say, what a blasphemous word, I have just heard from you? You
dare call an encyclical letter of one of our most holy Popes, a fraud!"
In vain, I tried to explain, he would not listen; and he silenced me by saying:
"If our holy church has, in an unfortunate day, appointed you one of her
priests in my diocese, it was to preach the doctrines, and not to distribute
the Bible! If you forget that, I will make you remember it!" And with that
threat on my head as a Damocles' sword, I had to take the door which he had
opened, without any au revoir. Thanks be to God, this first persecution and
these outrages I received for my dear Bible's sake, did not diminish my love,
my respect for God's Holy Word, nor my confidence in it. On the contrary, on
reaching home, I took it, fell on my knees, and pressing it to my heart, I
asked my heavenly Father to grant me the favour to love it more sincerely, and
follow its divine teachings with more fidelity till the end of my life.
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 56 Back to Top
A
month had scarcely elapsed since the ecclesiastical retreat, when all the
cities of Illinois were filled by the most strange and humiliating clamors
against our bishop. From Chicago to Cairo, it would have been difficult to go
to a single town without hearing, from the most respectable people, or reading
in big letters, in some of the most influential papers, that Bishop O'Regan was
a thief or a simoniac, a perjurer, or even something worse. The bitterest
complaints were crossing each other over the breadth and length of Illinois,
from almost every congregation: "He has stolen the beautiful and costly
vestments we bought for our church," cried the French Canadians of
Chicago. "He has swindled us out of a fine lot given us to build our
church, sold it for 40,000 dollars, and pocketed the money, for his own private
use, without giving us any notice," said the Germans. "His thirst for
money is so great," said the whole Catholic people of Illinois, "that
he is selling even the bones of the dead to fill his treasures!"
I had not forgotten the bold attempt of the bishop to wrench my little property
from my hands, at his first visit to my colony. The highway thief, who puts his
dagger at the breast of the traveler, threatening to take away his life if he
does not give him his purse, does not appear more infamous to his victim than
that bishop appeared to me that day. But my hope then was, that this act was an
isolated and exceptional case in the life of my superior; and I did not whisper
a word of it to anybody. I began to think differently, however, when I saw the
numerous articles in the principal papers of the State, signed by the most
respectable names, accusing him of theft, simony, and lies. My hope, at first,
was that there were many exaggerations in those reports. But as they came
thicker day after day, I thought my duty was to go to Chicago and see for
myself to what extent those rumours were true. I went directly to the French
Canadian church; and to my unspeakable dismay, I found that it was too true
that the bishop had stolen the fine church vestments, which my countrymen had
bought for their own priest for grand festivals, and he had transferred them to
the cathedral of St. Mary for his own personal use. The indignation of my poor
countrymen knew no bounds. It was really deplorable to hear with what supreme
disgust and want of respect they were speaking of their bishop. Unfortunately,
the Germans and Irish people were still ahead of them in their unguarded,
disrespectful denunciations. Several spoke of prosecuting him before the civil
courts, to force him to disgorge what he had stolen; and it was with the
greatest difficulty that I succeeded in preventing some of them from mobbing
and insulting him publicly in the streets, or even in his own palace. The only
way I could find to appease them was to promise them that I would speak to his
lordship, and tell him that it was the desire of my countrymen to have those vestments
restored to them.
The second thing I did was to go to the cemetery, and see for myself to what
extent it was true or not that our bishop was selling the very bones of his
diocesans, in order to make money. On my way to the Roman Catholic graveyard, I
met a great many cart loads of sand, which, I was told by the carters, had been
taken from the cemetery; but I did not like to stop them till I was at the very
door of the consecrated spot. There I found three carters, who were just
leaving the grounds. I asked and obtained from them the permission to search
the sand which they carried, to see if there were not some bones. I could not
find any in the first cart; and my hope was that it would be the same in the
two others. But, to my horror and shame, I found the lower jaw of a child in
the second, and part of the bones of an arm, and almost the whole foot of a
human being, in the third cart! I politely requested the carters to show me the
very place where they had dug that sand, and they complied with my prayer. To
my unspeakable regret and shame, I found that the bishop had told an
unmitigated falsehood when, to appease the public indignation against his
sacrilegious trade, he had published that he was selling only the sand which
was outside of the fence, on the very border of the lake.
It is true that, to make his case good, he had ordered the old fence to be
taken away, in order to make a new one, many feet inside the old one. But this
miserable and shameful subterfuge rendered his crime still greater than it had
at first appeared. What added to the gravity of that public iniquity, is that
the Bishop of Chicago had received that piece of land from the city, for a
burial ground, only after he had taken a solemn oath to use it only for buying
the dead. Every load of that ground sold then, was not only an act of simony,
but the breaking of a solemn oath! No words can express the shame I felt, after
convincing myself of the correctness of what the press of Chicago, and of the
whole State of Illinois had published against our bishop, about this
sacrilegious traffic.
Slowly retracing my steps to the city from the cemetery, I went directly to the
bishop, to fulfill the promise I had made to the French Canadians, to try to
obtain the restoration of their fine vestments. But I was not long with him
without seeing that I would gain nothing but his implacable enmity in pleading
the cause of my poor countrymen. However, I thought my duty was to do all in my
power to open the eyes of my bishop to the pit he was digging for himself and
for all us Catholics, by his conduct. "My lord," I said, "I
shall not surprise your lordship, when I tell you that all the true Catholics
of Illinois are filled with sorrow by the articles they find, every day, in the
press, against their bishop."
"Yes! yes!" he abruptly replied, "the good Catholics must be sad
indeed to read such disgusting diatribes against their superior; and I presume
that you are one of those that are sorry. But, then, why do you not prevent
your insolent and infidel countrymen from writing those things! I see that a
great part of those libels are signed by the French Canadians."
I answered, "It is to try, as much as it is in my power, to put an end to
those scandals that I am in Chicago, today, my lord."
"Very well, very well," he replied, "as you have the reputation
of having a great influence over your countrymen, make use of it to stop them
in their rebellious conduct against me, and I will, then, believe that you are
a good priest."
I answered, "I hope that I will succeed in what your lordship wants me to
do. But there are two things to be done, in order to secure my success."
"What are they?" quickly asked the bishop.
"The first is, that your lordship give back the fine church vestments
which you have taken from the French Canadian congregation of Chicago.
"The second is, that your lordship abstain, absolutely, from this day, to
sell the sand of the burying ground, which covers the tombs of the dead."
Without answering a word, the bishop struck his fist violently upon the table,
and crossed the room at a quick step, two or three times; then turning towards
me, and pointing his finger to my face, he exclaimed in an indescribable accent
of rage:
"Now, I see the truth of what Mr. Spink told me! you are not only my
bitterest enemy, but you are the head of my enemies. You take sides with them
against me. You approve of their libelous writings against me! I will never
give back those church vestments. They are mine, as the French Canadian church
is mine! Do you not know that the ground on which the churches are built, as
well as the churches themselves, and all that belongs to the church, belongs to
the bishop? Was it not a burning shame to use those fine vestments in a poor
miserable church of Chicago, when the bishop of that important city was covered
with rags! It was in the interest of the episcopal dignity, that I ordered
those rich and splendid vestments, which were mine by law, to be transferred
from that small and insignificant congregation, to my cathedral of St. Mary,
and if you had an ounce of respect for your bishop, Mr. Chiniquy, you would
immediately go to your countrymen and put a stop to their murmurs and slanders
against me, by simply telling them that I have taken what was mine from that
church, which is mine also, to the cathedral, which is altogether mine. Tell
your countrymen to hold their tongues, and respect their bishop, when he is in
the right, as I am today."
I had, many times, considered the infamy and injustice of the law which the
bishops have had passed all over the United States, making every one of them a
corporation, with the right of possessing personally all the church properties
of the Roman Catholics. But I had never understood the infamy and tyranny of
that law so clearly as in that hour. It is impossible to describe with ink and
paper the air of pride and contempt with which the bishop really in substance,
if not in words, told me: "All those things are mine. I do what I please
with them, you must be mute and silent when I take them away from you. It is
against God Himself that you rebel when you refuse me the right of
dispossessing you of all those properties which you have purchased with your
own money, and which have not cost me a cent!" In that moment I felt that
the law which makes every bishop the only master and proprietor of all the
religious goods, houses, churches, lands and money of their people as
Catholics, is simply diabolical: and that the church which sanctions such a
law, is antichristian. Though it was at the risk and peril of everything dear
to me, that I should openly protest against that unjust law, there was no help;
I felt constrained to do so with all the energy I possessed.
I answered: "My lord, I confess that this is the law in the United States;
but this is a human law, directly opposed to the Gospel. I do not find a single
word in the Gospel which gives this power to the bishop. Such a power is an
abusive, not a divine power, which will sooner or later destroy our holy church
in the United States, as it has already mortally wounded her in Great Britain,
in France and in many other places. When Christ said, in the Holy Gospel, that
He has not enough of ground whereon to lay His head, He condemned, in advance,
the pretensions of the bishops who lay their hands on our church properties as
their own. Such a claim is an usurpation and not a right, my lord. Our Saviour
Jesus Christ protested against that usurpation, when asked by a young man to
meddle in his temporal affairs with his brothers; He answered that 'He had not
received such power.' The Gospel is a long protest against that usurpation, in
every page, it tells us that the kingdom of Christ is not of this world. I have
myself given fifty dollars to help my countrymen to buy those church vestments.
They belong to them and not to you!"
My words, uttered with an expression of firmness which the bishop had never yet
seen in any of his priests, fell upon him, at first, as a thunderbolt. They so
puzzled him, that he looked at me, a moment, as if he wanted to see if it were
a dream or a reality, that one of his priests had the audacity to use such
language, in his presence. But! soon, recovering from his stupor, he
interrupted me by striking his fist again on the table, and saying in anger:
"You are half a Protestant! Your words smell of Protestantism! The Gospel!
the Gospel! that is your great tower of strength against the laws and
regulations of our holy church! If you think, Mr. Chiniquy, that you will
frighten me with your big words of the Gospel, you will soon see your mistake,
at your own expense. I will make you remember that it is the Church you must
obey, and it is through your bishop that the church rules you!"
"My lord," I answered, "I want to obey the church. Yes! but it
is a church founded on the Gospel; a church that respects and follows the
Gospel, that I want to obey!"
These words threw him into a fit of rage, and he answered: "I am too busy
to hear your impertinent babblings any longer. Please let me alone, and
remember that you will soon hear from me again if you cannot teach your people
to respect and obey their superiors!" The bishop kept his promise. I heard
of him very soon after, when his agent, Peter Spink, dragged me, again a
prisoner, before the Criminal Court of Kankakee, accusing me falsely of crimes
which his malice alone could have invented. My lord O'Regan had determined to
interdict me; but, not being able to find any cause in my private or public
life as a priest to found such a sentence, he had pressed that land speculator,
Spink, to prosecute me again; promising to base his interdict on the
condemnation which, he had been told, would be passed against me by the
Criminal Court of Kankakee. But the bishop and Peter Spink were again to be
disappointed; for the verdict of the court, given on the 13th of November,
1855, was again in my favour.
My heart filled with joy at this new and great victory my God had given me
against my merciless persecutors. I was blessing Him, when my two lawyers,
Messrs. Osgood and Paddock, came to me and said: "Our victory, though
great, is not so decisive as was expected; for Mr. Spink has just taken an oath
that he has no confidence in this Kankakee Court, and he has appealed, by a
change of venue, to the Court of Urbana, in Champaign County. We are sorry to have
to tell you that you must remain a prisoner, under bail, in the hands of the
sheriff, who is bound to deliver you to the sheriff of Urbana, the 19th of May,
next spring."
I nearly fainted when I heard this. The ignominy of being again in the hands of
the sheriff for so long a time; the enormous expenses, far beyond my means, to
bring my fifteen to twenty witnesses such a long distance of nearly one hundred
miles; the new ocean of insults, false accusations, and perjuries with which my
enemies were to overwhelm me again; and the new risk of being condemned, though
innocent, at that distant court; all those things crowded themselves in my mind
to crush me. For a few minutes I was obliged to sit down; for I would surely
have fallen down had I continued to stand on my feet. A kind friend had to
bring me some cold water and bathe my forehead, to prevent me from fainting. It
seemed that God had forsaken me for the time being, and that He was to let me
fall powerless in the hand of my foes. But I was mistaken. That merciful God
was near me, in the dark hour, to give me one of the marvellous proofs of His
paternal and loving care.
The very moment I was leaving the court with a heavy heart, a gentleman, a
stranger, came to me and said: "I have followed your suit from the
beginning. It is more formidable than you suspect. Your prosecutor, Spink, is
only an instrument in the hands of the bishop. The real prosecutor is the land
shark who is at the head of the diocese, and who is destroying our holy
religion by his private and public scandals. As you are the only one among his
priests who dares to resist him, he is determined to get rid of you: he will
spend all his treasures and use the almost irresistible influence of his
position to crush you. The misfortune for you is that, when you fight a bishop,
you fight all the bishops of the world. They will unite all their wealth and
influence to Bishop O'Regan's to silence you, though they hate and despise him.
There was no danger of any verdict against you in this part of Illinois, where
you are too well known for the perjured witnesses they have brought to
influence your judges. But when you are among strangers, mind what I tell you:
the false oaths of your enemies may be accepted as gospel truths by the jury,
and then, though innocent, you are lost. Though your two lawyers are expert
men, you will want something better at Urbana. Try to secure the services of
Abraham Lincoln, of Springfield. If that man defends you, you will surely come
out victorious from that deadly conflict!"
I answered: "I am much obliged to you for your sympathetic words: but
would you please allow me to ask your name?"
"Be kind enough to let me keep my incognito here," he answered.
"The only thing I can say is, that I am a Catholic like you, and one who,
like you, cannot bear any longer the tyranny of our American bishops. With many
others, I took to you as our deliverer, and for that reason I advise you to
engage the services of Abraham Lincoln."
"But," I replied, "who is that Abraham Lincoln? I never heard of
that man before."
He replied: "Abraham Lincoln is the best lawyer and the most honest man we
have in Illinois."
I went immediately, with that stranger, to my two lawyers, who were in
consultation only a few steps from us, and asked them if they would have any
objection that I should ask the services of Abraham Lincoln, to help them to
defend me at Urbana.
They both answered: "Oh! if you can secure the services of Abraham
Lincoln, by all means do it. We know him well; he is one of the best lawyers,
and one of the most honest men we have in our State."
Without losing a minute, I went to the telegraph office with that stranger, and
telegraphed to Abraham Lincoln to ask him if he would defend my honour and my
life (though I was a stranger to him) at the next May term of the court at
Urbana.
About twenty minutes later I received the answer:
.
"Yes, I will defend your honour and your life at the next
May term at Urbana.
"Abraham Lincoln."
My
unknown friend then paid the operator, pressed my hand, and said: "May God
bless you and help you, Father Chiniquy. Continue to fight fearlessly for truth
and righteousness against our mitred tyrants; and God will help you in the
end." He then took a train for the north, and soon disappeared, as a vision
from heaven. I have not seen him since, though I have not let a day pass
without asking my God to bless him. A few minutes later, Spink came to the
office to telegraph to Lincoln, asking his services at the next May term of the
Court, at Urbana. But it was too late.
Before being dragged to Urbana, I had to renew, at Easter, 1856, the oil which
is used for the sick, in the ceremony which the Church of Rome calls the
Sacrament of Extreme Unction, and in the Baptism of Children. I sent my little
silver box to the bishop by a respectable young merchant of my colony, called
Dorion. But he brought it back without a drop of oil, with a most abusive
letter from the bishop, because I had not sent five dollars to pay for the oil.
It was just what I expected. I knew that it was his habit to make his priests
pay five dollars for that oil, which was not worth more than two or three
cents.
This act of my bishop was one of the many evident cases of simony of which he
was guilty every day. I took his letter, with my small silver box, to the
Archbishop of St. Louis, my lord Kenrick, before whom I brought my complaints
against the Bishop of Chicago, on the 9th April, 1856. That high dignitary told
me that many priests of the diocese of Chicago had already brought the same
complaints before him, and exposed the infamous conduct of their bishop. He
agreed with me that the rapacity of Bishop O'Regan, his thefts, his lies, his
acts of simony were public and intolerable, but that he hand no remedy for
them, and said: "The only thing I advise you to do is to write to the Pope
directly. Prove your charges against that guilty bishop as clearly as possible.
I will myself write to corroborate all you have told me; for I know it is true.
My hope is that your complaints will attract the attention of the Pope. He
will, probably, send some one from Rome to make an enquiry, and then that
wicked man will be forced to offer his resignation. If you succeed, as I hope,
in your praiseworthy efforts to put an end to such scandals, you will have well
deserved the gratitude of the whole church. For that unprincipled dignitary is
the cause that our holy religion is not only losing her prestige in the United
States, but is becoming an object of contempt wherever those public crimes are
known."
I was, however, forced to postpone my writing to the Pope. For, a few days
after my return from St. Louis to my colony, I had to deliver myself again into
the hands of the Sheriff of Kankakee, who was obliged by Spink to take me
prisoner, and deliver me as a criminal into the hands of the Sheriff of
Champaign County, on the 19th of May, 1856.
It was then that I met Mr. Abraham Lincoln for the first time. He was a giant
in stature; but I found him still more a giant in the noble qualities of his
mind and heart. It was impossible to converse five minutes with him without
loving him. There was such an expression of kindness and honesty in that face,
and such an attractive magnetism in the man, that after a few moments'
conversation one felt as tied to him by all noblest affections of the heart.
When pressing my hand, he told me: "You were mistaken when you telegraphed
that you were unknown to me. I know you, by reputation, as the stern opponent
of the tyranny of your bishop, and the fearless protector of your countrymen in
Illinois; I have heard much of you from two priests; and, last night, your
lawyers, Messrs. Osgood and Paddock have acquainted me with the fact that your
bishop is employing some of his tools to get rid of you. I hope it will be an
easy thing to defeat his projects, and protect you against his
machinations." He then asked me how I had been induced to desire his
services. I answered by giving him the story of that unknown friend who had
advised me to have Mr. Abraham Lincoln for one of my lawyers, for the reason
that "he was the best lawyer and the most honest man in Illinois." He
smiled at my answer with that inimitable and unique smile, which we may call
the "Lincoln smile," and replied: "That unknown friend would
surely have been more correct had he told you that Abraham Lincoln was the
ugliest lawyer of the country!" and he laughed outright.
I spent six long days at Urbana as a criminal, in the hands of the sheriff, at
the feet of my judges. During the greatest part of that time, all that human
language can express of abuse and insult was heaped on my poor head. God only
knows what I suffered in those days; but I was providentially surrounded, as by
a strong wall. I had Abraham Lincoln for my defense "the best lawyer and
the most honest man of Illinois," and the leaned and upright David Davis
for my judge. The latter became Vice-president of the United States in 1882;
and the former its most honoured President from 1861 to 1865.
I never heard anything like the eloquence of Abraham Lincoln when he demolished
the testimonies of the two perjured priests, Lebel and Carthuval, who, with ten
or twelve other false witnesses, had sworn against me. I would have surely been
declared innocent after that eloquent address and the charge of the learned
Judge Davis, had not my lawyers, by a sad blunder, left a Roman Catholic on the
jury. Of course, that Irish Roman Catholic wanted to condemn me, when the
eleven honest and intelligent Protestants were unanimous in voting "Not
guilty." The court, having at last found that it was impossible to
persuade the jury to give an unanimous verdict, discharged them. But Spink
again forced the sheriff to keep me prisoner, by obtaining from the court the
permission to begin the prosecution de novo at the term of the fall, the 19th
of October, 1856. Humanly speaking, I would have been one of the most miserable
men, had I not had my dear Bible, which I was mediating and studying day and
night in those dark days of trial. But tough I was then still in the desolate
wilderness, far away yet from the Promised Land, my heavenly Father never
forsook me. He many times let the sweet manna fall from heaven to feed my
desponding soul, and cheer my fainting heart. More than once, when I was
panting with spiritual thirst, He brought me near the Rock, from the side of
which the living waters were gushing to refresh and renew my strength and
courage.
Though the world did not suspect it, I knew from the beginning, that all my
tribulations were coming from my unconquerable attachment an my unfaltering
love and respect for the Bible, as the root and source of every truth given by
God to man; and I felt assured that my God knew it also; -- that assurance
supported my courage in the conflict. Every day my Bible was becoming dearer to
me. I was then constantly trying to walk in its marvellous light and divine
teaching. I wanted to learn my duties and rights. I like to acknowledge that it
was the Bible which gave me the power and wisdom I then so much needed, to face
fearlessly so many foes. That power and wisdom I felt were not mine. On this
very account my dear Bible enabled me to remain calm in the very lions' den;
and it gave me, from the very beginning of that terrible conflict, the
assurance of a final victory; for every time I bathed my sould in its Divine light,
I heard my merciful heavenly Father's voice, saying, "Fear not, for I am
with thee" (Isaiah 43:5).
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 57 Back to Top
The
Holy Scriptures say that an abyss* calls for another abyss (abyssus abyussum invocat).
That axiom had its accomplishment in the conduct of Bishop O'Regan. When once
on the declivity of iniquity, he descended to its lowest depths with more
rapidity than a stone thrown into the sea. Not satisfied with the shameful
theft of the rich vestments of the French Canadian Church of Chicago, he
planned iniquity which was to bring upon him, more than ever, the execration of
the Roman Catholics of Illinois. It was nothing less than the complete
destruction of the thriving congregations of my French Canadian countrymen of
Chicago from his people, as well as my removal from my colony, were determined.
Our churches were at first to be closed, and after some time sold to the Irish
people, or to the highest bidder, for their own use. It was in Chicago that
this great iniquity was to begin. Not long after Easter, 1856, the Rev. Mons.
Lemaire was turned out, interdicted, and ignominiously driven from the diocese
of Chicago, without even giving the shadow of a reason, and the French
Canadians suddenly found themselves without a pastor. A few days after, the
parsonage they had built for their priest in Clark Street was sold for 1,200
dollars to an American. The beautiful little church which they had built on the
lot next to the parsonage, at the cost of so many sacrifices, was removed five
or six blocks south-west, and rented by the bishop to the Irish Catholics for
about 2,000 dollars per annum, and the whole money was pocketed, without even a
notice to my countrymen.
Though accustomed to his acts of perfidy, I could not believe at first the
rumours which reached me of those transactions! They seemed to be beyond the
limits of infamy, and to be impossible. I went to Chicago, hoping to find that
the public rumour had exaggerated the evil. But alas! nothing had been
exaggerated!
The wolf had dispersed the sheep and destroyed the flock. The once thriving
French congregation of Chicago was no more! Wherever I went, I saw tears of
distress among my dear countrymen, and heard cries of indignation against the
destroyer. Young and old, rich and poor among them, with one voice, denounced
and cursed the heartless mitred brigand, who had dared to commit publicly such
a series of iniquities, to satisfy his thirst for gold and his hatred of the
French Canadians.
They asked me what they should do: but what could I answer! They requested me
to go again to him and remonstrate. But I showed them that after my complete
failure which I had tried to get back the sacerdotal vestments, there was no
hope that he would disgorge the house and the church. The only thing I could
advise them was to select five or six of the most influential members of their
congregation to go and respectfully ask him by what right he had taken away,
not only their priest, but the parsonage and the church they had built, and
transferred them to another people. They followed my advice. Messrs. Franchere
and Roffinot (who are still living) and six other respectable French Canadians,
were sent by the whole people to put those questions to their bishop. He answered
them:
"French Canadians! you do not know your religion! Were you a little better
acquainted with it, you would know that I have the right to sell your churches
and church properties, pocket the money, and go, eat and drink it where I
please." After that answer they were ignominiously turned out from his
presence into the street. Posterity will scarcely believe those things, though
they are true.
The very next day, Aug. 19th, 1856, the bishop having heard that I was in
Chicago, sent for me. I met him after his dinner. Though not absolutely drunk,
I found him full of wine, and terribly excited. "Mr. Chiniquy," he
said, "you had promised me to make use of your influence to put an end to
the rebellious conduct of your countrymen against me. But I find that they are
more insolent and unmanageable than ever; and my firm belief is that it is your
fault. You, and that handful of French Canadians of Chicago, give me more
trouble than all the rest of my priests and my people in Illinois. You are too
near Chicago, sir, your influence is too much felt on your people here. I must
remove you to a distant place, where you will have enough to do without
meddling in my administration. I want your service to Kahokia, in my diocese of
Quincy; and if you are not there by the 15th of Sept. next, I will interdict
and excommunicate you, and for ever put an end to your intrigues."
These words fell upon me as a thunderbolt. The tyranny of the bishop of my
church, and the absolute degradation of the priest whose honour, position and
life are entirely in his hands, had never been revealed to me so vividly as in
that hour. What could I say or do to appease that mitred despot? After some
moments of silence, I tried to make some respectful remonstrances by telling
him that my position was an exceptional one; that I had not come to Illinois as
his other priests, to be at the head of any existing congregation, but that I
had been invited by his predecessor to direct the tide of the emigration of the
Frenchspeaking people of Europe and America. That I had come to a wilderness
which, by the blessing of God, I had changed into a thriving country, covered
with an industrious and religious people. I further told him, that I had left
the most honourable position which a priest had ever held in Canada, with the
promise from his predecessor that, as long as I lived the life of a good
priest, I should not be disturbed in my work. As I soon perceived that he was
too much under the influence of liquor to understand me, and speak with
intelligence, I only added:
"My lord, you speak of interdict and excommunication! Allow me to
respectfully tell you that if you can show me that I have done anything to
deserve to be interdicted or excommunicated, I will submit in silence to your
sentence. But before you pass that sentence, I ask you, in the name of God, to
make a public inquest about me, and have my accusers confront me. I warn your
lordship, that if you interdict or excommunicate me without holding an inquest,
I will make use of all the means which our holy church puts in the hands of her
priests to defend my honour and prove my innocence; I will also appeal to the
laws of our great Republic, which protects the character of all her citizens
against any one who slanders them. It will, then, be at your risk and peril
that you will pass such a sentence against me."
My calm answer greatly excited his rage. He violently struck the table with his
fist, and said: "I do not care a straw about your threats. I repeat it,
Mr. Chiniquy, if you are not at Kahokia by the 15th of next month, I will
interdict and excommunicate you."
Feeling that it was a folly on my part to argue with a man who was beside
himself by passion and excess of wine, I replied "With the help of God, I
will never bear the infamy of an interdict or excommunication. I will do all
that religion and honour will allow me to prevent such a dark spot from
defiling my name, and the man who does try it, will learn at his own expense
that I am not only a priest of Christ, but also an American citizen. I
respectfully tell your lordship that I neither smoke nor use intoxicating
drinks. The time which your other priests give to those habits, I spend in the
study of books, and especially of my Bible. I found in them, not only my
duties, but my rights; and just as I am determined, with the help of God, to
perform my duties, I will stand by my rights." I then immediately left the
room to take the train to St. Anne.
Having spent a part of the night praying God to change the heart of my bishop,
and keep me in the midst of my people, which were becoming dearer and dearer to
me, in proportion to the efforts of the enemy to drive me away from them, I
addressed the following letter to the bishop:
.
To the Rt. Rev. O'Regan, Bishop of Chicago.
My Lord. The more I consider your design to turn me out of the colony which I
have founded, and of which I am the pastor, the more I believe it a duty which
I owe to myself, my friends, and to my countrymen, to protest before God and
man against what you intend to do.
Not a single one of your priests stands higher than I do in the public mind,
neither is more loved and respected by his people than I am. I defy my
bitterest enemies to prove the contrary. And that character which is my most
precious treasure, you intend to despoil me of by ignominiously sending me away
from among my people! Certainly, I have enemies, and I am proud of it. The
chief ones are well known in this country as the most depraved of men. The
cordial reception they say they have received from you, has not taken away the
stains they have on their foreheads.
By this letter, I again request you to make a public and most minute inquest
into my conduct. My conscience tells me that nothing can be found against me.
Such a public and fair dealing with me would confound my accusers. But I speak
of accusers, when I do not really know if I have any. Where are they? What are
their names? Of what sin do they accuse me? All these questions which I put to
you, last Tuesday, were left unanswered! and would to God that you would answer
them today, by giving me their names. I am ready to meet them before any
tribunal. Before you strike the last blow on the victim of this most hellish
plot, I request you, in the name of God, to give a moment's attention to the
following consequences of my removal from this place at present.
You know I have a suit with Mr. Spink at the Urbana Court, for the beginning of
October. My lawyers and witnesses are all in Kankakee and Iroquois counties;
and in the very time I want most to be here to prove my innocence and guard my
honour, you order me to go to a place more than three hundred miles distant!
Did you ever realize that by that strange conduct, you help Spink against your
own priest? When at Kahokia, I will have to bear the heavy expenses of traveling
more than three hundred miles, many times, to consult my friends, or be
deprived of their valuable help! Is it possible that you thus try to tie my
hands and feet, and deliver me into the hands of my remorseless enemies? Since
the beginning of that suit, Mr. Spink proclaims that you help him, and that,
with the perjured priests, you have promised to do all in your power to crush
me down! For the sake of the scared character you bear, do not show so publicly
that Mr. Spinks' boastings are true. For the sake of your high position in the
church, do not so publicly lend a helping hand to the heartless land speculator
of L'Erable. He has already betrayed his Protestant friends to get a wife; he
will, ere long, betray you for less. Let me then live in peace here, till that
suit is over.
By turning me away from my settlement, you destroy it. More than ninetenths of
the emigrants come here to live near me; by striking me you strike them all.
Where will you find a priest who will love that people so much as to give them,
every year, from one to two thousand dollars, as I have invariably done? It is
at the price of those sacrifices that, with the poorest class of emigrants from
Canada, I have founded, here, in four years, a settlement which cannot be surpassed,
or even equaled, in the United States, for its progress. And now that I have
spent my last cent to form this colony, you turn me out of it. Our college,
where one hundred and fifty boys are receiving such a good education, will be
closed the very day I leave. For, you know very well the teachers I got from
Montreal will leave as soon as I will.
Ah! if you are merciless towards the priest of St. Anne, have pity on these
poor children. I would rather be condemned to death than to see them destroy
their intelligence by running in the streets. Let me then finish my work here,
and give me time to strengthen these young institutions which would fall to the
ground with me. If you turn me out or interdict me, as you say you will do, if
I disobey your orders, my enemies will proclaim that you treat me with that
rigour because you have found me guilty of some great iniquity; and this
necessarily will prejudice my judges against me. They will consider me as a
vile criminal. For who will suppose, in this free country, that there is a
class of men who can judge a man and condemn him as our Bishop of Chicago is
doing today, without giving him the names of his accusers, or telling him of
what crimes he is accused?
In the name of God, I again ask you not to force me to leave my colony before I
prove my innocence, and the iniquity of Spink, to the honest people of Urbana.
But, if you are deaf to my prayers, and if nothing can deter you from your
resolution, I do not wish to be in the unenviable position of an interdicted
priest among my countrymen; send me, by return mail, my letters of mission for
the new places you intend trusting to my care. The sooner I get there the
better for me and my people. I am ready! When on the road of exile, I will pray
the God of Abraham to give me the fortitude and the faith He gave to Isaac,
when laying his head on the altar, he willingly presented his throat to the
sword. I will pray my Saviour, bearing His heavy cross to the top of Calvary,
to direct and help my steps towards the land of exile you have prepared for
your
Devoted Priest,
C. Chiniquy.
This
letter was not yet mailed when we heard that the drunkard priests around us
were publishing that the bishop had interdicted me, and they had received
orders from him to take charge of the colony of St. Anne. I immediately called
a meeting of the whole people and told them: "The bishop has not
interdicted me as the neighbouring priests publish; he has only threatened to
do so, if I do not leave this place for Kahokia, by the 15th of next month. But
though he has not interdicted me, it may be that he does today, falsely publish
that he has done it. We can expect anything from the destroyer of the fine
congregation of the French Canadians of Chicago. He wants to destroy me and you
as he has destroyed them. But before he immolates us, I hope that, with the
help of God, we will fight as Christian soldiers, for our life, and we will use
all the means which the laws of our church, the Holy word of God, and the
glorious Constitution of the Untied States allow us to employ against our
merciless tyrant.
"I ask of you, as a favour, to send a deputation of four members of our
colony, in whom you place the most implicit confidence, to carry this letter to
the bishop. But before delivering it, they will put to him the following
questions, the answers of which they will write down with great care in his
presence, and deliver them to us faithfully. It is evident that we are now
entering into a momentous struggle. We must act with prudence and firmness."
Messrs. J. B. Lemoine, Leon Mailloux, Francis Bechard, and B. Allaire, having
been unanimously chosen for that important mission, we gave them the following
questions to put to the bishop:-
1st. "Have you interdicted Mr. Chiniquy?
2nd. "Why are you interdicted him? Is Mr. Chiniquy guilty of any crime to
deserve to be interdicted? Have those crimes been proved against him in a
canonical way?
3rd. "Why do you take Mr. Chiniquy away from us?
[Our deputies came back from Chicago with the following report and answers,
which they swore to, some time after before the Kankakee court.]
1st. "I have suspended Mr. Chiniquy on the 19th inst. on account of his
stubbornness and want of submission to my orders, when I ordered him to
Kaholia.
2nd. "If Mr. Chiniquy has said mass since, as you say, he is irregular,
and the Pope alone can restore him in his ecclesiastical and sacerdotal
functions.
3rd. "I take him away from St. Anne. despite his prayers and yours,
because he has not been willing to live in peace and friendship with the Rev.
Messrs. Lebel and Carthuval.
[The bishop, being asked if those two priests had not been interdicted by him
for public scandals, was forced to say: "Yes!"]
4th. "My second reason for taking Mr. Chiniquy from St. Anne, and sending
him to his new mission, is to stop the law-suit Mr. Spink has instituted
against him.
[The bishop being asked if he would promise that the suit would be stopped by
the removal of Mr. Chiniquy, answered: "I cannot promise that."]
5th. "Mr. Chiniquy is one of the best priests in my diocese, and I do not
want to deprive myself of his services, no accusation against his morality has
been proved before me.
6th. "Mr. Chiniquy has demanded an inquest to prove his innocence against
certain accusations made against him; he asked me the names of his accusers, to
confound them; I have refused to grant his request.
[After the bishop had made those declarations, the deputation presented him the
letter of Mr. Chiniquy; it evidently made a deep impression upon him. As soon
as he read it, he said:]
7th. "Tell Mr. Chiniquy to come and meet me to prepare for his new
mission, and I will give him the letters he wants, to go and labour there.
.
Francis Bechard,
(Signed) J. B. Lemoine,
Basilique Allaire, Leon Mailloux."*
After
the above had been read and delivered to the people, I showed them the evident
falsehood and contradictions of the bishop when he said in his second answer:
.
"If Mr. Chiniquy said mass since I Interdicted him, he is
irregular, and the Pope alone can restore him in his ecclesiastical
functions," and then in the seventh, "tell Mr. Chiniquy to come and
meet me to prepare for his new mission, and I will give him the letters he
wants to go and labour there."
The
last sentence, I said, proves that he knew he had not interdicted me as he said
at first. For, had he done so, he could not give me letters to administer the
sacraments and preach at Kahokia before my going before the Pope, who, alone,
as he said himself, could give me such powers, after he (the bishop) knew that
I had said mass since my return from Chicago. Now, my friends, here is the law
of our holy church, not the saying, or the law of a publicly degraded man, as
the Bishop of Chicago: "If a man had been unjustly condemned, let him pay
no attention to the unjust sentence: let him even do nothing to have that
unjust sentence removed."*
"If the bishop had interdicted me on the 19th, his sentence would be
unjust, for, from his own lips, we have the confession, 'that no accusation has
ever been proved before him; that I am one of his best priests; that he does
not want to be deprived of my services.' Yes, such a sentence, if passed, would
have been unjust, and our business, today, would be to treat it with the
contempt it would deserve. But that unjust sentence has not even been
pronounced, since, after saying mass every day since the 19th, the bishop
himself wants to give me letters to go to Kahokia and work as one of his best
priests! It strikes me, today, for the first time, that it is more your
destruction, as a people, than mine, which the bishop wants to accomplish. It
is my desire to remain in your midst to defend your rights as Catholics. If you
are true to me, as I will be to you, in the impending struggle, we have nothing
to fear; for our holy Catholic Church is for us; all her laws and canons are in
our favour; the Gospel of Christ is for us. The God of the Gospel is for us.
Even the Pope, to whom we will appeal, will be for us. For, I must tell you a
thing, which, till to day I kept secret; viz.: The Archbishop of St. Louis, to
whom I brought my complaint, in April last, advised me to write to the Pope and
tell him, not all, for it would make too large a volume, but something of the
criminal deeds of the roaring lion who wants to devour us. He is, today, selling
the bones of the dead which are resting in the Roman Catholic cemetery of
Chicago! But if you are true to yourselves as Catholics and Americans, that
mitred tyrant will not sell the bones of our friends and relatives which rest
here on our burying ground. He has sold the parsonage and the church which our
dear countrymen had built in Chicago. Those properties are, today, in the hands
of the Irish: but if you promise to stand by your rights as Christian men and
American citizens, I will tell that avaricious bishop: "Come and sell our
parsonage and our church here, if you dare!' As I told you before, we have a
glorious battle to fight. It is the battle of freedom against the most cruel
tyranny the world has ever seen: it is the battle of truth against falsehood:
It is the battle of the old Gospel of Christ against the new gospel of Bishop
O'Regan. Let us be true to ourselves to the end, and our holy church, which
that bishop dishonours, will bless us. Our Saviour Jesus Christ, whose Gospel
is despised by that adventurer, will be for us, and give us a glorious victory.
Have you not read in your Bibles that Jesus wanted His disciples to be free,
when He said: 'If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free
indeed' (John viii. 36). Does that mean that the Son of God wants us to be the
slaves of Bishop O'Regan? 'No!' cried out the whole people. May God bless you
for your understanding of your Christian rights. Let all those who want to be
free, with me, raise their hands.
"Oh! blessed by the Lord," I said, "there are more than 3,000
hands raised towards heaven to say that you want to be free! Now, let those who
do not want to defend their rights as Christians, and as American citizens,
raise their hands. Thanks be to God," I again exclaimed, "there is
not a traitor among us! You are all the true, brave and noble soldiers of
liberty, truth and righteousness! May the Lord bless you all!"
It is impossible to describe the enthusiasm of the people. Before dismissing
them, I said: "We will, no doubt, very soon, witness one of the most
ludicrous comedies ever played on this continent: that comedy is generally
called excommunication. Some drunkard priests, sent by the drunkard Bishop of
Chicago, will come to excommunicate us. I expect their visit in a few days.
That performance will be worth seeing; and I hope that you will see and hear
the most amusing thing in your life."
I was not mistaken. The very next day, we heard that the 3rd of September had
been chosen by the bishop to excommunicate us.
I said to the people: "When you see the flag of the free and the brave
floating from the top of our steeple, come and rally around that emblem of
liberty."
There were more than 3,000 people on our beautiful hill, when the priests made
their appearance. A few moments before, I had said to that immense gathering:
"I bless God that you are so many to witness the last tyrannical act of
Bishop O'Regan. But I have a favour to ask of you, it is, that no insult or
opposition whatever will be made to the priests who come to play that comedy.
Please do not say an angry word; do not move a finger against the performers.
They are not responsible for what they will do, for two reasons. 1. They will
probably be drunk. 2. They are bound to do that work, by their master and Lord Bishop
O'Regan.
The priests arrived at about two o'clock p.m., and never such shouting and
clapping of hands had been heard in our colony as on their appearance. Never
had I seen my dear people so cheerful and good-humoured, as when one of the
priests, trembling from head to foot with terror and drunkenness, tried to read
the following sham act of excommunication; which he nailed on the door of the
chapel:
.
The Reverend Monsieur Chiniquy, heretofore curate of St. Anne,
Colonie of Beaver, in the Diocese of Chicago, has formally been interdicted by
me for canonical causes.
The said Mr. Chiniquy, notwithstanding that interdict, has maliciously
performed the functions of the holy ministry, in administering the holy
sacraments and saying mass. This has caused him to be irregular, and in direct
opposition to the authority of the church, consequently, he is a schismatic.
The said Mr. Chiniquy, thus named by my letters and verbal injunction, has
absolutely persisted in violating the laws of the church, and disobeyed her
authority, is by this present letter excommunicated.
I forbid any Catholic having any communication with him, in spiritual matters,
under pain of excommunication. Every Catholic who goes against this suspense,
is excommunicated.
(Signed) Anthony,
Bishop of Chicago, and administrator of Quincy. Sept. 3rd., 1856.
As
soon as the priests, who had nailed this document to the door of our chapel,
had gone away at full speed, I went to see it, and found, what I had expected,
that it was not signed by the bishop, neither by his grand vicar, nor any known
person, and, consequently it was a complete nullity, according to the laws of
the church. Fearing I would prosecute him, as I threatened, he shrank from the
responsibility of his own act, and had not signed it. He was probably ignorant
of the fact that he was himself excommunicated, ipso facto, for not having
signed the document himself, or by his known deputies. I learned afterwards,
that he got a boy twelve years old to write and sign it. In this way, it was
impossible for me to bring that document before any court, on account of its
want of legal and necessary forms. That act was also a nullity, for being
brought by three priests who were not compos mentis, from their actual state of
drunkenness. And again, it was a nullity from the evident falsehood which was
its base.
It alleged that the bishop had interdicted and suspended me on the 19th of
August, for canonical causes. But he had declared to the four deputies we had
sent him: "That Mr. Chiniquy was one of my best priests, that nothing had
been proved against him," consequently, no canonical cause could exist for
the allegation. The people understood very well that the whole affair was a
miserable farce, designed to separate them from their pastor. It had just, by
the good providence of God, the contrary effect. They had never shown me such
sincere respect and devotedness as since that never-to-be-forgotten day.
The three priests, after leaving, entered the house of one of our farmers,
called Bellanger, a short distance from the chapel, and asked permission to
rest awhile. But after sitting and smoking a few minutes they all went out to
the stables. The farmer thinking this very strange, went after them to see what
they would do in his stables; to his great surprise and disgust, he found them
drinking the last of their whiskey. He exclaimed, "Is it not a shame to
see three priests in a stable drinking spirits?"
They made no answer, but went immediately to their carriage and drove away as
quickly as possible, singing with all their might, a bacchanalian song! Such
was the last act of that excommunication, which has done more than anything
else to prepare my people and myself to understand that the Church of Rome is a
den of thieves, a school of infidelity and the very antipodes of the Church of
Christ.
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 58 Back to Top
The
Sabbath afternoon after the three drunken priests nailed their signed, unsealed,
untestified, and consequently null sentence of excommunication, to the door of
our chapel, the people had gathered from every part of our colony into the
large hall of the court-house of Kankakee City to hear several addresses of
their duties of the day, and they unanimously passed the following resolutions:
.
"Resolved, That we, French Canadians of the County of
Kankakee, do hereby decide to give our moral support to Rev. C. Chiniquy, in
the persecution now exerted against him by the Bishop of Chicago, in violation
of the laws of the church, expressed and sanctioned by the Councils."
After this resolution had been voted, Mr. Bechard, who is now one of the
principal members of the Parliament of Canada, and who was then a merchant of
Kankakee City, presented to me the following address, which had also been
unanimously voted by the people:
"Dear and Beloved Pastor: For several years we have been witnesses of the
persecution of which you are the subject, on the part of the bad priests, your
neighbours, and on the part of the unworthy Bishop of Chicago; but we also have
been the witnesses of your sacerdotal virtues of your forbearance of their
calumnies and our respect and affection for your person has but increased at
the sight of all those trials.
"We know that you are persecuted, not only because you are a Canadian
priest, and that you like us, but also because you do us good in making a
sacrifice of your own private fortune to build school-houses, and to feed our
teachers at your own table. We know that the Bishop of Chicago, who resembles
more an angry wolf than a pastor of the church, having destroyed the prosperous
congregation of Chicago by taking away from them their splendid church, which
they had built at the cost of many sacrifices, and giving it to the Irish
population, and having discouraged the worthy population of Bourbonnais Grove
in forcing on them drunken and scandalous priests, wants to take you away from
among us, to please Spink, the greatest enemy of the French population. They even
say that the bishop, carrying iniquity to its extreme bounds, wanted to
interdict you. But as our church cannot, and is not willing to sanction evil
and calumny, we know that all those interdicts, based on falsehoods and spite,
are null and void.
"We, therefore, solicit you not to give way in presence of the perfidious
plots of your enemies, and not to leave us. Stay among us as our pastor and our
father, and we solemnly promise to sustain you in all your hardships to the
end, and to defend you against our enemies. Stay among us, to instruct us in
our duties by your eloquent speeches, and to enlighten us by your pious
examples. Stay among us, to guard us against the perfidious designs of the
Bishop of Chicago, who wants to discourage and destroy our prosperous colony,
as he has already discouraged and destroyed other congregations of the French
Canadians, by leaving them without a pastor, or by forcing on them unworthy
priests."
The
stern and unanimous determination of my countrymen to stand by me in the impending
struggle is one of the greatest blessings which God has ever given me. It
filled me with a courage which nothing could hereafter shake. But the people of
St. Anne did not think that it was enough to show to the bishop that nothing
could ever shake the resolution they had taken to live and die free men. They
gathered in a public and immense meeting on the Sabbath after the sham
excommunication, to adopt the following address to the Bishop of Chicago, a
copy of which was sent to every bishop of the United States and Canada, and to
Pope Pius IX.:
.
"To His Lordship, Anthony O'Regan of Chicago:We, the
undersigned, inhabitants of the parish of St. Anne, Beaver settlement, seeing
with sorrow that you have discarded our humble request, which we have sent you
by the four delegates, and have persisted in trying to drive away our honest
and worthy priest, who has edified us in all circumstances by his public and
religious conduct, and having, contrary to the rules of our holy church and
common sense, struck our worthy pastor, Mr. Chiniquy, with excommunication,
having caused him to be announced as a schismatic priest, and having forbidden
us to communicate with him in religious matters, are hereby protesting against
the unjust and iniquitous manner in which you have struck him, refusing him the
privilege of justifying himself and proving his innocence.
"Consequently, we declare that we are ready at all times as good
Catholics, to obey all your orders and ordinances that are in accordance with
the laws of the Gospel and the Church, but that we are not willing to follow
you in all your errors of judgments, in your injustices and covetous caprices.
Telling you, as St. Jerome wrote to his bishop, that as long as you will treat
us as your children, we will obey you as a father; but as soon as you will
treat us as our master, we shall cease to consider you as our father.
Considering Mr. Chiniquy as a good and virtuous priest, worthy of the place he
occupies, and possessing as yet all his sacerdotal powers, in spite of your
null and ridiculous sentence, we have unanimously decided to keep him among us
as our pastor; therefore praying your lordship not to put yourself to the
trouble of seeking another priest for us. More yet; we have unanimously decided
to sustain him and furnish him the means to go as far as Rome, if he cannot
have justice in America.
"We further declare that it has been dishonourable and shameful for our
bishop and for our holy religion to have seen, coming under the walls of our
chapel, bringing the orders of the prince of the church, a representative of
Christ, three men covered with their sacerdotal garments, having their tongues
half paralyzed by the effects of whiskey, and who, turning their backs to the
church, went to the house and barn of one of our settlers and thee emptied
their bottles. And from there, taking their seats in the buggies, went toward
the settlement of L'Erable, singing drunken songs and hallooing like wild
Indians. Will your lordship be influenced by such a set of men, who seem to
have for their mission to degrade the sacerdos and Catholicism?
"We conclude, in hoping that your lordship will not persist in your
decision given in a moment of madness and spite; that you will reconsider your
acts, and that you will retract your unjust, null and ridiculous
excommunication, and by these means avoid the scandal of which your
precipitation is the cause. We then hope that, changing your determination, you
will work to the welfare of our holy religion, and not to its degradation, into
which your intolerant conduct would lead us, and that you will not persist in
trying to drive our worthy pastor, Rev. Charles Chiniquy, from the flourishing
colony that he has founded at the cost of the abandonment of his native land,
of the sacrifice of the high position he had in Canada; that you will bring
peace between you and us, that we shall have in the Bishop of Chicago not a
tyrant, but a father, and that you will have in us not rebels, but faithful
children, by our virtues and our good example. Subscribing ourselves the
obedient children of the church.
"Theopile Dorien, J.B. Lemoine, N.P.,
"Det. Vanier, Oliver Senechall,
"J.B. Belanger, Basilique Allair,
"Camile Betourney, Michel Allair,
"Stan'las Gagne, Joseph Grisi,
"Antoine Allain, Joseph Allard,
"And five hundred others."
This
address, signed by more than five hundred men, all heads of families, and
reproduced by almost the whole press in the United States, fell as a
thunderclap on the head of the heartless destroyer of our people. But it did
not change his destructive plans. It had just the contrary effect. As a tiger,
mortally wounded by the sure shots of the hunters, he filled the country with
his roaring, hoping to frighten us by his new denunciations. He published the
most lying stories to explain his conduct, and to show the world that he had
good reasons for destroying the French congregation of Chicago, and trying the
same experiment on St. Anne.
In order to refute his false statements, and show more clearly to the whole
world the reasons I had, as a Catholic priest, to resist him, I addressed the
following letter to his lordship:
.
"St. Anne, Kankakee County, Ill.,
"Sept. 25, 1856.
"Rt. Rev'd O'Regan:You seen to be surprised that I have offered the holy
sacrifice of mass since our last interview. Here are some of my reasons for so
doing.
"1st. You have not suspended me; far from it, you have given me fifteen
days to consider what I should do, threatening only to interdict me after that
time, if I would not obey your orders.
"2nd. If you have been so ill-advised as to suspend me, for the crime of
telling you that my intention was to live the life of a retired priest in my
little colony, sooner than to be exiled at my age, your sentence is ridiculous
and null; and if you were an expert in the jure Canonico as in the art of
pocketing our money, you would know that you are yourself suspended ipso facto
for a year, and that I have nothing to fear or expect from you now.
"3rd. When I bowed down before the altar of Jesus Christ, twenty-four
years ago, to receive the priesthood, my intention was to be the minister of
the Catholic Church, but not a slave of a lawless tyrant.
"4th. Remember the famous words of Tertullian, 'Nimia potestas, nulla
potestas.' For the sake of peace, I have, with many others, tolerated your
despotism till now; but my patience is at an end, and for the sake of our holy
church, which you are destroying, I am determined with many to oppose an
insurmountable wall to your tyranny.
"5th. I did not come here, you know well, as an ordinary missionary; but I
got from your predecessor the permission to form a colony of my emigrating
countrymen. I was not sent here in 1851 to take care of any congregation. It
was a complete wilderness. In a great part, with my own money, I have built a
chapel, a college and a female academy. I have called from everywhere my
countrymen nine-tenths of them came here only to live with me, and because I
had the pledged word of my bishop to do that work. And as long as I live the
life of a good priest I deny you the right to forbid me to remain in my colony
which wants my help and my presence.
"6th. You have never shown me your authority (but once) except in the most
tyrannical way. But now, seeing that the more humble I am before you the more
insolent you grow, I have taken the resolution to stand by my rights as a
Catholic priest and as an American citizen.
"7th. You remember, that in our second interview you forbade me to have
the good preceptors we have now for our children, and you turned into ridicule the
idea I had to call them from Canada. Was that the act of a bishop or of a mean
despot?
"8th. A few days after your ordered me to live on good terms with R. R.
Lebel and Carthuval, though you were well acquainted with their scandalous
lives, and twice you threatened me with suspension for refusing to become a
friend of those two rogues! And you have so much made a fool of yourself before
the four gentlemen I sent to you to be witnesses of your iniquity and my
innocence, that you have acknowledged before them that one of your principal
reasons for turning me out of my colony was, that I had not been able to keep
peace with two priests whom you acknowledge to be depraved and unworthy
priests! Is not that surpassing wickedness and tyranny of anything recorded in
the blackest pages of the most daring tyrants? You want to punish by exile a
gentleman and a good priest, because he cannot agree to become the friend of
two public rogues! I thank you, Bishop O'Regan, to have made that public
confession in the presence of unimpeachable witnesses. I do not want to advise
you to be hereafter very prudent in what you intend to do against the
reputation and character of the priest of St. Anne. If you continue to denounce
me as you have done since a few weeks, and to tell the people what you think
fit against me, I have awful things to publish of your injustice and tyranny.
"As Judas sold our Saviour to His enemies, so you have sold me to my enemy
of L'Erable. But be certain that you shall not deliver up your victim as you
like.
"For withdrawing a suit which you have instituted against my honour, and
which you shall certainly lose, you drag me out from my home and order me to
the land of exile, and you cover that iniquity with the appearance of zeal for
the public peace, just as Pilate delivered his victim into the hands their
enemies to make peace with them.
"Shame on you, Bishop O'Regan! For the sake of God, do not oblige me to
reveal to the world what I know against you. Do not oblige me, in self-defence,
to strike you, my merciless persecutor. If you have no pity on me, have pity on
yourself, and on the church which that coming struggle will so much injure.
"It is not enough for you to have so badly treated my poor countrymen of
Chicago you hatred against the French Canadians cannot be satisfied except when
you have taken away from them the only consolation they have in this land of
exile to possess in their midst a priest of their own nation whom they love and
respect as a father! My poor countrymen of Chicago, with many hard sacrifices,
had built a fine church for themselves and a house for their priest. You have
taken their church from their hands and given it to the Irish; you have sold
the house of their priest, after turning him out; and what have you done with the
one thousand five hundred dollars you got as its price? Public rumour says that
you are employing that money to support the most unjust and infamous suit
against one of their priests. Continue a little longer, and you may be sure
that the cursing of my poor countrymen against you will be heard in heaven, and
that the God of Justice will give them an avenger.
"You have, at three different times, threatened to interdict and
excommunicate me if I would not give you my little personal properties; and as
many times you have said in my teeth, that I was a bad priest, because I
refused to act according to your rapacious tyranny!
"The impious Ahab, murdering Naboth to get his fields, is risen from the
dead in your person. You cannot kill my body, since I am protected by the
glorious flag of the United States; but you do worse, you try to destroy my
honour and my character, which are dearer to me than my life. In a moral way
you give my blood to be licked by your dogs. But remember the words of the
prophet Ahab, 'In this place where dogs licked the blood of Naboth shall dogs
lick thy blood, even thine' (1 Kings xxi. 19). For every false witness you
shall bring against me, I shall have a hundred unimpeachable ones against you.
Thousands and thousands of religious Irish, and generous Germans, and liberty
and fair-play-loving French Canadians, will help me in that struggle. I do not
address you these words as a threat, but as a friendly warning.
"Keep quiet, my lord; do not let yourself be guided by your quick temper;
do not be so free in the use of suspense and interdicts. These terrible arms
are two-edged swords, which very often hurt more the imprudent who make use of
them than those whom they intend to strike."
"I wish to live in peace with you. I take my God to witness, that to this
day, I have done everything to keep peace with you. But the peace I want is the
peace which St. Jerome speaks of when, writing to his bishop, he tells him:
"'It is no use to speak of peace with the lips, if we destroy it with our
works. It is a very different way to work for peace, from trying to submit
every one to an abject slavery. We also want peace. Not only we desire it, but
we implore you instantly to give it. However, the peace we want is the peace of
Christ a true peace, a peace without hatred, a peach which is not masked war, a
peace which is not to crush enemies, but a peace which unites friends. How can
we call that peach which is nothing but tyranny? Why should we not call
everything by its proper name? Let us call hatred what is hatred; and let us
say that peace reigns only when a true love exists. We are not the authors of
the troubles and divisions which exist in the church. A father must love his
children. A bishop, as well as a father, must wish to be loved, but not feared.
The old proverb says, One hates whom he fears, and we naturally wish for the
death of one we hate. If you do not try to crush the religious men under your
power they will submit themselves to your authority. Offer them the kiss of
love and peace and they will obey you. But liberty refuses to yield as soon as
you try to crush it down. The best way to be obeyed by a free man is not to
deal with him as with a slave. We know the laws of the church, and we do not
ignore the rights which belong to every man. We have learned many things, not
only from experience, but also from the study of books. The king who strikes
his subjects with an iron rod, or who thinks that his fingers must be heavier
than his father's hand, has soon destroyed the kingdom even of the peaceful and
mild David. The people of Rome refused to bear the yoke of their proud king. We
have left our country in order to live in peace. In this solitude our intention
was to respect the authority of the pontiffs of Christ (we mean those who teach
the true faith). We want to respect them not as our masters, but as our
fathers. Our intention was to respect them as bishops, not as usurpers and
tyrants who want to reduce us to slavery by the abuse of their power. We are
not so vain as to ignore what is due to the priests of Christ, for to receive
them is to receive the very one whose bishops they are. But let them be
satisfied with the respect which is due to them. Let them remember that they
are fathers, not masters of those who have given up everything in order to
enjoy the privileges of a peaceful solitude. May Christ who is our mighty God
grant that we should be united, not by a false peace, but by a true and loyal
love, lest that by biting each other we destroy each other."
[Letter of St. Jerome to his bishop.]
"You have a great opinion of the episcopal power, and so have I. But St.
Paul and all the Holy Fathers that I have read, have also told us many things
of the dignity of the priest (alter Christus Sacerdos). I am your brother and
equal in many things; do not forget it. I know my dignity as a man and a
priest, and I shall sooner lose my life than to surrender them to any man, even
a bishop. If you think you can deal with me as a carter with his horse, drawing
him where he likes, you will very soon see your error.
"I neither drink strong wines nor smoke, and the many hours that others
spent in emptying their bottles and smoking their pipes, I read my dear books I
study the admirable laws of the church and the Gospel of Christ. I love my
books and the holy laws of our church, because they teach me my rights as well
as my duties. They tell me that many years ago a general council, which is
something above you, has annulled your unjust sentence, and brought upon your
head the very penalty you intended to impose upon me. They tell me that any
sentence from you, coming (from your own profession) from bad and criminal
motives, is null, and will fall powerless at my feet. "But I tell you
again, that I desire to live in peace with you. The false reports of Lebel and
Carthuval have disturbed that peace; but it is still in your power to have it
for yourself and give it to me. I am sure that the sentence you say you have
preferred against me comes from a misunderstanding, and your wisdom and
charity, if you can hear their voice, can very easily set everything as it was
two months ago. It is still in your power to have a warm friend, or an
immovable adversary in Kankakee County. It would both be equitable and
honourable in you to extinguish the fires of discord which you have so
unfortunately enkindled, by drawing back a sentence which you would never have
preferred if you had not been deceived. You would be blessed by the Church of
Illinois, and particularly by the 10,000 French Canadians who surround me, and
are ready to support me at all hazards.
"Do not be angry from the seeming harsh words which you find in this
letter. Nobody, but I, could tell you these sad truths, though every one of
your priests, and particularly those who flatter you the most, repeat them
every day. By kind and honest proceedings you can get everything from me, even
the last drop of my blood; but you will find me an immovable rock if you
approach me as you have always done (but once) with insult and tyrannical
threats.
"You have not been ordained a bishop to rule over us according to your
fancy, but you have the eternal laws of justice and equity to guide you. You
have the laws of the church to obey as well as her humblest child, and as soon
as you do anything against these imperishable laws you are powerless to obtain
your object. It is not only lawful, but a duty to resist you. When you strike
without a legitimate or a canonical cause; when you try to take away my
character to please some of your friends; when you order me to exile to stop a
suit which you are inciting against me; when you punish me for the crime of
refusing to obey the orders you gave me to be the friend of two public rouges;
when you threatened me with excommunication, because I do not give you my
little personal properties, I have nothing to fear from your interdicts and
excommunication.
"What a sad lot for me, and what a shame for you, if by your continual
attacks at the doors of our churches or in the public press, you oblige me to
expose your injustice. It is yet time for you to avoid that. Instead of
striking me like an outcast, come and give me the paternal hand of charity,
instead of continuing that fratricidal combat, come and heal the wounds you
have made and already received. Instead of insulting me by driving me away from
my colony to the land of exile, come and bless the great work I have begun here
for the glory of God and the good of my people. Instead of destroying the
college and the female academy, for the erection of which I have expended my
last cent, and whose teachers are fed at my table, come and bless the three
hundred little children who are daily attending our schools. Instead of
sacrificing me to the hatred of my enemies, come and strengthen my heart
against their fury.
"I tell you again, that no consideration whatever will induce me to
surrender my right as a Catholic priest and as an American citizen. By the
first title you cannot interdict me, as long as I am a good priest, for the
crime of wishing to live in my colony and among my people. By the second title,
you cannot turn me out from my home.
"C. Chiniquy."
It
was the first time that a Roman Catholic priest, with his whole people, had
dared to speak such language to a bishop of Rome on this continent. Never yet
had the unbearable tyranny of those haughty men received such a public rebuke.
Our fearless words fell as a bombshell in the camp of the Roman Catholic
hierarchy of America.
With very few exceptions, the press of the State of Illinois, whose columns had
so often echoed the cries of indignation raised everywhere against the tyranny
of Bishop O'Regan, took sides with me. Hundreds of priests, not only from
Illinois, but from every corner of the United States, addressed their warmest
thanks to me for the stand I had taken, and asked me, in the name of God and
for the honour of the church, not to yield an inch of my rights. Many promised
to support us at the court of Rome, by writing themselves to the Pope, to
denounce not only the Bishop of Illinois, but several others, who though not so
openly bad, were yet trampling under their feet the most sacred rights of the
priests and the people. Unfortunately those priests gave me a saddening
knowledge of their cowardice by putting in their letters "absolutely
confidential." They all promised to help me when I was storming the strong
fortress of the enemy, provided I would go alone in the gap, and that they
would keep themselves behind thick walls, far from shot and shell.
However, this did not disturb me, for my God knows it, my trust was not in my
own strength, but in His protection. I was sure that I was in the right, that
the Gospel of Christ was on my side, that all the canons and laws of the
councils were in my favour.
My library was filled with the best books on the canons and laws passed in the
great councils of my church. It was written in big letters in the celebrated
work, "Histoire du Droit Canonique." There is no arbitrary power in
the Church of Christ.*
The Council of Augsburg, held in 1548 (Can. 24), had declared that, "no
sentence of excommunication will be passed, except for great crimes."
The Pope St. Gregory had said: "That censures are null when not inflicted
for great sins or for faults which have not been clearly proved."
"An unjust excommunication does not bind before God those against whom it
has been hurled. But it injures only the one who has proffered it." **
"If an unjust sentence is pronounced against any one, he must not pay any
attention to it; for, before God and His Church, an unjust sentence cannot
injure anybody. Let, then, that person do nothing to get such an unjust
sentence repealed, for it cannot injure him."***
The canonists conclude, from all the laws of the church on that matter,
"That if a priest is unjustly interdicted or excommunicated he may
continue to officiate without any fear of becoming irregular."****
Protected by these laws, and hundreds of others too long to enumerate, which my
church had passed in every age, strengthened by the voice of my conscience,
which assured me that I had done nothing to deserve to be interdicted or
excommunicated; sure, besides, of the testimony brought by our four delegates
that the bishop himself had declared that I was one of his best priests, that
he wanted to give me my letters to go and perform the functions of my ministry
in Kahokia: above all, knowing the unanimous will of my people that I should
remain with them and continue the great and good work so providentially
entrusted to me in my colony, and regarding this as an indication of the Divine
will, I determined to remain, in spite of the Bishop of Chicago. All the
councils of my church were telling me that he had no power to injure me, and
that all his official acts were null.
But if he were spiritually powerless against me, it was not so in temporal
matters. His power and his desire to injure us had increased with his hatred,
since he had read our letters and seen them in all the papers of Chicago. The
first thing he did was to reconcile himself to the priest Lebel, whom he had
turned out ignominiously from his diocese some time before. The priest had
since that obtained a fine situation in the diocese of Michigan. He invited him
to his palace, and petted him several days. I felt that the reconciliation of
those two men meant nothing good for me. But my hope was, more than ever, that
the merciful God who had protected me so many times against them, would save me
again from their machinations. The air was, however, filled with the strangest
rumours against me. It was said everywhere that Mr. Lebel was to bring such
charges against my character that I would be sent to the penitentiary. What
were the new iniquities to be laid to my charge? No one could tell. But the few
partisans and friends of the bishop, Messrs. Label and Spink, were jubilant and
sure that I was to be for ever destroyed.
At last the time arrived when the sheriff of Kankakee had to drag me again as a
criminal and a prisoner to Urbana, and deliver me into the hands of the sheriff
of that city. I arrived there on the 20th of October, with my lawyers, Messrs.
Osgood and Paddock, and a dozen witnesses. Mr. Abraham Lincoln had preceded me
only by a few minutes from Springfield. He was in the company of Judge David
Davis, since Vice-President of the United States, when I met him.
The jury having been selected and sworn, the Rev. Mr. Lebel was the first
witness called to testify and say what he knew against my character.
Mr. Lincoln objected to that kind of testimony, and tried to prove that Mr.
Spink had no right to bring his new suit against me by attacking my character.
But Judge Davis ruled that prosecution had the right in the case that was
before him. Mr. Lebel had, then, full liberty to say anything he wanted, and he
availed himself of his privilege. His testimony lasted nearly an hour, and was
too long to be given here. I will only say that he began by declaring that
"Chiniquy was one of the bilest men of the day that every kind of bad
rumours were constantly circulating against him." He gave a good number of
those rumours, though he could not positively swear if they were founded on
truth or not, for he had not investigated them. But he said there was one of
which he was sure, for he had authenticated it thoroughly. He expressed a great
deal of apparent regret that he was forced to reveal to the world such things
which were not only against the honour of Chiniquy, but, to some extent,
involved the good name of a dear sister, Madame Bossey. But as he was to speak
the truth before God, he could not help it the sad truth was to be told.
"Mr. Chiniquy," he said, "had attempted to do the most infamous
things with my own sister, Madame Bossey. She herself has told me the whole
story under oath, and she would be here to unmask the wicked man today before
the world, if she were not forced to silence at home from a severe
illness."
Though every word of that story was a perjury, there was such a colour of truth
and sincerity in my accuser, that his testimony fell upon me and my lawyers and
all my friends as a thunderbolt. A man who has never heard such a calumny
brought against him before a jury in a court-house packed with people, composed
of friends and foes, will never understand what I felt in this the darkest hour
of my life. My God only knows the weight and bitterness of the waves of
desolation which then passed over my soul.
After that testimony was given, there was a lull, and a most profound silence
in the court-room. All the eyes were turned upon me, and I heard many voices
speaking of me, whispering, "The villain!" Those voices passed
through my soul as poisoned arrows. Though innocent, I wished that the ground
would open under my feet and bring me down to the darkest abysses, to conceal
me from the eyes of my friends and the whole world.
However, Mr. Lincoln soon interrupted the silence by addressing to Lebel such
cross-questions that his testimony, in the minds of many, soon lost much of its
power. And he did still more destroy the effect of his (Lebel's) false oath,
when he brought my twelve witnesses, who were among the most respectable
citizens of Bourbonnais, formerly the parishioners of Mr. Lebel. Those twelve
gentlemen swore that Mr. Lebel was such a drunkard and vicious man, that he was
so publicly my enemy on account of the many rebukes I had given to his private
and public vices, that they would not believe a word of what he said, even upon
his oath.
At ten p.m. the court was adjourned, to meet again the next morning, and I went
to the room of Mr. Lincoln, with my two other lawyers, to confer about the
morning's work. My mind was unspeakable sad. Life had never been such a burden
to me as in that hour. I was tempted, like Job, to curse the hour when I was
born. I could see in the face of my lawyers, though they tried to conceal it,
that they were also full of anxiety.
"My dear Mr. Chiniquy," said Mr. Lincoln, "though I hope,
tomorrow, to destroy the testimony of Mr. Lebel against you, I must concede
that I see great dangers ahead. There is not the least doubt in my mind that
every word he has said is a sworn lie; by my fear is that the jury thinks
differently. I am a pretty good judge in these matters. I feel that our jurymen
think that you are guilty. There is only one way to perfectly destroy the power
of a false witness it is by another direct testimony against what he has said,
or by showing from his very lips that he has perjured himself. I failed to do
that last night, though I have diminished, to a great extent, the force of his
testimony. Can you not prove an alibi, or can you not bring witnesses who were
there in the same house that day, who would flatly and directly contradict what
your remorseless enemy has said against you?"
I answered him: "How can I try to do such a thing when they have been
shrewd enough not to fix the very date of the alleged crime against me?"
"You are correct, you are perfectly correct, Mr. Chiniquy," answered
Mr. Lincoln, "as they have refused to precise the date, we cannot try
that. I have never seen two such skillful rogues as those two priests. There is
really a diabolical skill in the plan they have concocted for your destruction.
It is evident that the bishop is at the bottom of the plot. You remember how I
have forced Lebel to confess that he was now on the most friendly terms with
the Bishop of Chicago, since he has become the chief of your accusers. Though I
do not give up the hope of rescuing you from the hands of your enemies, I do
not like to conceal from you that I have several reasons to fear that you will
be declared guilty, and condemned to a heavy penalty, or to the penitentiary,
though I am sure you are perfectly innocent. It is very probable that we will
have to confront that sister of Lebel to-morrow. Her sickness is probably a
feint, in order not to appear here except after the brother will have prepared
the public mind in her favour. At all events, if she does not come, they will
send some justice of the peace to get her sworn testimony, which will be more
difficult to rebut than her own verbal declarations. That woman is evidently in
the hands of the bishop and her brother priest, ready to swear anything they
order her, and I know nothing so difficult as to refute such female
testimonies, particularly when they are absent from the court. The only way to
be sure of a favourable verdict to-morrow is, that God Almighty would take our
part and show your innocence! Go to Him and pray, for He alone can save
you." Mr. Lincoln was exceedingly solemn when he addressed those words to
me, and they went very deep into my soul.
I have often been asked if Abraham Lincoln had any religion? But I never had
any doubt about his profound confidence in God, since I heard those words
falling from his lips in that hour of anxiety. I had not been able to conceal
my deep distress. Burning tears were rolling on my cheeks when he was speaking,
and there was on his face the expression of friendly sympathy which I shall
never forget. Without being able to say a word, I left him to go to my little
room. It was nearly eleven o'clock. I locked the door and fell on my knees to
pray, but I was unable to say a single word. The horrible sworn calumnies
thrown at my face by a priest of my own church were ringing in my ears! my
honour and my good name so cruelly and for ever destroyed! all my friends and
my dear people covered with an eternal confusion! and more than that, the sentence
of condemnation which was probably to be hurled against me the next day in the
presence of the whole country, whose eyes were upon me! All those things were
before me, not only as horrible phantoms, but as heavy mountains, under the
burdens of which I could not breathe. At last the fountains of tears were
opened, and it relieved me to weep; I could then speak and cry: "Oh, my
God! have mercy upon me! Thou knowest my innocence! hast Thou not promised that
those who trust in Thee cannot perish! Oh! do not let me perish, when Thou art
the only One in whom I trust! Come to my help! Save me!"
From eleven p.m. to three in the morning I cried to God, and raised my
supplicating hands to His throne of mercy. But I confess, to my confusion, it
seemed to me in certain moments, that it was useless to pray and cry, for
though innocent, I was doomed to perish. I was in the hands of my enemies. My
God had forsaken me!
What an awful night I spent! I hope none of my readers will ever know by their
own experience the agony of spirit I endured. I had no other expectation than
to be for ever dishonoured, and sent to the penitentiary next morning! But God
had not forsaken me! He had again heard my cries, and was once more to show me
His infinite mercy!
At three o'clock a.m. I heard three knocks at my door, and I quickly went to
open it. "Who was there?" Abraham Lincoln, with a face beaming with
joy! I could hardly believe my eyes. But I was not mistaken. It was my
noble-hearted friend, the most honest lawyer of Illinois! one of the noblest
men Heaven had ever given to earth! it was Abraham Lincoln. On seeing me bathed
in tears, he exclaimed, "Cheer up, Mr. Chiniquy, I have the perjured
priests in my hands. Their diabolical plot is all known, and if they do not fly
away before dawn of day, they will surely be lynched. Bless the Lord, you are
saved!"
The sudden passage of extreme desolation to an extreme joy came near killing
me. I felt as if suffocated, and unable to utter a single word. I took his
hand, pressed it to my lips, and bathed it with tears of joy. I said: "May
God for ever bless you, dear Mr. Lincoln. But please tell me how you can bring
me such glorious news!"
Here is the simple but marvelous story, as told me by that great and good man,
whom God had made the messenger of His mercies towards me: "As soon as
Lebel had given his perjured testimony against you yesterday," said Mr.
Lincoln, "one of the agents of the Chicago press telegraphed to some of
the principal papers of Chicago: 'It is probable that Mr. Chiniquy will be
condemned; for the testimony of the Rev. Mr Lebel seems to leave no doubt that
he is guilty.' And the little Irish boys, to sell their papers, filled the
streets with cries: 'Chiniquy will be hung! Chiniquy will be hung!' The Roman
Catholics were so glad to hear that, that ten thousand extra copies have been
sold. Among those who bought those papers was a friend of yours, called
Terrien, who went to his wife and told her that you were to be condemned, and
when the woman heard that, she said, 'It is too bad, for I know Mr. Chiniquy is
not guilty.'
"'How do you know that?' said the husband. She answered: 'I was there when
the priest Lebel made the plot, and promised to give his sister two eighties of
good land if she would swear a false oath and accuse him of a crime which that
woman said he had not even thought of with her.'
"'If it be so,' said Terrien, 'we cannot allow Mr. Chiniquy to be
condemned. Come with me to Urbana.'
"But that woman being quite unwell, said to her husband, 'You know well I
cannot go; but Miss Philomene Moffat was with me then. She knows every
particular of that wicked plot as well as I do. She is well: go and take her to
Urbana. There is no doubt that her testimony will prevent the condemnation of
Mr. Chiniquy. Narcisse Terrien started immediately: and when you were praying
God to come to your help, He was sending your deliverer at the full speed of
the railroad cars. Miss Moffat has just given me the details of that diabolical
plot. I have advised her not to show herself before the Court is opened. I
will, then, send for her, and when she will have given, under oath, before the
Court, the details she has just given me, I pity Spink with his perjured
priests. As I told you, I would not be surprised if they were lynched: for there
is a terrible excitement in town among many people, who from the beginning
suspect that the priests have perjured themselves to destroy you. Now your suit
is gained, and, to-morrow, you will have the greatest triumph a man ever got
over his confounded foes. But you are in need of rest as well as myself. Good
bye." After thanking God for that marvelous deliverance, I went to bed and
took the needed rest.
But what was the priest Lebel doing in that very moment? Unable to sleep after
the awful perjury he had just made, he had watched the arrival of the trains
from Chicago with an anxious mind; for he was aware, through the confessions he
had heard, that there were two persons in that city who knew his plot and his
false oath; and though he had the promises from them that they would never
reveal it to anybody, he was not without some fearful apprehension that I
might, by some way or other, become acquainted with his abominable conspiracy.
Not long after the arrival of the trains from Chicago, he came down from his
room to see in the book where travelers register their names, if there were any
new comers from Chicago, and what was his dismay when he saw the first name
entered was "Philomene Moffat!" That very name, Philomene Moffat, who
some time before, had gone to confess to him that she had heard the whole plot
from his own lips, when he had promised 160 acres of land to persuade his
sister to perjure herself in order to destroy me. A deadly presentiment chilled
the blood in his veins! "Would it be possible that this girl is here to
reveal and prove my perjury before the world?"
He immediately sent for her, when she was just coming from meeting Mr. Lincoln.
"Miss Philomene Moffat here!" he exclaimed, when he saw her.
"What are you coming here for this night?" he said.
"You will know it, sir, to-morrow morning," she answered.
"Ah! wretched girl! you come to destroy me?" he exclaimed.
She replied: "I do not come to destroy you, for you are already destroyed.
Mr. Lincoln knows everything."
"Oh! my God! my God!" he exclaimed, striking his forehead with his
hands. Then taking a big bundle of bank-notes from his pocket-book, he said:
"Here are one hundred dollars for you if you take the morning train and go
back to Chicago."
"If you would offer me as much gold as this house could contain, I would
not go," she replied.
He then left her abruptly, ran to the sleeping-room of Spink, and told him:
"Withdraw your suit against Chiniquy; we are lost; he knows all."
Without losing a moment, he went to the sleeping-room of his co-priest, and
told him: "Make haste dress yourself and let us take the train; we have no
business here: Chiniquy knows all our secrets."
When the hour of opening the court came, there was an immense crowd, not only
inside, but outside its walls. Mr. Spink, pale as a man condemned to death,
rose before the Judge and said: "Please the court, allow me to withdraw my
prosecution against Mr. Chiniquy. I am now persuaded that he is not guilty of
the faults brought against him before this tribunal."
Abraham Lincoln, having accepted that reparation in my name, made a short, but
one of the most admirable speeches I have ever heard, on the cruel injustices I
had suffered from my merciless persecutors, and denounced the rascality of the
priests who had perjured themselves with such terrible colours, that it had
been very wise on their part to fly away and disappear before the opening of
the court, for the whole city was ransacked for them by hundreds, who blamed me
for forgiving them and refusing to have my revenge for the wrong they had done
me. But I really thought that my enemies were sufficiently punished by the
awful public disclosures of their infernal plot. It seemed that the dear
Saviour, who had so visibly protected me, was to be obeyed, when He was whispering
in my soul, "Forgive them and love them as thyself."
Was not Spink sufficiently punished by the complete ruin which was brought upon
him by the loss of the suit? For having gone to Bishop O'Regan to be
indemnified for the enormous expenses of such a long prosecution, at such a
distance, the bishop coldly answered him: "I had promised to indemnify if
you would put Chiniquy down, as you promised me. But as it is Chiniquy who has
put you down, I have not a cent to give you."
Abraham Lincoln had not only defended me with the zeal and talent of the ablest
lawyer I have ever known, but as the most devoted and noblest friend I ever
had. After giving more than a year of his precious time to my defense, when he
had pleaded, during two long sessions of the Court of Urbana, without receiving
a cent form me, I considered that I was owing him a great sum of money. My two
other lawyers, who had not done the half of his work, asked me a thousand
dollars each, and I had not thought that too much. After thanking him for the
inappreciable services he had rendered me, I requested him to show me his bill,
assuring him that, thought I would not be able to pay the whole cash, I would
pay him to the last cent, if he had the kindness to wait a little for the
balance.
He answered me with a smile and an air of inimitable kindness, which was
peculiar to him: "My dear Mr. Chiniquy, I feel proud and honoured to have
been called to defend you. But I have done it less as a lawyer than as a
friend. The money I should receive from you would take away the pleasure I feel
at having fought your battle. Your case is unique in my whole practice. I have
never met a man so cruelly persecuted as you have been, and who deserves it so
little. Your enemies are devils incarnate. The plot they had concocted against
you is the most hellish one I ever knew. But the way you have been saved from
their hands, the appearance of that young and intelligent Miss Moffat, who was
really sent by God in the very hour of need, when, I confess it again, I thought
everything was nearly lost, is one of the most extraordinary occurrences I ever
saw. It makes me remember what I have too often forgotten, and what my mother
often told me when young that our God is a prayer-hearing God. This good
thought, sown into my young heart by that dear mother's hand, was just in my
mind when I told you, 'Go and pray, God alone can save you.' But I confess to
you that I had not faith enough to believe that your prayer would be so quickly
and so marvelously answered by the sudden appearance of that interesting young
lady, last night. Now let us speak of what you owe me. Well! Well! how much do
you owe me? You owe me nothing! for I suppose you are quite ruined. The
expenses of such a suit, I know, must be enormous. Your enemies want to ruin
you. Will I help them to finish your ruin, when I hope I have the right to be
put among the most sincere and devoted of your friends?"
"You are right," I answered him; "you are the most devoted and
noblest friend God ever gave me, and I am nearly ruined by my enemies. But you
are the father of a pretty large family; you must support them. Your traveling
expenses in coming twice here for me from Springfield; your hotel bills during
the two terms you have defended me, must be very considerable. It is not just
that you should receive nothing in return for such work and expenses."
"Well! well!" he answered, "I will give you a promissory note
which you will sign." Taking then a small piece of paper, he wrote:
.
Urbana, May 23, 1853
Due A. Lincoln fifty dollars, for value received.
C. Chiniquy
[Above shown in handwriting]
He
handed me the note, saying, "Can you sign that?"
After reading it, I said, "Dear Mr. Lincoln, this is a joke. It is not
possible that you ask only fifty dollars for services which are worth at least
two thousand dollars."
He then tapped me with the right hand on the shoulders and said: "Sign
that, it is enough. I will pinch some rich men for that, and make them pay the
rest of the bill," and he laughed outright.
When Abraham Lincoln was writing the due-bill, the relaxation of the great
strain upon my mind, and the great kindness of my benefactor and defender in
charging me so little for such a service, and the terrible presentiment that he
would pay with his life what he had done for me caused me to break into sobs
and tears.
As Mr. Lincoln had finished writing the due-bill, he turned round to me, and
said, "Father Chiniquy, what are you crying for? Ought you not to be the
most happy man alive? you have beaten your enemies and gained the most glorious
victory, and you will come out of all your troubles in triumph."
"Dear Mr. Lincoln," I answered, "allow me to tell you that the
joy I should naturally feel for such a victory is destroyed in my mind by the
fear of what it may cost you. There were then in the crowd not less than ten or
twelve Jesuits from Chicago and St. Louis, who came to hear my sentence of
condemnation to the penitentiary. But it was on their heads that you have
brought the thunders of heaven and earth! nothing can be compared to the
expression of their rage against you, when you not only wrenched me from their
cruel hands, but you were making the walls of the court-house tremble under the
awful and superhumanly eloquent denunciation of their infamy, diabolical malice,
and total want of Christian and human principle, in the plot they had formed
for my destruction. What troubles my soul just now and draws my tears, is that
it seems to me that I have read your sentence of death in their fiendish eyes.
How many other noble victims have already fallen at their feet!
He tried to divert my mind, at first, with a joke, "Sign this," said
he, "it will be my warrant of death."
But after I had signed, he became more solemn, and said, "I know that
Jesuits never forget nor forsake. But man must not care how and where he dies,
provided he dies at the post of honour and duty," and he left me.
Here is the sworn declaration of Miss Philomene Moffat, now Mrs. Philomene
Schwartz.
.
"State of Illinois, Cook County, ss.
"Philomene Schwartz, being first duly sworn, deposes and says: That she is
of the age of forty-three years, and resides at 484, Milwaukee Avenue, Chicago;
that her maiden name was Philomene Moffat; that she knew Father Lebel, the
Roman Catholic priest of the French Catholics of Chicago during his lifetime,
and knows Rev. Father Chiniquy; that about the month of May, A.D. 1854, in
company with Miss Eugenia Bossey, the housekeeper of her uncle, the Rev. Mr.
Lebel, who was then living at the parsonage on Clark Street, Chicago, while we
were sitting in the room of Miss Bossey, the Rev. Mr. Lebel was talking with
his sister, Mrs. Bossey, in the adjoining room, not suspecting that we were
there hearing his conversation, through the door, which was partly opened;
though we could neither see him nor his sister, we heard every word of what
they said together, the substance of which is as follows Rev. Mr. Lebel said in
substance, to Mr. Bossey, his sister: "'You know that Mr. Chiniquy is a
dangerous man, and he is my enemy, having already persuaded several of my
congregation to settle in his colony. You must help me to put him down, by
accusing him of having tried to do a criminal action with you.'
"Madame Bossey answered: 'I cannot say such a thing against Mr. Chiniquy,
when I know it is absolutely false.'
"Rev. Mr. Lebel replied: 'If you refuse to comply with my request, I will
not give you the one hundred and sixty acres of land I intended to give you;
you will live and die poor.'
"Madame Bossey answered: 'I prefer never to have that land, and I like
better to live and die poor, than to perjure myself to please you.'
"The Rev. Mr Lebel, several times, urged his sister, Mrs. Bossey, to
comply with his desires, but she refused. At last, weeping and crying, she
said: 'I prefer never to have an inch of land than to damn my soul for swearing
to a falsehood.'
"The Rev. Mr. Lebel then said:
"'Mr. Chiniquy will destroy our holy religion and our people if we do not
destroy him. If you think the swearing I ask you to do is a sin, you will come
to confess to me, and I will pardon it in the absolution I will give you.'
"'Have you the power to forgive a false oath?' replied Mrs. Bossey to her
brother, the priest.
"'Yes,' he answered, 'I have that power; for Christ has said to all His
priests, "What you shall bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and what
you shall loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven."'
Mrs. Bossey then said: 'If you promise that you will forgive that false oath,
and if you give me the one hundred and sixty acres of land you promised, I will
do what you want.'
"The Rev. Mr. Lebel then said: 'All right!' I could not hear any more of
that conversation, for in that instant Miss Eugenia Bossey, who had kept still
and silent with us, made some noise and shut the door.
"Affiant further states: That, some time later, I went to confess to Rev.
Mr. Lebel, and I told him that I had lost confidence in him. He asked me why? I
answered: 'I lost my confidence in you since I heard your conversation with
your sister, when you tried to persuade her to perjure herself in order to
destroy Father Chiniquy.
"Affiant further says: That in the month of October, A.D. 1856, the Rev.
Mr. Chiniquy had to defend himself, before the civil and criminal court of
Urbana, Illinois, in an action brought against him by Peter Spink; some one
wrote from Urbana to a paper of Chicago, that Father Chiniquy was probably to
be condemned. The paper which published that letter was much read by the Roman
Catholics, who were glad to hear that that priest was to be punished. Among
those who read that paper was Narcisse Terrien. He had lately been married to
Miss Sara Chaussey, who told him that Father Chiniquy was innocent; that she
was present with me when Rev. Lebel prepared the plot with his sister, Mrs.
Bossey, had promised her a large piece of land if she would swear falsely
against Father Chiniquy. Mr. Narcisse Terrien wanted to go with his wife to the
help of Father Chiniquy, but she was unwell and could not go. He came to ask me
if I remembered well the conversation of Rev. Mr. Lebel, and if I would consent
to go to Urbana to expose the whole plot before the court, and I consented.
"We started that same evening for Urbana, where we arrived late at night.
I immediately met Mr. Abraham Lincoln, one of the lawyers of Father Chiniquy,
and told him all that I knew about the plot.
"That very same night the Rev. Mr. Lebel, having seen my name on the hotel
register, came to me much excited and troubled, and said, 'Philomene, what are
you here for?'
"I answered him: 'I cannot exactly tell you that; but you will probably
know it to-morrow at the court-house?'
"'Oh, wretched girl!' he exclaimed, 'you have come to destroy me.'
"'I do not come to destroy you,' I replied 'for you are already
destroyed!'
"Then drawing from his porte-mnnaie-book a big bundle of bank-notes, which
he said was worth one hundred dollars, he said: 'I will give you all this money
if you will leave by the morning train and go back to Chicago.'
"I answered him; 'Though you would offer me as much gold as this room can
contain, I cannot do what you ask.'
"He then seemed exceedingly distressed, and he disappeared. The next
morning Peter Spink requested the court to allow him to withdraw his
accusations against Father Chiniquy, and stop his prosecutions, having, he
said, found out that he, Father Chiniquy, was innocent of the things brought
against him, and his request was granted. Then the innocence and honesty of
Father Chiniquy was acknowledged by the court after it had been proclaimed by
Abraham Lincoln, who was afterwards elected President of the United States.
"(Signed) Philomene Schwartz.
"I, Stephen R. Moore, a Notary Public in the County of Kankakee, in the
State of Illinois, and duly authorized by law to administer oaths, do hereby
certify that, on this 21st day of October, A.D. 1881, Philomene Schwartz
personally appeared before me, and made oath that the above affidavit by her
subscribed is true, as therein stated. In witness whereto, I have hereunto set
my hand and notarial seal.
"STEPHEN R. MOORE,
"Notary Public."
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 59 Back to Top
When
it became evident, in 1851, that my plan of forming a grand colony of Roman
Catholic French-speaking people on the prairies of Illinois was to be a
success, D'Arcy McGee, then editor of The Freeman's Journal, official Journal
of the Bishop of New York, wrote me to know my views, and immediately
determined to put himself at the head of a similar enterprise in behalf of the
Irish Roman Catholics. He published several able articles to show that the
Irish people, with very few exceptions, were demoralized, degraded and kept
poor, around their groggeries, and showed how they would thrive, become
respectable and rich, if they could be induced to exchange their grog shops for
the fertile lands of the west. Through his influence, a large assembly,
principally composed of priests, to which I was invited, met at Buffalo, in the
spring of 1852. But what was his disappointment, when he saw that the greatest
part of those priests were sent by the Bishops of the United States to oppose
and defeat his plans!
He vainly spoke with a burning eloquence for his pet scheme. The majority
coldly answered him: "We are determined, like you, to take possession of
the United States and rule them; but we cannot do that without acting secretly
and with the utmost wisdom. If our plans are known, they will surely be
defeated. What does a skillful general do when he wants to conquer a country?
Does he scatter his soldiers over the farm lands, and spend their energy and
power in ploughing the fields and sowing grain? No! he keeps them well united
around his banners, and marches at their head, to the conquest of the
strongholds, the rich and powerful cities. The farming countries then submit
and become the price of his victory without moving a finger to subdue them. So
it is with us. Silently and patiently, we must mass our Roman Catholics in the
great cities of the United States, remembering that the vote of a poor
journeyman, though he be covered with rags, has as much weight in the scale of
power as the millionaire Astor, and that if we have two votes against his one,
he will become as powerless as an oyster. Let us then multiply our votes;; let
us call our poor but faithful Irish Catholics from every corner of the world,
and gather them into the very hearts of those proud citadels which the Yankees
are so rapidly building under the names of Washington, New York, Boston,
Chicago, Buffalo, Albany, Troy, Cincinnati, ect. Under the shadows of those
great cities, the Americans consider themselves a giant and unconquerable race.
They look upon the poor Irish Catholic people with supreme contempt, as only
fit to dig their canals, sweep their streets and work in their kitchens. Let no
one awake those sleeping lions, today. Let up pray God that they may sleep and
dream their sweet dreams, a few years more. How sad will their awakening be,
when with our out-numbering votes, we will turn them for ever, from every
position of honour, power and profit! What will those hypocritical and godless
sons and daughters of the fanatical Pilgrim Fathers say, when not a single
judge, not a single teacher, not a single policeman, will be elected if he be
not a devoted Irish Roman Catholic? What will those so-called giants think of their
matchless shrewdness and ability, when not a single Senator or member of
congress will be chosen, if he be not submitted to our holy father the Pope!
What a sad figure those Protestant Yankees will cut when we will not only elect
the President, but fill and command the armies, man the navies and hold the
keys of the public treasury? It will then be time for our faithful Irish people
to give up their grog shops, in order to become the judges and governors of the
land. Then, our poor and humble mechanics will leave their damp ditches and
muddy streets, to rule the cities in all their departments, for the stately
mansion of Mayor to the more humble, though not less noble position of teacher.
"Then, yes! then, we will rule the United States, and lay them at the feet
of the Vicar of Jesus Christ, that he may put an end to their godless system of
education, and impious laws of liberty of conscience which are an insult to God
and man!"
D'Arcy McGee was left almost alone when the votes were taken. From that, the
Catholic priests, with the most admirable ability and success, have gathered
their Irish legions into the great cities of the United States, and the
American people must be very blind indeed, if they do not see that if they do
nothing to prevent it, the day is very near when the Jesuits will rule their
country, from the magnificent White House at Washington to the humblest civil
and military department of this vast Republic. They are already the masters of
New York, Baltimore, Chicago, St. Paul, New Orleans, Mobile, Savannah,
Cincinnati, Albany, Troy, Milwaukee, St. Louis, San Francisco, ect. Yes! San
Francisco, the rich, the great queen of the Pacific, is in the hands of the
Jesuits!
From the very first days of the discovery of the gold mines of California, the
Jesuits had the hopes of becoming masters of those inexhaustible treasures, and
they secretly laid their plans, with the most profound ability and success.
They saw, at once, that the great majority of the lucky miners, of every creed
and nation, were going back home as soon as they had enough to secure an
honourable competence to their families. It became then evident, that of those
multitudes which the thirst of gold had brought from every corner of the world,
not one out of fifty would fix their homes in San Francisco. The Jesuits saw at
a glance that if they could persuade the Irish Catholics to settle and remain
there, they would soon be the masters and rulers of that golden city whose
future is so bright and so great! And that scheme, worked day and night, with
the utmost perseverance, has been crowned with perfect success.
The consequence is, that while you find only a few Americans, Germans, Scotch,
and English millionaires in San Francisco, you find more than fifty Catholic
Irish millionaires in that city. Its richest bank (Nevada Bank) is in their
hands, and so are all the street railways. The principal offices of the city
are filled with Irish Roman Catholics. Almost all the police are composed of
the same class, as well as the volunteer military associations. Their compact
unity, in the hands of the Jesuits, with their enormous wealth, make them
almost supreme masters of the mines of California and Nevada.
When one knows the absolute, abject submission of the Irish Roman Catholics,
rich or poor, to their priests, how the mind, the soul, the will, the
conscience, are firmly and irrevocably tied to the feet of their priests, he
can easily understand that the Jesuits of the United States form one of the
richest and most powerful corporations the world ever saw. It is well known
that those fifty Catholic millionaires, with their myriads of employees are,
through their wives, and by themselves, continually at the feet of the Jesuits,
who swim in a golden sea. No one, if he be not a Roman Catholic, or one of
those so-called Protestants who give their daughters to the nuns, and their
sons to the Jesuits to be educated, has much hopes, where the Jesuits rule, of
having a lucrative office in the United States today.
The Americans, with few exceptions, do not pay any attention to the dark cloud
which is rising at their horizon, from Rome. Though that cloud is filled with
rivers of tears and blood, they let it grow and rise without even caring how
they will escape from the impending hurricane.
It is to San Francisco that you must go to have an idea of the number of secret
and powerful organizations with which the Church of Rome prepares herself for
the impending conflict, through which she hopes to destroy the schools, and
every vestige of human rights and liberties in the United States.
In order to more easily drill the Roman Catholics and prepare them for the
irrepressible struggle, the Jesuits have organized them into a great number of
secret societies, the principal of which are: Ancient Order of Hibernians,
Irish American Society, Knights of St. Patrick, St. Patrick's Cadets, St.
Patrick Mutual Alliance, Apostles of Liberty, Benevolent Sons of the Emerald
Isle, Knights of St. Peter, Knights of the Red Branch, Knights of the
Columskill, The Secret Heart, ect.,ect.
Almost all these secret associations are military ones. They have their
headquarters at San Francisco, put their rank and file are scattered all over
the United States. They number several hundred thousand soldiers, who, under
the name of U.S. Volunteer Militia, are officered by some of the most skillful
generals and officers of this Republic.
Another fact, to which the American Protestants do not sufficiently pay
attention, is that the Jesuits have been shrewd enough to have a vast majority
of Roman Catholic generals and officers to command the army and man the navy of
the United States.
Rome is in constant conspiracy against the rights and liberties of man all over
the world; but she is particularly so in the United States.
Long before I was ordained a priest, I knew that my church was the most
implacable enemy of this Republic. My professors of philosophy, history, and
theology had been unanimous in telling me that the principles and laws of the
Church of Rome were absolutely antagonistic to the laws and principles which
are the foundation-stones of the Constitution of the United States.
1st. The most sacred principle of the United States Constitution is the
equality of every citizen before the law. But the fundamental principle of the
Church of Rome is the denial of that equality.
2nd. Liberty of conscience is proclaimed by the United States, a most sacred
principle which every citizen must uphold, even at the price of his blood. But
liberty of conscience is declared by all the Popes and Councils of Rome, a most
godless, unholy, and diabolical thing, which every good Catholic must abhor and
destroy at any cost.
3rd. The American Constitution assures the absolute independence of the civil
from the ecclesiastical or church power; but the Church of Rome declares,
through all her Pontiffs and Councils, that such independence is an impiety and
a revolt against God.
4th. The American Constitution leaves every man free to serve God according to
the dictates of his conscience; but the Church of Rome declares that no man has
ever had such a right, and that the Pope alone can know and say what man must
believe and do.
5th. The Constitution of the United States denies the right in any body to
punish any other for differing from him in religion. But the Church of Rome
says that she has a right to punish with the confiscation of their goods, or
the penalty of death, those who differ in faith from the Pope.
6th. The United States have established schools all over their immense
territories, where they invite the people to send their children, that they may
cultivate their intelligence and become good and useful citizens. But the
Church of Rome has publicly cursed all those schools, and forbidden their
children to attend them, under pain of excommunication in this world and
damnation in the next.
7th. The Constitution of the United States is based on the principle that the
people are the primary source of all civil power. But hundreds of times, the
Church of Rome has proclaimed that this principle is impious and heretical. She
says that "all government must rest upon the foundation of the Catholic
faith; with the Pope alone as the legitimate and infallible source and
interpreter of the law."
I could cite many other things, proving that the Church of Rome is an absolute
and irreconcilable enemy of the United States; but it would be too long. These
are sufficient to show to the American people that Rome is a viper, which they
feed and press upon their bosom. Sooner or later that viper will bite to death and
kill this Republic. This was foretold by Lafayette, and is now promulgated by
the greatest thinkers of our time. The greatest inventor, or rather the
immortal father of electric telegraphy, Samuel Morse, found it out when in
Rome, and published it in 1834, in his remarkable work, "Conspiracies
against the Liberties of the United States". The learned Dr. S. Ireneus
Prime, in his life of Professor Morse, says, "When Mr. Morse was in Italy,
he became acquainted with several ecclesiastics of the Church of Rome, and he
was led to believe, from what he learned from them, that a political
conspiracy, under the cloak of a religious mission, was formed against the
United States. When he came to Paris and enjoyed the confidence and friendship
of Lafayette, he stated his convictions to the General, who fully concurred
with him in the reality of such a conspiracy."
That great statesman and patriot, the late Richard W. Thompson, Secretary of
the Navy, in his admirable work, "The Papacy and the Civil Power,"
says, "Nothing is plainer than that, if the principles of the Church of
Rome prevail here, our constitution would necessarily fall. The two cannot
exist together. They are in open and direct antagonism with the fundamental
theory of our government and of all popular government everywhere."
The eloquent Spanish orator, Castelar, speaking of his own Church of Rome,
said, in 1869: "There is not a single progressive principle that has not
been cursed by the Catholic Church. This is true of England and Germany, as
well as all Catholic countries. The Church cursed the French Revolution, the
Belgian Constitution, and the Italian Independence. Not a constitution has been
born, not a step of progress made, not a solitary reform effected, which has
not been under the terrific anathemas of the Church."
But why ask the testimony of Protestants or Liberals to warn the American
people against that conspiracy, when we have the public testimony of all the
bishops and priests to prove it? With the most daring impudence, the Church of Rome,
through her leading men, is boasting of her stern determination to destroy all
the rights and privileges which have cost so much blood to this American
people. Let the Americans, who have eyes to see and intelligence to understand,
read the following unimpeachable documents, and judge for themselves of what
will become of this country, if Rome is allowed to grow strong enough to
execute her threats.
"The church is of necessity intolerant. Heresy, she endures when and where
she must, but she hates it, and directs all her energies to destroy it."
"If Catholics ever gain a sufficient numerical majority in this country,
religious freedom is at an end. So our enemies say, so we believe."*
"No man has a right to choose his religion. Catholicism is the most
intolerant of creeds. It is intolerance itself. We might as rationally maintain
that two and two does not make four as the theory of Religious Liberty. Its
impiety is only equaled by its absurdity."**
"The church is instituted, as every Catholic who understands his religion
believes, to guard and defend the right of God against any and every enemy, at
all times, in all places. She, therefore, does not, and cannot accept, or in
any degree favour, liberty in Protestant sense of liberty."***
"The Catholic Church is the medium and channel through which the will of
God is expressed. While the State has rights, she has them only in virtue and
by permission of the Superior Authority, and that authority can be expressed
only through the Church."****
"Protestantism has not, and never can have, any right where Catholicity
has triumphed. Therefore we lose the breath we expend in declaiming against
bigotry and intolerance and in favour of Religious Liberty, or the right of any
man to be of any religion as best pleases him."*****
"Religious Liberty is merely endured until the opposite can be carried
into effect without peril to the Catholic Church." Rt. Rev. O'Connor,
Bishop of Pittsburgh.
"The Catholic Church numbers one-third the American population; and if its
membership shall increase for the next thirty years as it has the thirty years
past, in 1900 Rome will have a majority, and be bound to take this country and
keep it. There is, ere long, to be a state religion in this country, and that
state religion is to be the Roman Catholic.
"1st. The Roman Catholic is to wield his vote for the purpose of securing
Catholic ascendancy in this country.
"2nd. All legislation must be governed by the will of God, unerringly
indicated by the Pope.
"3rd. Education must be controlled by Catholic authorities, and under
education the opinions of the individual and the utterances of the press are
included, and many opinions are to be forbidden by the secular arm, under the
authority of the Church, even to war and bloodshed."******
"It was proposed that all religious persuasions should be free and their
worship publicly exercised. But we have rejected this article as contrary to
the canons and councils of the Catholic Church."*
Every one knows that one of the first and most solemn acts of the present Pope,
Leo XIII., was to order that the theology of St. Thomas Aquinas should be
taught in all the colleges, seminaries, and universities of the Church of Rome
throughout the whole world, as the most accurate teaching of the doctrines of
his church. Well, on the 30th December, 1880, I forced the Rt. Rev. Foley,
Bishop of Chicago, to translate from Latin into English, before the court of
Kankakee, and to swear that the following law was among those promulgated by
St. Thomas as one of the present and unchangeable laws of the Church of Rome:
.
"Though heretics must not be tolerated because they
deserve it, we must bear with them, till, by a second admonition, they may be
brought back to the faith of the church. But those who, after a second admonition,
remain obstinate in their errors, must not only be excommunicated, but they
must be delivered to the secular power to be exterminated."**
After
the bishop had sworn that this was the true doctrine of the Church of Rome
expressed by St. Thomas, and taught in all the colleges, seminaries, and
universities of the Church of Rome, I forced him to declare, under oath, that
he, and every priest of Rome, once a year, under pain of eternal damnation, is
obliged to say, in the presence of God, in his Breviarum (his official
prayer-book), that that doctrine was so good and holy, that every word of it
has been inspired by the Holy Ghost to St. Thomas.
The same Bishop Foley was again forced by me, before the same court of
Kankakee, to translate from Latin into English, the following decree of the
Council of Lateran, and to acknowledge, under oath, that it was as much the law
of the Church of Rome today as on the day it was passed in the year 1215.
"We excommunicate and anathematize every heresy that exalts itself against
the holy orthodox and Catholic faith, condemning all heretics, by whatever name
they may be known, for though their faces differ, they are tied together by
their tails. Such as are condemned are to be delivered over to the existing
secular powers to receive due punishment. If laymen, their goods must be
confiscated. If priests, they shall be degraded from their respective orders,
and their property applied to the church in which they officated. Secular
powers of all ranks and degrees are to be warned, induced, and, if necessary,
compelled by ecclesiastical censure, to swear that they will exert themselves
to the utmost in the defense of the faith, and extirpate all heretics denounced
by the church, who shall be found in their territories. And whenever any person
shall assume government, whether it be spiritual or temporal, he shall be bound
to abide by this decree.
"If any temporal lord, after having been admonished and required by the
church, shall neglect to clear his territory of heretical depravity, the
Metropolitan and Bishop of the Province, shall unite in excommunicating him.
Should he remain contumacious a whole year, the fact shall be signified to the
Supreme Pontiff, who will declare his vassals released from their allegiance
from that time, and will bestow his territory on Catholics, to be occupied by
them, on condition of exterminating the heretics and preserving the said
territory in the faith.*
"Catholics who shall assume the cross for the extermination of heretics,
shall enjoy the same indulgence, and be protected by the same privileges as are
granted to those who go to the help of the Holy Land. We decree further that
all those who have dealings with heretics, and especially such as receive,
defend and encourage them, shall be excommunicated. He shall not be eligible to
any public officer. He shall not be admitted as a witness. He shall neither
have the power to bequeath his property by will, nor succeed to an inheritance.
He shall not bring any action against any person, but any one can bring action
against him. Should he be a judge, his decision shall have no force, nor shall
any cause be brought before him. Should he be a lawyer, no instruments made by
him shall be held valid, but shall be condemned with their authors."
Cardinal Manning, speaking in the name of the Pope, said: "I acknowledge
no civil power; I am the subject of no prince; and I claim more than this. I
claim to be the supreme judge and director of the conscience of men of the
peasants that till the fields, and of the prince that sits upon the throne; of
the household that lives in the shade of privacy, and the legislator that makes
laws for kingdoms I am sole, last, supreme judge of what is right and wrong.
Moreover, we declare, affirm, define, and pronounce it to be necessary to
salvation to every human creature, to be subject to the Roman Pontiff!!"**
"Undoubtedly it is the intention of the Pope to possess this country. In
this intention he is aided by the Jesuits, and all the Catholic prelates and
priests."*
"For our own part, we take this opportunity to express our hearty delight
at the suppression of the Protestant chapel in Rome. This may be thought
intolerant; but when, we ask, did we profess to be tolerant of Protestantism,
or to favour the question that Protestantism ought to be tolerated. On the
contrary, we hate Protestantism. We detest it with our whole heart and soul,
and we pray our aversion for it may never decrease."**
"No good government can exist without religion, and there can be no
religion without an Inquisition, which is wisely designed for the promotion and
protection of the true faith."***
"The Pope has the right to pronounce sentence of deposition against any
sovereign when required by the good of the Spiritual Order."****
"The power of the church exercised over sovereigns in the middle ages was
not a usurpation, was not derived from the concessions of princes or the
consent of the people, but was and is held by divine right, and whoso resists
it rebels against the King of kings and Lord of lords."*****
The Council of Constance, held in 1414, declared, "That any person who has
promised security to heretics shall not be obliged to keep his promise, by
whatever he may be engaged."
It is, in consequence of that principle that no faith must be kept with
heretics, that John Huss was publicly burned on the scaffold, the 6th July,
1415, in the city of Constance, though he had a safe passport from the Emperor.
"Negroes have no rights which the white man is bound to
respect."******
"If the liberties of the American people are ever destroyed, they will
fall by the hands of the Catholic clergy." Lafayette.
"If your son or daughter is attending a State School, you are violating
your duty as a Catholic parent, and conducing to the everlasting anguish and
despair of your child. Take him away. Take him away if you do not wish your
deathbed to be tormented with the spectre of a soul which God has given you as
a secret trust, surrendered to the great enemy of mankind. Take him away,
rather than incur the wrath of his God, and the loss of his soul."**
All the echoes of the United States, are still repeating the same denunciations
against our public schools made by Mgr. Capel, a prelate attached to the
household of the Pope. That Roman Catholic dignitary has not only passed again
the sentence of death against the schools of the United States, but he has
warned the Americans that the time is not far away when the Roman Catholics, at
the order of the Pope, will refuse to pay their school tax, and will send bullets
to the breasts of the government agents, rather than pay it. "The order
can come any day from Rome," said the prelate. "It will come as
quickly as the click of the trigger, and it will be obeyed, of course, as
coming from God Almighty Himself!"
The Catholic Columbian, edited under the immediate supervision of the Right
Rev. Bishop of Columbus, Ohio, says: "Secular (government) schools, are
unfit for Catholic children. Catholic parents cannot be allowed the sacraments,
who choose to send their children to them, when they could make use of the
Catholic schools."
"The absurd and erroneous doctrines, or ravings, in defense of liberty of
conscience, are a most pestilential error, a pest of all others, to be dreaded
in the State."*
"You should do all in your power to carry out the intentions of his
holiness the Pope. Where you have the electoral franchise, give your votes to
none but those who assist you in so holy a struggle."**
"Catholic votes should be cast solidly for the democracy at the next
election. It is the only possible hope to break down the school
system."***
"It is of faith that the Pope has the right of deposing heretical and
rebel kings. Monarchs so deposed by the Pope are converted into notorious
tyrants, and may be killed by the first who can reach them.
"If the public cause cannot meet with its defense in the death of a
tyrant, it is lawful for the first who arrives, to assassinate him."****
"See, sir, from this chamber, I govern, not only to Paris, but to China;
not only to China, but to all the world, without anyone knowing how I do
it."*****
"A man who has been excommunicated by the Pope may be killed anywhere, as
Escobar and Deaux teach, because the Pope has an indirect jurisdiction over the
whole world, even in temporal things, as all the Catholics maintain, and as
Suarez proves against the King of England."******
The Roman Catholic historian of the Jesuits, Cretineau Joly, in his Vol. II.,
page 435, approvingly says: "Father Guivard, writing about Henry IV., King
of France, says: 'If he cannot be deposed, let us make war; and if we cannot
make war, let him be killed.'"
The great Roman Catholic theologian, Dens, puts to himself the question:
"Are heretics justly punished with death?" He answers, "St.
Thomas says: Yes! 2.2. Question 11, Art. 3. Because forgers of money, or other
disturbers of the State, are justly punished with death; therefore, all
heretics who are forgers of faith and, as experience testifies, grievously
disturb the State. This is confirmed, because God, in the Old Testament,
ordered the false prophets to be slain, and in Deuteronomy it is decreed that
if any one will act proudly, and will not obey the commands of the priests, let
him be put to death. The same is proved from the condemnation of the 14th
Article of John Huss in the Council of Constance."*
"That we may in all things attain the truth. That we may not err in
anything, we ought ever to hold, as a fixed principle, that what I see white, I
believe to be black, if the superior authorities of the church define it to be
so."**
"As for holy obedience, this virtue must be perfect in every point, in
execution, in will, in intellect, doing which is enjoined with all celerity,
spiritual joy, and perseverance; persuading ourselves that everything is just,
suppressing every repugnant thought and judgment of one's own,in a certain
obedience, should be moved and directed under Divine Providence, by his
superior, just as if he were a corpse (Perinde acsi cadaver esset) which allows
itself to be moved and led in every direction."***
"If the Holy Church so requires, let us sacrifice our own opinions, our
knowledge, our intelligence, the splendid dreams of our imagination and the
sublime attainments of human understanding."****
"No more cunning plot was ever devised against the intelligence, the
freedom, the happiness and virtue of mankind than Romanism."*****
The principle and most efficacious means of practicing obedience due to
superiors, and of rendering it meritorious before God, is to consider that, in
obeying them, we obey God Himself, and that by despising their commands, we
despise the authority of the Divine Master.
"When, thus, a Religious receives a precept from her prelate, superior, or
confessor, she should immediately execute it, not only to please them, but principally
to please God, whose will is known by their command.
"If, then, you receive a command from one who holds the place of God, you
should observe it as if it came from God Himself. It may be added that there is
more certainty of doing the will of God by obedience to our superiors than by
obedience to Jesus Christ, should He appear in person and give His command.
"St. Philip used to say that the Religious shall be most certain of not
having to render an account of the actions performed through obedience, for
these, the superiors only, who command them, shall be accountable."*
"In the name and by the authority of Jesus Christ, the plentitude of which
resides in His Vicar, the Pope, we declare that the earth is not the centre of
the world, and that it moves with a diurnal motion, is absurd, philosophically
false, and erroneous in faith."**
In consequence of that infallible decree of the infallible Pope, Galileo, in
order to escape death, was obliged to fall on his knees and perjure himself, by
signing the following declaration on the 22nd of June, 1663:
"I abjure, curse and detest the error and heresy of the motion of the
earth around the sun."
In obedience to that decree, the two learned Jesuit astronomers, Lesueur and
Jacquier, in Rome, only a few years ago, made the following declaration:
"Newton assumes in his third book, the hypothesis of the earth moving
round the sun. The proposition of that author could not be explained, except
through the same hypothesis; we have, therefore, been forced to act a character
not our own. But we declare our entire submission to the decrees of the supreme
Pontiff of Rome against the motion of the earth."****
"A Catholic should never attach himself to any political party composed of
heretics. No one who is truly, at heart, a thorough and complete Catholic, can
give his entire adhesion to a Protestant leader; for in so doing, he divides
his allegiance, which he owes entirely to the church."*****
"Would he (the priest) be warranted in withholding any sacrament of the
church from a man by reason of his preferring one candidate to the other!
Absolutely speaking, he would; because a priest is not only warranted, but
bound to withhold, the sacraments from a man who is disposed to commit a mortal
sin!!"*
"Our business is to contrive:
"1st. That the Catholics be imbued with hatred for the heretics, whoever
they may be, and that this hatred shall constantly increase, and bind them
closely to each other.
"2nd. That it be, nevertheless, dissembled, so as not to transpire until
the day when it shall be appointed to break forth.
"3rd. That this secret hate be combined with great activity in
endeavouring to detach the faithful from every government inimical to us, and
employ them, when they shall form a detached body, to strike deadly blows at
heresy."**
Henry IV., King of France, after being wounded by an assassin sent by the
Jesuits, said: "I am compelled to do one of these two things: Either
recall the Jesuits, free them from the infamy and disgrace with which they are
covered, or to expel them in a more absolute manner, and prevent them from
approaching either my person or my kingdom.
"But, then, we will drive them to despair and to the resolution of
attempting my life again, which would render it so miserable to me, being
always under the apprehension of being murdered or poisoned. For those people
have correspondence everywhere, and are so very skillful in disposing the minds
of men to whatever they wish, that I think it would be better that I should be
already dead."***
"Let us bring all our skill to bear upon this part of our plan. Our chief
concern must be to mould the people to our purposes. Doubtless, the first
generation will not be wholly ours; but the second will nearly belong to us;
and the third entirely."****
"The state, is, therefore, only an inferior court, bound to receive the
law from the superior court (the church) and liable to have its decrees
reversed on appeal."*****
"The Jesuits are a military organization, not a religious order. Their
chief is a general of an army, not the mere father abbot of a monastery. And
the aim of this organization is: Power. Power in its most despotic exercise.
Absolute power, universal power, power to control the world by the volition of
a single man. Jesuitism is the most absolute of despotisms; and at the same
time the greatest and the most enormous of abuses."*
"The general of the Jesuits insists on being master, sovereign, over the
sovereign. Wherever the Jesuits are admitted they will be masters, cost what it
may. Their society is by nature dictatorial, and therefore it is the
irreconcilable enemy of all constituted authority. Every act, every crime,
however atrocious, is a meritorious work, if committed for the interest of the
Society of the Jesuits, or by the order of its general."**
In the allocution of September, 1851, Pope Pius IX. said:
"That he had taken that principle for basis: That the Catholic religion,
with all its votes, ought to be exclusively dominant in such sort that every
other worship shall be banished and interdicted!
"You ask if the Pope were lord of this land and you were in a minority,
what he would do to you? That, we say, would entirely depend on circumstances.
If it would benefit the cause of Catholicism, he would tolerate you; if
expedient, he would imprison, banish you, probably he might even hang you. But
be assured of one thing, he would never tolerate you for the sake of your
glorious principles of civil and religious liberty."***
Lord Acton, one of the Roman Catholic peers of England, reproaching her bloody
and anti-social laws to his own church, wrote: "Pope Gregory VII. decided
it was no murder to kill excommunicated persons. This rule was incorporated in
the canon law. During the revision of the code, which took place in the 16th
century, and which produced a whole volume of corrections, the passage was
allowed to stand. It appears in every reprint of the Corpus Juris. It has been
for 700 years, and continues to be, part of the ecclesiastical law. Far from
being a dead letter, it obtained a new application in the days of the
Inquisition; and one of the later Popes has declared that the murder of a
Protestant is so good a deed that it atones, and more than atones, for the
murder of a Catholic."**** In the last council of the Vatican, has the
Church of Rome expressed any regret for having promulgated and executed such
bloody laws? No! On the contrary, she has anathematized all those who think or
say that she was wrong when she deluged the world with the blood of the
millions she ordered to be slaughtered to quench her thirst for blood; she
positively said that she had the right to punish those heretics by tortures and
death.
Those bloody and anti-social laws, were written on the banners of the Roman
Catholics, when slaughtering 100,000 Waldenses in the mountains of Piedmont,
and more that 50,000 defenseless men, women and children in the city of
Bezieres. It is under the inspiration of those diabolical laws of Rome, that
75,000 Protestants were massacred, the night and following week of St. Bartholomew.
It was to obey those bloody laws that Louis XIV. revoked the Edict of Nantes,
caused the death of half a million of men, women and children, who perished in
all the highways of France, and caused twice that number to die in the land of
exile, where they had found a refuge.
Those anti-social laws, today, are written on her banners with the blood of ten
millions of martyrs. It is under those bloody banners that 6,000 Roman Catholic
priests, Jesuits and bishops, in the United States, are marching to the
conquest of this Republic, backed by their seven millions of blind and obedient
slaves.
Those laws, which are still the ruling laws of Rome, were the main cause of the
last rebellion of the Southern States.
Yes! without Romanism, the last awful civil war would have been impossible.
Jeff Davis would never have dared to attack the North, had he not had assurance
from the Pope, that the Jesuits, the bishops, the priests and the whole people
of the Church of Rome, under the name and mask of Democracy, would help him.
These diabolical and anti-social laws of Rome caused a Roman Catholic
(Beauregard) to be the man chosen to fire the first gun at Fort Sumter, against
the flag of Liberty, on the 12th of April, 1861. Those antichristian and
anti-social laws caused the Pope of Rome to be the only crowned prince in the
whole world, so depraved as to publicly shake hands with Jeff Davis, and
proclaim him President of a legitimate government.
These are the laws which led the assassins of Abraham Lincoln to the house of a
rabid Roman Catholic woman, Mary Surratt, which was not only the rendezvous of
the priests of Washington, but the very dwelling-house of some of them.
That woman, gifted by God to be an angel of peace and mercy on earth, was
changed by those laws into a bloodthirsty tigress; for she had smelt the blood
which everywhere comes from the robe, the hands, and the lips of the priest of
Rome.
Those bloody and infernal laws of Rome nerved the arm of the Roman Catholic,
Booth, when he slaughtered one of the noblest men God has ever given to the
world.
Those bloody and anti-social laws of Rome, after having covered Europe with
ruins, tears, and blood for ten centuries, have crossed the oceans to continue
their work of slavery and desolation, blood, and tears, ignorance and
demoralization, on this continent. Under the mask and name of Democracy they
have raised the standard of rebellion of the South against the North, and
caused more than half a million of the most heroic sons of America to fall on
the fields of carnage.
In a very near future, if God does not miraculously prevent it, those laws of
dark deeds and blood will cause the prosperity, the rights, the education, and
the liberties of this too confident nation to be buried under a mountain of
smoking and bloody ruins. On the top of that mountain, Rome will raise her
throne and plant her victorious banners.
Then she will sing her Te Deums and shout her shouts of joy, as she did when
she heard the lamentations and cries of desolation of the millions of martyrs
burning in the five thousand auto-da-fes she had raised in all the capitals and
great cities of Europe.
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CHAPTER 60 Back to Top
EQUALITY
AND FRATERNITY OF MEN PROCLAIMED BY CHRIST.
"Be ye not called Rabbi. For one is your Master, even Christ; and all ye
are brethren" (Matt. xxiii. 8).
"God is not respecter of persons; but in every nation, he that feareth Him
and worketh righteousness is accepted with Him" (Acts x. 34, 35).
"Jesus called them unto Him and said, Ye know that the princes of the
Gentiles exercise dominion over them, and they that are great exercise
authority upon them.
"But it shall not be so among you: but whosoever will be great among you,
let him be your minister; and whosoever will be chief among you, let him be
your servant.
"Even as the Son of Man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister,
and give His life as a ransom for many" (Matt. 25, 28).
PRINCIPLES OF LIBERTY PROCLAIMED BY CHRIST.
"If ye continue in My word, then are ye My disciples indeed, and ye shall
know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. . . . If the Son shall make
you free, ye shall be free indeed" (John viii. 31, 32, 36).
"The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because He hath anointed me to preach
the Gospel to the poor; He hath sent Me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach
deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at
liberty them that are bruised" (Luke iv. 18).
"Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty" (2 Cor. iii. 17).
TOLERANCE AND LIBERTY OF CONSCIENCE PROCLAIMED BY CHRIST.
"And they did not receive Him (Christ), because His face was as though He
would go to Jerusalem. And when His disciples, James and John, saw this, they
said, Lord, wilt Thou that we command fire to come down from heaven and consume
them, even as Elias did?
"But He turned and rebuked them, and said, Ye know not what manner of
spirit ye are of:
"For the Son of Man is not come to destroy men's lives, but to save
them" (Luke ix. 53, 56).
"Then Simon Peter, having a sword, drew it, and smote the high priest's
servant, and cut off his right ear. The servant's name was Malchus.
"Then said Jesus unto Peter, Put up thy sword into the sheath; the cup
which my Father hath given Me, shall I not drink it? For all they that take the
sword, shall perish with the sword" (John xviii. 10, 11; Matt. xxvi. 51,
52).
It is no wonder that the people of Judea, filled with admiration at these
sublime doctrines of equality, fraternity, liberty and tolerance, should
exclaim, "Never man spake like this man!"
Is it on those admirable principles that the Church of Rome is founded? No! for
she has, thousands of times, proclaimed that her mission was to destroy them
all, even if she had to wade in the blood of those who support them.
But just as the Romish Church is not only the very antipodes and the most
implacable enemy of those admirable doctrines and principles, so the
constitution of the United States is the ripe fruit of this divine seed, sown
by the Son of God Himself in the bosom of humanity, eighteen hundred years ago.
Yes, in reference to those principles of fraternity, equality, liberty, and
tolerance, the constitution of the United States is to the Gospel of Christ
what the fruit is to the tree which has given it. And this is the verdict given
by the whole world, the Church of Rome excepted.
Why is it that the poor, the bruised, the wounded, and the oppressed from every
land turn their eyes, their hearts, and their steps towards this country? It is
because all the echoes of heaven and earth have told them that the Untied
States Republic is, par excellence, the land of fraternity, fair play,
equality, and liberty.
The Pope of Rome and his Jesuits know this better than any one. Hence their
constant and supreme efforts to destroy this Republic. Believing and preaching
that it is their duty to exterminate the individuals who differ from them in
religion, they assume that it is their duty to destroy the governments and the
nations who refuse to submit to their yoke, when they can do it safely.
The mission of Rome being to teach that the inferior, the people, must obey his
superior, just as the corpse obeys the hand which moves it, or as the stick
obeys the arm which directs it, she knows well that she cannot fulfill her
mission and attain her object so long as this government of a free, sovereign
people, stands; she is, then, bound to oppose, paralyze, and destroy that
government when she finds her opportunity.
With lynx eye, she watched that opportunity: and with anxiety and rage she
spied from her cradle the onward march of this young giant Republic. She knew
that it was in the bosom of every true citizen of the United States to
propagate those accursed (by her) principles of equality, fraternity, and
liberty all over the world. She saw that the irresistible influence of those
principles were felt on the most distant nations, as well as on the poor,
miserable Irish people, she was keeping under her heavy and ignominious yoke;
she understood that there was a real danger for her very existence, if those
principles would continue to spread; that her slavery star would go down as the
liberty star would rise on the horizon. In a word, Rome saw at once that the
very existence of the United States was a formidable menace to her own life.
Already she had seen the chains of two millions of her Irish slaves melted at
the simple touch of the warm rays of liberty which had fallen from the stars
and stripes banners. From the very beginning she perfidiously sowed the germs
of division and hatred between the two great sections of this country, and she
felt an unspeakable joy when she saw that she had succeeded in dividing its
South from the North, on the burning question of slavery. She looked upon that
division as her golden opportunity. To crush one party by the other, and reign
over the bloody ruins of both, has invariably been her policy. She hoped that
the hour of her supreme triumph over this continent was come. She ordered her
elder son, the Emperor of France, to keep himself ready to help her to crush
the North, by having an army in Mexico ready to support the South, and she bade
all the Roman Catholic bishops, priests, and people to enroll themselves under
the banners of slavery, by joining themselves to the party of the Democracy.
And everybody knows how the Roman Catholic bishops and priests, almost to a
man, obeyed that order. Only one bishop dared to disobey. Above everything, it
was ordered to oppose the election of Lincoln at any cost. For, from the very
first day that his eloquent voice had been heard, a thrill of terror had gone
through the hearts of the partisans of slavery. The Democratic press, which was
then, as it is still now, almost entirely under the control of the Roman
Catholics, and the devoted tool of the Jesuits, deluged the country with the
most fearful denunciations against him. They called him an ape, a stupid brute,
a most dangerous lunatic, a bloody monster, a merciless tyrant, ect., ect. In a
word, Rome exhausted all her resources of language, she ransacked the English
dictionary to find the most suitable expressions to fill the people with
contempt, hatred, and horror against him. But it was written in the decrees of
God that honest Abraham Lincoln should be proclaimed President of the United
States, the 4th of March 1861.
At the end of August, having known from a Roman Catholic priest, whom, by the
mercy of God, I had persuaded to leave the errors of Popery, that there was a
plot among them to assassinate the President, I thought it was my duty to go
and tell him what I knew, at the same time giving him a new assurance of
gratitude for what he had done for me.
Knowing that I was among those who were waiting in the ante-chamber, he sent
immediately for me, and received me with greater cordiality and marks of
kindness than I could expect.
"I am so glad to meet you again," he said: "you see that your
friends, the Jesuits, have not yet killed me. But they would have surely done
it when I passed through their most devoted city, Baltimore, had I not defeated
their plans, by passing incognito a few hours before they expected me. We have
the proof that the company which has been selected and organized to murder me
was led by a rabid Roman Catholic, called Byrne; it was almost entirely
composed of Roman Catholics; more than that, there were two disguised priests
among them, to lead and encourage them. I am sorry to have so little time to
see you: but I will not let you go before telling you that, a few days ago, I
saw Mr. Morse, the learned inventor of electric telegraphy: he told me that
when he was in Rome, not long ago, he found out the proofs of a most formidable
conspiracy against this country and all its institutions. It is evident that it
is to the intrigues and emissaries of the Pope that we owe, in great part, the
horrible evil war which is threatening to cover the country with blood and
ruins.
"I am sorry that Professor Morse had to leave Rome before he could know
more about the secret plans of the Jesuits against the liberties and the very
existence of this country. But do you know that I want you to take his place
and continue that investigation? My plan is to attach you to my ambassador of
France, as one of the secretaries. In that honourable position you would go
from Paris to Rome, where you might find, through the directions of Mr. Morse,
an opportunity of re-uniting the broken threads of his researches. 'It takes a
Greek to fight a Greek.' As you have been twenty-five years a priest of Rome, I
do not know any man in the United States so well acquainted as you are with the
tricks of the Jesuits, and on the devotedness of whom I could better rely. And
when, once on the staff of my ambassador, even as one of the secretaries, might
you not soon yourself become the ambassador? I am in need of Christian men in
every department of the public service, but more in those high positions. What
do you think of that?"
"My dear President," I answered, "I feel overwhelmed by your
kindness. Surely nothing could be more pleasant to me than to grant our
request. The honour you want to confer upon me is much above my merit: but my
conscience tells me that I cannot give up the preaching of the Gospel to my
poor French Canadian countrymen, who are still in the errors of Popery. For I
am about the only one who, by the Providence of God, has any real influence
over them. I am, surely, the only one the bishops and priests seem to fear in
that work. The many attempts they have made to take away my life are a proof of
it. Besides that, though I consider the present President of the Unites States
much above the Emperors of France, Russia, and Austria, much above the greatest
kings of the world, I feel that I am the servant, the ambassador of One who is
as much above even the good and great President of the United States as the heavens
are above the earth. I appeal to your own Christian and honourable feelings to
know if I can forsake the one for the other."
The President became very solemn, and replied: "You are right! you are
right! There is nothing so great under heaven as to be the ambassador of
Christ."
But then, coming back to himself, with one of his fine jokes, which he had
always ready, he added: "Yes! yes! You are the ambassador of a greater
Prince than I am: but He does not pay you with so good cash as I would
do." He then added: "I am exceedingly pleased to see you. However, I
am so pressed just now, by most important affairs, that you must excuse me if I
ask you to give your place to one of my generals who is there, waiting for me.
Please come again to-morrow at ten o'clock; I have a very important question to
ask you on a matter which has been constantly before my mind these last few
weeks."
The next day I was, at the appointed hour, with my noble friend, who said:
"I could not give you more than ten minutes yesterday, but I will give you
twenty today. I want your views about a thing which is exceedingly puzzling to
me, and you are the only one to whom I like to speak on that subject. A great
number of Democratic papers have been sent to me lately, evidently written by
Roman Catholics, publishing that I was born a Roman Catholic, and baptized by a
priest. They call me a renegade, an apostate, on account of that; and they heap
upon my head mountains of abuses. At first I laughed at that, for it is a lie.
Thanks be to God, I have never been a Roman Catholic. No priest of Rome has
ever laid his hand on my head. But the persistency of the Romish press to
present this falsehood to their readers as a gospel truth, must have a meaning.
Please tell me, as briefly as possible, what you think about that."
"My dear President," I answered, "it was just this strange story
published about you, which brought me here yesterday. I wanted to say a word
about it; but you were too busy. Let me tell you that I wept as a child when I
read that story for the first time. For, not only my impression is that it is
your sentence of death; but I have from the lips of a converted priest, that it
is in order to excite the fanaticism of the Roman Catholic murderers, whom they
hope to find sooner or later, to strike you down; they have invented that false
story of your being born in the Church of Rome, and of your being baptized by a
priest. They want, by that, to brand your face with the ignominious mark of
apostasy. Do not forget that, in the Church of Rome, an apostate is an outcast,
who has no place in society, and who has no right to live.
"The Jesuits want the Roman Catholics to believe that you are a monster,
an open enemy of God and of His Church, that you are an excommunicated man. For
every apostate is, ipso facto (by that very fact) excommunicated. I have
brought to you the theology of one of the most learned and approved of the
Jesuits of his time, Busembaum, who, with many others, say that the man who
will kill you will do a good and holy work. More than that, here is a copy of a
decree of Gregory VII., proclaiming that the killing of an apostate, or an
heretic and an excommunicated man, as you are declared to be, is not murder;
nay, that it is a good, a Christian action. That decree is incorporated in the
canon law, which every priest must study, and which every good Catholic must
follow.
"My dear President, I must repeat to you here what I said when at Urbana
in 1856. My fear is that you will fall under the blows of a Jesuit assassin if
you do not pay more attention than you have done, till now, to protect
yourself. Remember that because Coligny was an heretic, as you are, he was
brutally murdered in the St. Bartholomew night; that Henry IV. was stabbed by
the Jesuit assassin, Revaillac, the 14th of May, 1610, for having given liberty
of conscience to his people; and that William the Taciturn was shot dead by
another Jesuit murderer, called Girard, for having broken the yoke of the Pope.
The Church of Rome is absolutely the same today as she was then; she does
believe and teach today, as then, that she has the right and that it is her
duty to punish by death any heretic who is in her way as an obstacle to her
designs. The unanimity with which the Catholic hierarchy of the United States
is on the side of the rebels is an incontrovertible evidence that Rome wants to
destroy this republic, and as you are, by your personal virtues, your
popularity, your love for liberty, your position, the greatest obstacle to the
diabolical schemes, their hatred is concentrated upon you; you are the daily
object of their maledictions; it is at your breast they will direct their
blows. My blood chills in my veins when I contemplate the day which may come,
sooner or later, when Rome will add to all her other iniquities the murder of
Abraham Lincoln."
When saying these things to the President, I was exceedingly moved, my voice
was as choked, and I could hardly retain my tears. But the President was
perfectly calm. When I had finished speaking, he took the volume of Busembaum
from my hand, read the lines which I had marked with red ink, and I helped him
to translate them into English. He then gave me back the book, and said:
"I will repeat to you what I said at Urbana, when for the first time you
told me your fears lest I would be assassinated by the Jesuits: 'Man must not
care where and when he will die, provided he dies at the post of honour and
duty.' But I may add, today, that I have a presentiment that God will call me
to Him through the hand of an assassin. Let His will, and, not mine be
done!" He then looked at his watch and said, "I am sorry, that the
twenty minutes I had consecrated to our interview have almost passed away; I
will be for ever grateful for the warning words you have addressed to me about
the dangers ahead of my life, from Rome. I know that they are not imaginary
dangers. If I were fighting against a Protestant South, as a nation, there
would be no danger of assassination. The nations who read the Bible, fight
bravely on the battle-fields, but they do not assassinate their enemies. The
Pope and the Jesuits, with their infernal Inquisition, are the only organized
powers in the world which have recourse to the dagger of the assassin to murder
those whom they cannot convince with their arguments or conquer with the sword.
"Unfortunately, I feel more and more, every day, that it is not against
the Americans of the South, alone, I am fighting, it is more against the Pope
of Rome, his perfidious Jesuits and their blind and blood-thirsty slaves, than
against the real American Protestants, that we have to defend ourselves. Here
is the real danger of our position. So long as they will hope to conquer the
North, they will spare me; but the day we will rout their armies (and that day
will surely come, with the help of God), take their cities, and force them to
submit, then, it is my impression that the Jesuits, who are the principal
rulers of the South, will do what they have almost invariably done in the past.
The dagger, or the pistol of one of their adepts, will do what the strong hands
of the warriors could not achieve. This civil war seems to be nothing but a
political affair to those who do not see, as I do, the secret springs of that
terrible drama. But it is more a religious than a civil war. It is Rome who
wants to rule and degrade the North, as she has ruled and degraded the South,
from the very day of its discovery. There are only very few of the Southern
leaders who are not more or less under the influence of the Jesuits, through
their wives, family relations, and their friends. Several members of the family
of Jeff Davis belong to the Church of Rome. Even the Protestant ministers are
under the influence of the Jesuits without suspecting it. To keep her
ascendancy in the North, as she does in the South, Rome is doing here what she
has done in Mexico, and in all the South American Republics; she is paralyzing,
by a civil war, the arms of the soldiers of Liberty. She divides our nation, in
order to weaken, subdue and rule it.
"Surely we have some brave and reliable Roman Catholic officers and
soldiers in our armies, but they form an insignificant minority when compared
with the Roman Catholic traitors against whom we have to guard ourselves, day
and night. The fact is, that the immense majority of Roman Catholic bishops,
priests and laymen, are rebels in heart, when they cannot be in fact; with very
few exceptions, they are publicly in favour of slavery. I understand, now, why
the patriots of France, who determined to see the colours of Liberty floating over
their great and beautiful country, were forced to hand or shoot almost all the
priests and the monks as the irreconcilable enemies of Liberty. For it is a
fact, which is now evident to me, that, with very few exceptions, every priest
and every true Roman Catholic is a determined enemy of Liberty. Their
extermination in France, was one of those terrible necessities which no human
wisdom could avoid; it looks to me now as an order from heaven to save France.
May God grant that the same terrible necessity be never felt in the United
States! But there is a thing which is very certain; it is, that if the American
people could learn what I know of the fierce hatred of the generality of the
priests of Rome against our institutions, our schools, our most sacred rights,
and our so dearly bought liberties, they would drive them away, to-morrow, from
among us, or they would shoot them as traitors. But I keep those sad secrets in
my heart; you are the only one to whom I reveal them, for I know that you
learned them before me. The history of these last thousand years tells us that
wherever the Church of Rome is not a dagger to pierce the bosom of a free
nation, she is a stone to her neck, and a ball to her feet, to paralyze her,
and prevent her advance in the ways of civilization, science, intelligence,
happiness and liberty. But I forget that my twenty minutes are gone long ago.
"Please accept my sincere thanks for the new lights you have given me on
the dangers of my position, and come again. I will always see you with a new
pleasure."
My second visit to Abraham Lincoln was at the beginning of June, 1862. The
grand victory of the "Monitor" over the "Merrimac," and the
conquest of New Orleans, by the brave and Christian Farragut had filled every
heart with joy; I wanted to unite my feeble voice to that of the whole country
to tell him how I blessed God for that glorious success. But I found him so
busy that I could only shake hands with him.
The third and last time I went to pay my respects to the doomed President, and warn
him against the impending dangers which I knew were threatening him, was on the
morning of June 8th, 1864, when he was absolutely besieged by people who wanted
to see him. After a kind and warm shaking of hands, he said:
"I am much pleased to see you again. But it is impossible, today, to say
anything more than this: To-morrow afternoon, I will receive the delegation of
the deputies of all the loyal states, sent to officially announce the desire of
the country that I should remain the President four years more. I invite you to
be present with them at that interesting meeting. You will see some of the most
prominent men of our Republic, and I will be glad to introduce you to them. You
will not present yourself as a delegate of the people, but only as the guest of
the President; and that there may be no trouble, I will give you this card,
with a permit to enter with the delegation. But do not leave Washington before
I see you again; I have some important matters on which I want to know your
mind."
The next day, it was my privilege to have the greatest honour ever received by
me. The good President wanted me to stand at his right hand, when he received
the delegation, and hear the address presented by Governor Dennison, the
President of the Convention, to which he replied in his own admirable
simplicity and eloquence; finishing by one of his most witty anecdotes. "I
am reminded in this convention of a story of an old Dutch farmer, who remarked
to a companion, wisely, 'That it was not best to swap horses when crossing a
stream.'"
The next day, he kindly took me with him in his carriage, when visiting the
thirty thousand wounded soldiers picked up on the battle-fields of the seven
days' battle of the Wilderness, and the thirty days' battle around Richmond, where
Grant was just breaking the backbone of the rebellion. On the way to and from
the hospitals, I could not talk much. The noise of the carriage rapidly drawn
on the pavement was too great. Besides that, my soul was so much distressed,
and my heart so much broken by the sight of the horrors of that fratricidal
war, that my voice was as stifled. The only thought which seemed to occupy the
mind of the President was the part which Rome had in that horrible struggle.
Many times he repeated:
"This war would never have been possible without the sinister influence of
the Jesuits. We owe it to Popery that we now see our land reddened with the
blood of her noblest sons. Though there were great differences of opinion
between the South and the North, on the question of slavery, neither Jeff Davis
nor any one of the leading men of the Confederacy would have dared to attack
the North, had they not relied on the promises of the Jesuits, that under the
mask of Democracy, the money and the arms of the Roman Catholic, even the arms
of France, were at their disposal, if they would attack us. I pity the priests,
the bishops and the monks of Rome in the United States, when the people realize
that they are, in great part, responsible for the tears and the blood shed in
this war; the later the more terrible will the retribution be. I conceal what I
know, on that subject, from the knowledge of the nation; for if the people knew
the whole truth, this war would turn into a religious war, and it would, at
once, take a tenfold more savage and bloody character, it would become
merciless as all religious wars are. It would become a war of extermination on
both sides. The Protestants of both the North and the South would surely unite
to exterminate the priests and the Jesuits, if they could hear what Professor
Morse has said to me of the plots made in the very city of Rome to destroy this
Republic, and if they could learn how the priests, the nuns, and the monks,
which daily land on our shores, under the pretext of preaching their religion,
instructing the people in their schools, taking care of the sick in the
hospitals, are nothing else but the emissaries of the Pope, of Napoleon, and
the other despots of Europe, to undermine our institutions, alienate the hearts
of our people from our constitution, and our laws, destroy our schools, and
prepare a reign of anarchy here as they have done in Ireland, in Mexico, in
Spain, and wherever there are any people who want to be free, ect."
When the President was speaking thus, we arrived at the door of his mansion. He
invited me to go with him to his study, and said:
"Thought I am very busy, I must rest an hour with you. I am in need of
that rest. My head is aching, I feel as crushed under the burden on affairs
which are on my shoulders. There are many important things about the plots of
the Jesuits that I can learn only from you. Please wait just a moment, I have
just received some dispatches from General Grant, to which I must give an
answer. My secretary is waiting for me. I go to him. Please amuse yourself with
those books, during my short absence."
Twenty-five minutes later, the President had returned, with his face flushed
with joy. "Glorious news! General Grant has again beaten Lee, and forced
him to retreat towards Richmond, when he will have to surrender before long.
Grant is a real hero. But let us come to the question I want to put to you.
Have you read the letter of the Pope to Jeff Davis, and what do you think of
it?"
"My dear President," I answered, "it is just that letter which
brought me to your presence again, the day before yesterday. I wanted to come
and see you, from the very day I read it. But I knew you were so overwhelmed
with the affairs of your government, that I would not be able to see you.
However, the anxieties of my mind were so, that I determined to go over every
barrier to warn you again against the new dangers and plots which I knew would
come out from that perfidious letter, against your life.
"That letter is a poisoned arrow thrown by the Pope, at you personally;
and it will be more than a miracle if it be not your irrevocable warrant of
death. Before reading it, it is true that every Catholic could see by the
unanimity of the bishops siding with the rebel cause, that their church as a
whole, was against this free Republican government. However, a good number of
liberty-loving Irish, German and French Catholics, following more the instincts
of their noble nature, than the degrading principles of their church, enrolled
themselves under the banners of Liberty, and they have fought like heroes. To
detach these men from the rank and file of the Northern armies, and force them
to help the cause of the rebellion, because the object of the intrigues of the
Jesuits. Secret and pressing letters were addressed from Rome to the bishops,
ordering them to weaken your armies by detaching those men from you. The
bishops answered, that they could not do that without exposing themselves to be
shot. But they advised the Pope to acknowledge, at once, the legitimacy of the
Southern Republic, and to take Jeff Davis under his supreme protection, by a
letter, which would be read everywhere.
"That letter, then, tells logically the Roman Catholics that you are a
blood-thirsty tyrant! a most execrable being when fighting against a government
which the infallible and holy Pope of Rome recognizes as legitimate. The Pope,
by this letter, tells his blind slaves that you are an infamous usurper, when
considering yourself the President of the Southern States; that you are
outraging the God of heaven and earth, by continuing such a sanguinary war to
subdue a nation over whom God Almighty has declared, through His infallible
pontiff, the Pope, that you have not the least right: that letter means that
you will give an account to God and man for the blood and tears you cause to
flow in order to satisfy your ambition.
"By this letter of the Pope to Jeff Davis you are not only an apostate, as
you were thought before, whom every man had the right to kill, according to the
canonical laws of Rome; but you are more vile, criminal and cruel than the
horse thief, the public banditti, and the lawless brigand, robber and murderer,
whom it is a duty to stop and kill, when we take them in their acts of blood,
and that there is no other way to put an end to their plunders and murders.
"And, my dear President, the meaning I give you of this perfidious letter
of the Pope to Jeff Davis, is not a fancy imagination on my part, it is the
unanimous explanation given me by a great number of the priests of Rome, with
whom I have had occasion to speak on that subject. In the name of God, and in
the name of our dear country, which is in so much need of your services, I
conjure you to pay more attention to protect your precious life, and not
continue to expose it as you have done till now."
The President listened to my words with breathless attention. He replied;
"You confirm me in the views I had taken of the letter of the Pope.
Professor Morse is of the same mind with you. It is, indeed, the most
perfidious act which could occur under present circumstances. You are perfectly
correct when you say that it was to detach the Roman Catholics who had enrolled
themselves in our armies. Since the publication of that letter, a great number
of them have deserted their banners and turned traitors; very few,
comparatively, have remained true to their oath of fidelity. It is, however,
very lucky that one of those few, Sheridan, is worth a whole army by his
ability, his patriotism and his heroic courage. It is true, also, that Meade
has remained with us, and gained the bloody battle of Gettysburg. But how could
he lose it, when he was surrounded by such heroes as Howard, Reynolds, Buford,
Wadsworth, Cutler, Slocum, Sickes, Hancock, Barnes, ect. But it is evident that
his Romanism superseded his patriotism after the battle. He let the army of Lee
escape, when it was so easy to cut his retreat and force him to surrender,
after having lost nearly the half of his soldiers in the last three days'
carnage.
"When Meade was to order the pursuit, after the battle, a stranger came,
in haste, to the headquarters, and that stranger was a disguised Jesuit. After
a ten minutes' conversation with him, Meade made such arrangements for the
pursuit of the enemy, that he escaped almost untouched, with the loss of only two
guns!
"You re right," continued the President, "when you say that this
letter of the Pope has entirely changed the nature and the ground of the war.
Before they read it, the Roman Catholics could see that I was fighting against
Jeff Davis and his Southern Confederacy. But now, they must believe that it is
against Christ and His holy vicar, the Pope, that I am raising my sacrilegious
hands; we have the daily proofs that their indignation, their hatred, their
malice, against me, are a hundredfold intensified. New projects of
assassination are detected almost every day, accompanied with such savage
circumstances, that they bring to my memory the massacre of the St. Bartholomew
and the Gunpowder Plot. We feel, at their investigation, that they come from the
same masters in the art of murder, the Jesuits.
"The New York riots were evidently a Romish plot from beginning to end. We
have the proofs in hand that they were the work of Bishop Hughes and his
emissaries. No doubt can remain in the minds of the most incredulous about the
bloody attempts of Rome to destroy New York, when we know the easy way it was
stopped. I wrote to Bishop Hughes, telling him that the whole country would
hold him responsible for it if he would not stop it at once. He then gathered the
rioters around his palace, called them his 'dear friends,' invited them to go
back home peacefully, and all was finished! so Jupiter of old used to raise a
storm and stop it with a nod of his head!
"From the beginning of our civil war, there has been, not a secret, but a
public alliance, between the Pope of Rome and Jeff Davis, and that alliance has
followed the common laws of this world affairs. The greater has led the
smaller, the stronger has guided the weaker. The Pope and his Jesuits have
advised, supported, and directed Jeff Davis on the land, from the first gun
shot at Fort Sumter, by the rabid Roman Catholic Beauregard. They are helping
him on the sea by guiding and supporting the other rabid Roman Catholic pirate,
Semmes, on the ocean. And they will help the rebellion when firing their last
gun to shed the blood of the last soldier of Liberty, who will fall in this
fratricidal war. In my interview with Bishop Hughes, I told him, 'that every
stranger who had sworn allegiance to our government by becoming a United States
citizen, as himself, was liable to be shot or hung as a perjured traitor and an
armed spy, as the sentence of the court-martial may direct. And he will be so
shot and hanged accordingly, as there will be no exchange of such prisoners'.
After I had put this flea in the ears of the Romish bishop, I requested him to
go and report my words to the Pope. Seeing the dangerous position of his
bishops and priests when siding with the rebels, my hope was that he would
advise them, for their own interests, to become loyal and true to their
allegiance and help us through the remaining part of the war. But he result has
been the very contrary. The Pope has thrown away the mask, and shown himself
the public partisan and the protector of the rebellion, by taking Jeff Davis by
the hand, and impudently recognizing the Southern States as a legitimate
government. Now, I have the proof in hand that that very Bishop Hughes, whom I
had sent to Rome that he might induce the Pope to urge the Roman Catholics of the
North at least, to be true to their oath of allegiance, and whom I thanked
publicly, when, under the impression that he had acted honestly, according to
the promise he had given me, is the very man who advised the Pope to recognize
the legitimacy of the Southern Republic, and put the whole weight of his tiara
in the balance against us in favour of our enemies! Such is the perfidy of
those Jesuits. Two cankers are biting the very entrails of the United States
today: the Romish and the Mormon priests. Both are equally at work to form a
people of the most abject, ignorant and fanatical slaves, who will recognize no
other authority but their supreme pontiffs. Both are aiming at the destruction
of our schools, to raise themselves upon our ruins. Both shelter themselves
under our grand and holy principles of liberty of conscience, to destroy that
very liberty of conscience, and bind the world before their heavy and
ignominious yoke. The Mormon and the Jesuit priests are equally the
uncompromising enemies of our constitution and our laws; but the more dangerous
of the two is the Jesuits the Romish priest, for he knows better now to conceal
his hatred under the mask of friendship and public good: he is better trained
to commit the most cruel and diabolical deeds for the glory of God. "Till
lately, I was in favour of the unlimited liberty of conscience as our
constitution gives it to the Roman Catholics. But now, it seems to me that,
sooner or later, the people will be forced to put a restriction to that clause
towards the Papists. Is it not an act of folly to give absolute liberty of
conscience to a set of men who are publicly sworn to cut our throats the very
day they have their opportunity for doing it? It is right to give the privilege
of citizenship to men who are the sworn and public enemies of our constitution,
our laws, our liberties, and our lives?
"The very moment that Popery assumed the right of life and death on a
citizen of France, Spain, Germany, England, or the United States, it assumed to
be the power, the government of France, Spain, England, Germany, and the United
States. Those States then committed a suicidal act by allowing Popery to put a
foot on their territory with the privilege of citizenship. The power of life
and death is the supreme power, and two supreme powers cannot exist on the same
territory without anarchy, riots, bloodshed, and civil wars without end. When
Popery will give up the power of life and death which it proclaims on its own
divine power, in all its theological books and canon laws, then, and then
alone, it can be tolerated and can receive the privileges of citizenship in a
free country.
"Is it not an absurdity to give to a man a thing which he is sworn to
hate, curse, and destroy? And does not the Church of Rome hate, curse, and
destroy liberty of conscience whenever she can do it safely? I am for liberty
of conscience in its noblest, broadest, highest sense. But I cannot give
liberty of conscience to the Pope and to his followers, the Papists, so long as
they tell me, through all their councils, theologians, and canon laws, that
their conscience orders them to burn my wife, strangle my children, and cut my
throat when they find their opportunity! This does not seem to be understood by
the people today. But sooner or later, the light of common sense will make it
clear to every one that no liberty of conscience can be granted to men who are
sworn to obey a Pope, who pretends to have the right to put to death those who
differ from him religion.
"You are not the first to warn me against the dangers of assassination. My
ambassadors in Italy, France, and England, as well as Professor Morse, have
many times warned me against the plots of the murderers which they have
detected in those different countries. But I see no other safeguard against
those murderers but to be always ready to die, as Christ advises it. As we must
all die sooner or later, it makes very little difference to me whether I die
from a dagger plunged through the heart or from an inflammation of the lungs.
Let me tell you that I have lately read a passage in the Old Testament which
has made a profound, and, I hope, a salutary impression on me. Here is that
passage."
The President took his Bible, opened it at the third chapter of Deuteronomy,
and read from the 22nd to the 28th verse:-
"Ye shall not fear them: for the Lord your God He shall fight for you. And
I besought the Lord at that time, saying, O Lord God, Thou hast begun to shew
Thy servant Thy greatness and Thy mighty hand; for what God is there, in heaven
or in earth, that can do according to Thy works, and according to Thy might! I
pray Thee, let me go over, and see the good land that is beyond Jordan, that
goodly mountain, and Lebanon. But the Lord was wroth with me for your sakes,
and would not hear me: and the Lord said unto me, Let it suffice thee: speak no
more unto Me of this matter. Get thee up into the top of Pisgah, and lift up
thine eyes westward, and northward, and southward, and eastward, and behold it
with thine eyes: for thou shalt not go over this Jordan."
After the President had read these words with great solemnity, he added:
"My dear Father Chiniquy, let me tell you that I have read these strange
and beautiful verses several times these last five or six weeks. The more I
read them, the more it seems to me that God has written them for me as well as
for Moses. Has He not taken me from my poor log cabin by the hand, as He did of
Moses in the reeds of the Nile, to put me at the head of the greatest and the
most blessed of modern nations, just as He put that prophet at the head of the
most blessed nation of ancient times? Has not God granted me a privilege which
was not granted to any living man, when I broke the fetters of 4,000,000 of men
and made them free? Has not our God given me the most glorious victories over
our enemies? Are not the armies of the Confederacy so reduced to a handful of
men when compared to what they were two years ago, that the day is fast
approaching when they will have to surrender?
"Now, I see the end of this terrible conflict, with the same joy of Moses,
when, at the end of his trying forty years in the wilderness; and I pray my God
to grant me to see the days of peace, and untold prosperity, which will follow
this cruel war, as Moses asked God to see the other side of Jordan and enter
the Promised Land. But do you know that I hear in my soul, as the voice of God,
giving me the rebuke which was given to Moses?
"Yes! every time that my soul goes to God to ask the favour of seeing the
other side of Jordan, and eating the fruits of that peace, after which I am
longing with such an unspeakable desire, do you know that there is a still, but
solemn voice, which tells me that I will see those things, only from a long
distance, and that I will be among the dead, when the nation which God granted
me to lead through those awful trials, will cross the Jordan, and dwell in that
Land of Promise, where peace, industry, happiness, and liberty, will make every
one happy; and why so? Because He has already given me favours which He never
gave, I dare say, to any man, in these latter days.
"Why did God Almighty refuse to Moses the favour of crossing the Jordan,
and entering the Promised Land? It was on account of his own nations's sins!
That law of divine retribution and justice, by which one must suffer for
another, is surely a terrible mystery. But it is a fact which no man who has
any intelligence and knowledge can deny. Moses, who knew that law, though he
probably did not understand it better than we do, calmly says to his people,
'God was wroth with me for your sakes.'
"But though we do not understand that mysterious and terrible law, we find
it written in letters of tears and blood wherever we go. We do not read a
single page of history, without finding undeniable traces of its existence.
"Where is the mother who has not shed tears and suffered real tortures,
for her children's sake?
"Who is the good king, the worthy emperor, the gifted chieftain, who have
not suffered unspeakable mental agonies, or even death, for their people's
sake?
"Is not our Christian religion the highest expression of the wisdom,
mercy, and love of God! But what is Christianity if not the very incarnation of
that eternal law of divine justice in our humanity?
"When I look on Moses, alone, silently dying on the Mount Pisgah, I see
that law, in one of its most sublime human manifestations, and I am filled with
admiration and awe.
"But when I consider that law of justice, and expiation in the death of
the Just, the divine Son of Mary, on the mountain of Calvary, I remain mute in
my adoration. The spectacle of that crucified one which is before my eyes, is
more than sublime, it is divine! Moses died for his people's sake, but Christ
died for the whole world's sake! Both died to fulfill the same eternal law of
the divine justice, though in a different measure.
"Now would it not be the greatest of honours and privileges bestowed upon
me, if God, in His infinite love, mercy and wisdom, would put me between His
faithful servant, Moses, and His eternal Son, Jesus, that I might die as they
did, for my nation's sake!
"My God alone knows what I have already suffered for my dear country's
sake. But my fear is that the justice of God is not yet paid. When I look upon
the rivers of tears and blood drawn by the lashes of the merciless masters from
the veins of the very heart of those millions of defenseless slaves, these two
hundred years. When I remember the agonies, the cries, the unspeakable tortures
of those unfortunate people, at which I have, to some extent, connived with so many
others, a part of my life, I feel that we are still far from the complete
expiation. For the judgments of God are true and righteous.
"It seems to me that the Lord wants, today, as He wanted in the days of
Moses, another victim a victim which he has himself chosen, anointed and
prepared for the sacrifice, by raising it above the rest of His people. I
cannot conceal from you that my impression is that I am that victim. So many
plots have already been made against my life, that it is a real miracle that
they have all failed, when we consider that the great majority of them were in
the hands of skillful Roman Catholic murderers, evidently trained by Jesuits.
But can we expect that God will make a perpetual miracle to save my life? I
believe not. The Jesuits are so expert in those deeds of blood, that Henry IV.
said that it was impossible to escape them, and he became their victim, though
he did all that could be done to protect himself. My escape from their hands,
since the letter of the Pope to Jeff Davis has sharpened a million of daggers
to pierce my breast, would be more than a miracle.
"But just as the Lord heard no murmur from the lips of Moses when He told
him that he had to die, before crossing the Jordan, for the sins of his people;
so I hope and pray that He will hear no murmur from me when I fall for my
nations's sake.
"The only two favours I ask of the Lord are, first, that I may die for the
sacred cause in which I am engaged, and when I am the standard bearer of the
rights and liberties of my country.
"The second favour I ask of God is, that my dear son, Robert, when I am
gone, will be one of those who lift us that flag of Liberty which will cover my
tomb, and carry it with honour and fidelity, to the end of his life, as his
father did, surrounded by the millions who will be called with him to fight and
die for the defense and honour of our country."
Never had I heard such sublime words: Never had I seen a human face so solemn
and so prophet-like as the face of the President, when uttering these things.
Every sentence had come to me as a hymn from heaven, reverberated by the echoes
of the mountains of Pisgah and Calvary. I was beside myself. Bathed in tears, I
tried to say something, but I could not utter a word.
I knew the hour to leave had come, I asked from the President permission to
fall on my knees, and pray with him that his life might be spared: and he knelt
with me. But I prayed more with my tears and sobs, than with my words.
Then I pressed his hand on my lips and bathed it with my tears, and with a
heart filled with an unspeakable desolation, I bade him Adieu! It was for the
last time!
For the hour was fast approaching when he was to fall by the hands of a Jesuit
assassin, for his nation's sake.
.
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CHAPTER 61 Back to Top
Every
time I met President Lincoln I wondered how such elevation of thought and such
childish simplicity could be found in the same man. After my interviews with
him many times, I said to myself: "How can this rail-splitter have so easily
raised himself to the highest range of human thought and philosophy?"
The secret of this was, that Lincoln had spent a great part of his life at the
school of Christ, and that he meditated his sublime teachings to an extent
unsuspected by the world. I found in him the most perfect type of Christianity
I ever met. Professedly, he was neither a strict Presbyterian, nor a Baptist,
nor a Methodist; but he was the embodiment of all which is more perfect and
Christian in them. His religion was the very essence of what God wants in man.
It was from Christ Himself he had learned to love God and his neighbour, as it
was from Christ he had learned the dignity and the value of man. "Ye are
all brethren, the children of God," was his great motto.
It was from the Gospel that he had learned his principles of equality,
fraternity, and liberty, as it was from the Gospel he had learned that sublime,
childish simplicity which, alone, and for ever, won the admiration and
affection of all those who approached him. I could cite many facts to
illustrate this, but I will give only one, not to be too long: it was taken
from the Memoirs of Mr. Bateman, Superintendent of Public Instruction for the
State of Illinois.
"Mr. Lincoln paused: for long minutes, his features surcharged with
emotion. Then he rose and walked up and down the reception room, in the effort
to retain or regain his self-possession. Stopping at last, he said, with a
trembling voice and his cheeks wet with tears: I know there is a God, and that
He hates injustice and slavery. I see the storm coming and I know that His hand
is in it. If He has a place and work for me, and I think He has, I believe I am
ready! I am nothing, but truth is everything! I know I am right, because I know
that liberty is right: for Christ teaches it, and Christ is God. I have told
them that a house divided against itself cannot stand, and Christ and reason
say the same thing, and they will find it so. Douglas does not care whether
slavery is voted up or down. But God cares, and humanity cares, and I care. And
with God's help, I will not fail. I may not see the end, but it will come, and
I shall be vindicated; and those men will see that they have not read their
Bible right! Does it not appear strange that men can ignore the moral aspect of
this contest? A revelation could not make it plainer to me that slavery, or the
Government, must be destroyed. The future would be something awful, as I look
at it, but for this ROCK on which I stand (alluding to the Gospel book he still
held in his hand). It seems as if God had borne with slavery until the very
teachers of religion had come to defend it from the Bible, and to claim for it
a Divine character and sanction. And now the cup of iniquity is full, and the
vials of wrath will be poured out.'"
Mr. Bateman adds: "After this, the conversation was continued for a long
time. Everything he said was of a very deep, tender, and religious tone, and
all was tinged with a touching melancholy. He repeatedly referred to his
conviction 'that the day of wrath was at hand,' and that he was to be an actor
in the struggle which would end in the overthrow of slavery, though he might
not live to see the end. After further reference to a belief in Divine
Providence, and the fact of God, in history, the conversation turned upon
prayer. He freely stated his belief in the duty, privilege, and efficacy of
prayer; and he intimated, in no unmistakable terms, that he had sought, in that
way, the divine guidance and favour."
The effect of this conversation upon the mind of Mr. Bateman, a Christian
gentleman whom Mr. Lincoln profoundly respected, was to convince him that Mr.
Lincoln had, in his quiet way, found a path to the Christian standpoint, that
he had found God, and rested on the eternal truth of God. As the two men were
about to separate, Mr. Bateman remarked: "I had not supposed that you were
accustomed to think so much upon this class of subjects; certainly your friends
generally are ignorant of the sentiments you have expressed to me."
He quickly replied: "I know they are, but I think more on these subjects
than upon all others, and I have done so for years; and I am willing you should
know it."*
More than once I felt as if I were in the presence of an old prophet, when
listening to his views about the future destinies of the United States. In one
of my last interviews with him, I was filled with an admiration which it would
be difficult to express, when I heard the following views and predictions:
"It is with the Southern leaders of this civil war as with the big and
small wheels of our railroad cars. Those who ignore the laws of mechanics are
apt to think that the large, strong, and noisy wheels they see are the motive
power, but they are mistaken. The real motive power is not seen; it is
noiseless and well concealed in the dark, behind its iron walls. The motive
power are the few well-concealed pails of water heated into steam, which is
itself directed by the noiseless, small but unerring engineer's finger.
"The common people see and hear the big, noisy wheels of the Southern
Confederacy's cars; they call they Jeff Davis, Lee, Toombs, Beauregard, Semmes,
ect., and they honestly think that they are the motive power, the first cause
of our troubles. But this is a mistake. The true motive power is secreted
behind the thick walls of the Vatican, the colleges and schools of the Jesuits,
the convents of the nuns, and the confessional boxes of Rome.
"There is a fact which is too much ignored by the American people, and
with which I am acquainted only since I became President; it is that the best,
the leading families of the South have received their education in great part,
if not in whole, from the Jesuits and the nuns. Hence those degrading
principles of slavery, pride, cruelty, which are as a second nature among so many
of those people. Hence that strange want of fair play, humanity; that
implacable hatred against the ideas of equality and liberty as we find them in
the Gospel of Christ. You do not ignore that the first settlers of Louisiana,
Florida, New Mexico, Texas, South California and Missouri were Roman Catholics,
and that their first teachers were Jesuits. It is true that those states have
been conquered or bought by us since. But Rome had put the deadly virus of her
antisocial and anti-Christian maxims into the veins of the people before they
became American citizens. Unfortunately, the Jesuits and the nuns have in great
part remained the teachers of those people since. They have continued in a
silent, but most efficacious way, to spread their hatred against our institutions,
our laws, our schools, our rights and our liberties in such a way that this
terrible conflict became unavoidable between the North and the South. As I told
you before, it is to Popery that we owe this terrible civil war.
"I would have laughed at the man who would have told me that before I
became the President. But Professor Morse has opened my eyes on that subject.
And now I see that mystery; I understand that engineering of hell which, though
not seen or even suspected by the country, is putting in motion the large,
heavy, and noisy wheels of the state cars of the Southern Confederacy. Our
people is not yet ready to learn and believe those things, and perhaps it is
not the proper time to initiate them to those dark mysteries of hell; it would
throw oil on a fire which is already sufficiently destructive.
"You are almost the only one with whom I speak freely on that subject. But
sooner or later the nation will know the real origin of those rivers of blood
and tears, which are spreading desolation and death everywhere. And then those
who have caused those desolations and disasters will be called to give an
account of them.
"I do not pretend to be a prophet.But though not a prophet, I see a very
dark cloud on our horizon. And that dark cloud is coming from Rome. It is
filled with tears of blood. It will rise and increase till its flanks will be
torn by a flash of lightning, followed by a fearful peal of thunder. Then a
cyclone, such as the world has never seen, will pass over this country, spreading
ruin and desolation from north to south. After it is over, there will be long
days of peace and prosperity: for Popery, with its Jesuits and merciless
Inquisition, will have been for ever swept away from our country. Neither I nor
you, but our children, will see those things."
Many of those who approached Abraham Lincoln felt that there was a prophetic
spirit in him, and that he was continually walking and acting with the thought
of God in his mind, and only in view to do His will and work for His glory.
Speaking of the slaves, he said one day before the members of his cabinet:
"I have not decided against a proclamation of liberty to the slaves, but I
hold the matter under advisement. And I can assure you that the subject is on
my mind, by day and by night, more than any other. Whatever shall appear to be
God's will, I will do."*
A few days before that proclamation, he said, before several of his counselors:
"I made a solemn vow before God that if General Lee was driven back from
Pennsylvania, I would crown the result by the declaration of freedom to the
slaves."**
But I would have volumes to write, instead of a short chapter, were I to give
all the facts I have collected of the sincere and profound piety of Abraham
Lincoln.
I cannot, however, omit his admirable and solemn act of faith in the eternal
justice of God, as expressed in the closing words of his last inaugural address
of the 4th of March, 1865.
"Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war
may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth
piled by the bondsman's 520 years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until
every drop of blood drawn by the lash shall be paid by another drawn by the
sword, as we said 3,000 years ago, so still it must be said: The judgments of
the Lord are true and righteous altogether."
These sublime words, falling from the lips of the greatest Christian whom God
ever put at the head of a nation, only a few days before his martyrdom, sent a
thrill of wonder through the whole world. The Godfearing people and the upright
of every nation listened to them as if they had just come from the golden harp
of David. Even the infidels remain mute with admiration and awe. It seemed to
all that the echoes of heaven and earth were repeating that last hymn, falling
from the heart of the noblest and truest Gospel man of our days: "The
judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether" (Psalm xix. 9).
The 6th of April, 1865, President Lincoln was invited by General Grant to enter
Richmond, the capital of the rebel states, which he had just captured. The
ninth, the beaten army of Lee, surrounded by the victorious legions of the
soldiers of Liberty, were forced to lay down their arms and their banners at
the feet of the generals of Lincoln. The tenth, the victorious President
addressed an immense multitude of the citizens of Washington, to invite them to
thank God and the armies for the glorious victories of the last few days, and
for the blessed peace which was to follow these five years of slaughter.
But he was on the top of the mountain of Pisgah, and though he had fervently
prayed that he might cross the Jordan and enter with his people into the Land
of Promise, after which he had so often sighed, he was not to see his request
granted. The answer had come from heaven, "You will not cross the Jordan,
and you will not enter that Promised Land, which is there, so near. You must
die for your nation's sake!" The lips, the heart, and the soul of the New
Moses were still repeating the sublime words, "The judgments of the Lord
are true and righteous altogether," when the Jesuit assassin, Booth,
murdered him, the 14th of April, 1865, at ten o'clock p.m.
Let us hear the eloquent historian, Abbot, on that sad event: "In the
midst of unparalleled success, and while all the bells of the land were ringing
with joy, a calamity fell upon us which overwhelmed the country in
consternation and awe. On Friday evening, April 14th, President Lincoln
attended Ford's Theater, in Washington. He was sitting quietly in his box,
listening to the drama, when a man entered the door of the lobby leading to the
box, closing the door behind him. Drawing near to the President, he drew from
his pocket a small pistol, and shot him in the back of the head. As the
President fell, senseless and mortally wounded, and the shriek of his wife, who
was seated at his side, pierced every ear, the assassin leaped from the box, a
perpendicular height of nine feet, and as he rushed across the stage,
bare-headed, brandished a dagger, exclaiming, 'Sic semper tyrannis!' and
disappeared behind the side scenes. There was a moment of silent consternation.
Then ensued a scene of confusion which it is in vain to attempt to describe.
"The dying President was taken into a house near by, and placed upon a
bed. What a scene did that room present! The chief of a mighty nation lay
there, senseless, drenched in blood, his brains oozing from his wound! Sumner,
Farwell, and Colfax and Stanton, and many others were there, filled with grief
and consternation.
"The surgeon, General Barnes, solemnly examined the wound. There was
silence as of the grave, the life and death of the nation seemed dependent on
the result. General Barnes looked up sadly and said, 'The wound is mortal!'
"'Oh! No! General, no! no!' cried out Secretary Stanton, and sinking into
a chair, he covered his face and wept like a child. Senator Sumner tenderly
held the head of the unconscious martyr.
"Though all unused to weep, he sobs as though his great heat would break.
In his anguish, his head falls upon the blood-stained pillow, and his black
locks blend with those of the dying victim, which care and toil has rendered
gray, and which blood has crimsoned. What a scene! Sumner, who had lingered
through months of agony, having himself been stricken down by he bludgeon of
slavery, now sobbing and fainting in anguish over the prostrate form of his
friend, whom slavery had slain! This vile rebellion, after deluging the land in
blood, has culminated in a crime which appalls all nations.
"Nobel Abraham, true descendant of the father of the faithful; honest in
every trust, humble as a child, tender-hearted as a woman, who could not bear
to injure even his most envenomed foes: who, in the hour of triumph, was
saddened lest the feelings of his adversaries should be wounded by their
defeat, with 'charity of all, malice towards none,' endowed with 'common
sense,' intelligence never surpassed, and with power of intellect which enabled
him to grapple with the most gigantic opponents in debates, developing
abilities as a statesman, which won the gratitude of his country and the
admiration of the world, and with graces and amiability which drew to him all
generous hearts; dies by the bullet of the assassin!"*
But who was that assassin? Booth was nothing but a tool of the Jesuits. It was
Rome who directed his arm, after corrupting his heart and damning his soul.
After I had mixed my tears with those of the grand country of my adoption, I
fell on my knees and asked my God to grant me to show to the world what I knew
to be the truth, viz., that that horrible crime was the work of popery. And,
after twenty years of constant and most difficult researches, I came fearlessly
today before the American people, to say and prove that the President, Abraham
Lincoln, was assassinated by the priests and the Jesuits of Rome.
In the book of the testimonies given in the prosecution of the assassin of
Lincoln, published by Ben Pitman, and in the two volumes of the trial of John
Surratt, in 1867, we have the legal and irrefutable proof that the plot of the
assassins of Lincoln was matured, if not started, in the house of Mary Surratt,
No. 561, H. Street, Washington City, D.C. But who were living in that house,
and who were visiting that family? The legal answer says: "The most
devoted Catholics in the city!" The sworn testimonies show more than that.
They show that it was the common rendezvous of the priests of Washington.
Several priests swear that they were going there "sometimes," and
when pressed to answer what they meant by "sometimes," they were not
sure if it was not once a week or once a month. One of them, less on his guard,
swore that he seldom passed before that house without entering; and he said he
never passed less than once a week. The devoted Roman Catholic (an apostate
from Protestantism) called L.J. Weichman, who was himself living in that house,
swears that Father Wiget was very often in that house, and Father Lahiman
swears that he was living with Mrs. Surratt in the same house! * * *
What does the presence of so many priests in that house reveal to the world? No
man of common sense, who knows anything about the priests of Rome, can
entertain any doubt that, not only they knew all that was going on inside those
walls, but that they were the advisers, the counselors, the very soul of that
infernal plot. Why did Rome keep one of her priests, under that roof, from
morning till night and from night till morning? Why did she send many others,
almost every day of the week, into that dark nest of plotters against the very
existence of the great republic, and against the life of her President, her
principal generals and leading men, if it were not to be the advisers, the
rulers, the secret motive power of the infernal plot.
No one, if he is not an idiot, will think and say that those priests, who were
the personal friends and the father confessors of Booth, John Surratt, Mrs. and
Misses Surratt, could be constantly there without knowing what was going on,
particularly when we know that every one of those priests was a rabid rebel in
heart. Every one of those priests, knowing that his infallible Pope had called
Jeff Davis his dear son, and had taken the Southern Confederacy under his
protection, was bound to believe that the most holy thing a man could do, was
to fight for the Southern cause, by destroying those who were its enemies.
Read the history of the assassination of Admiral Coligny, Henry III. and Henry
IV., and William the Taciturn, by the hired assassins of the Jesuits; compare
them with the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, and you will find that one
resembles the others as one drop of water resembles another. You will
understand that they all come from the same source, Rome!
In all those murders, you will find that the murderers, selected and trained by
the Jesuits, were of the most exalted Roman Catholic piety, living in the
company of priests, going to confess very often, receiving the communion the
day before, if not the very day of the murder. You will see in all those
horrible deeds of hell, prepared behind the dark walls of the holy inquisition,
that the assassins were considering themselves as the chosen instruments of
God, to save the nations by striking its tyrant; that they firmly believed that
there was no sin in killing the enemy of the people of the holy church, and of
the infallible Pope!
Compare the last hours of the Jesuit Ravaillac, the assassin of Henry IV., who
absolutely refuses to repent, though suffering the most horrible torture on the
rack, with Booth, who suffering also the most horrible tortures from is broken
leg, writes in his daily memorandum, the very day before his death: "I can
never repent, though we hated to kill. Our country owed all her troubles to him
(Lincoln), and God simply made me the instrument of his punishment."*
Yes! Compare the bloody deeds of those two assassins, and you will see that
they had been trained in the same school; they had been taught by the same
teachers. Evidently the Jesuit Ravaillac, calling all the saints of heaven to
his help, at his last hour; and Booth pressing the medal of the Virgin Mary on
his breast, when falling mortally wounded,** are both coming out of the same
Jesuit mould.
Who has lost his common sense enough to suppose that it was Jeff Davis who had
filled the mind and the heart of Booth with that religious and so exalted
fanaticism! Surely Jeff Davis has promised the money to reward the assassins
and nerve their arms, by the hope of becoming rich.The testimonies on that
account say that he had promised one million dollars.***
That arch-rebel could give the money; but the Jesuits alone could select the
assassins, train them, and show them a crown of glory in heaven, if they would
kill the author of the bloodshed, the famous renegade and apostate the enemy of
the Pope and of the Church Lincoln.
Who does not see the lessons given by the Jesuits to Booth, in their daily
intercourse in Mary Surratt's house, when he reads those lines written by Booth
a few hours before his death: "I can never repent; God made me the
instrument of His punishment!" Compare these words with the doctrines and
principles taught by the councils, the decrees of the Pope, and the laws of
holy inquisition, as you find them in Chapter LIX. of this volume, and you will
find that the sentiments and belief of Booth flow from those principles, as the
river flows from its source.
And that pious Miss Surratt who, the very next day after the murder of Lincoln,
said, without being rebuked, in the presence of several other witnesses:
"The death of Abraham Lincoln is no more than the death of any nigger in
the army" where did she get that maxim, if not from her church? Had not
that church recently proclaimed, through her highest legal and civil authority,
the devoted Roman Catholic Judge Taney, in his Dred Scot decision, the Negroes
have no right, which the white is bound to respect! By bringing the President
on a level with the lowest nigger, Rome was saying that he had no right even to
his life; for this was the maxim of the rebel priests, who, everywhere, had
made themselves the echoes of the sentence of their distinguished
co-religionist Taney.
It was from the very lips of the priests, who were constantly coming in and
going out of their house, that those young ladies had learned those anti-social
and anti-Christian doctrines. Read in the testimony concerning Mrs. Mary E.
Surratt (pp. 122, 123), how the Jesuits had perfectly drilled her in the art of
perjuring herself. In the very moment when the government officer orders her to
prepare herself, with her daughter, to follow him as prisoner, at about ten
p.m., Payne, the would-be murderer of Seward, knocks at the door and wants to
see Mrs. Surratt. But instead of having Mrs. Surratt to open the door, he finds
himself confronted, face to face, with the government detective, Major Smith,
who swears:
"I questioned him in regard to his occupation, and what business he had at
the house at this late hour of the night. He stated that he was a labourer, and
had come to dig a gutter at the request of Mrs. Surratt.
"I went to the parlour door, and said, 'Mrs. Surratt, will you step here a
minute?' She came out, and I asked her, 'Do you know this man, and did you hire
him to come and dig a gutter for you?' She answered, raising her right hand,
'Before God, sir, I do not know this man; I have never seen him, and I did not
hire him to dig a gutter for me.'"*
But it was proved after, by several unimpeachable witnesses, that she knew very
well that Payne was a personal friend of her son, who, many times, had come to
her house, in company of his friend and pet, Booth. She had received the
communion just two or three days before that public perjury. Just a moment
after making it, the officer ordered her to step out into the carriage. But
before doing it, she asked permission to kneel down and pray; which was
granted.**
I ask it from any man of common sense, could Jeff Davis have imparted such a
religious calm and self-possession to that woman when her hands were just
reddened with the blood of the President, and she was on her way to trial!
No! such sang froid, such calm in that soul, in such a terrible and solemn
hour, could come only from the teachings of those Jesuits who, for more than
six months, were in her house, showing her a crown of eternal glory if she
could help to kill the monster, apostate Lincoln the only cause of that
horrible civil war! There is not the least doubt that the priests had perfectly
succeeded in persuading Mary Surratt and Booth that the killing of Lincoln was
a most holy and deserving work, for which God had an eternal reward in store.
There is a fact to which the American people have not yet given a sufficient
attention. It is that, without a single exception, the conspirators were Roman
Catholics. The learned and great patriot, General Baker, in his admirable
report, struck and bewildered by that strange, mysterious and portentous fact,
said:
"I mention, as an exceptional and remarkable fact, that every conspirator,
in custody, is by education a Catholic."
But those words which, if well understood by the United States, would have
thrown so much light on the true causes of their untold and unspeakable
disasters, fell as if on the ears of deaf men. Very few, if any, paid attention
to them. As General Baker says, all the conspirators were attending Catholic Church
services and were educated Roman Catholics. It is true that some of them, as
Atzeroth, Payne and Harold, asked for Protestant ministers, when they were to
be hung. But they had been considered, till then, as converts to Romanism. At
page 437 of The Trial of John Surratt, Louis Weichman tells us that he was
going to St. Aloysin's Church with Atzeroth, and that it was there that he
introduced him to Mr. Brothy (another Roman Catholic).
It is a well authenticated fact, that Booth and Weichman, who were themselves
Protestant perverts to Romanism, had proselytized a good number of
semi-Protestants and infidels who, either from conviction, or from hope of the
fortunes promised to the successful murderers, were themselves very zealous for
the Church of Rome. Payne, Atzeroth and Harold, were among those proselytes.
But when those murderers were to appear before the country, and receive the
just punishment of their crime, the Jesuits were too shrewd to ignore that if
they were all coming on the scaffold as Roman Catholics, and accompanied by
their father confessors, it would, at once, open the eyes of the American
people, and clearly show that this was a Roman Catholic plot. They persuaded
three of their proselytes to avail themselves of the theological principles of
the Church of Rome, that a man is allowed to conceal his religion, nay, that he
may say that he is a heretic, a Protestant, though he is a Roman Catholic, when
it is for his own interest or the best interests of his church to conceal the
truth and deceive the people. Here is the doctrine of Rome on that subject.
"It is often more to the glory of God and the good of our neighbour to
cover the faith than to confess it; for example, if concealed among heretics,
you may accomplish a greater amount of good; of if, by declaring our religion
more of evil would follow for example, great trouble, death, the hostility of a
tyrant."*
It is evident that the Jesuits had never had better reasons to suspect that the
declaration of their religion would damage them and excite the wrath of their
tyrant, viz., the American people. Lloyds, in whose house Mrs. Surratt
concealed the carbine which Booth wanted for protection, when just after the
murder he was to flee towards the Southern States, was a firm Roman Catholic. Dr.
Mudd, at whose place Booth stopped, to have his broken leg dressed, was a Roman
Catholic, and so was Garrett, in whose barn Booth was caught and killed. Why
so? Because, as Jeff Davis was the only man to pay one million dollars to those
who would kill Abraham Lincoln, the Jesuits were the only men to select the
murderers and prepare everything to protect them after their diabolical deed,
and such murderers could not be found except among their blind and fanatical
slaves.
The great, he fatal mistake of the American Government in the prosecution of
the assassins of Abraham Lincoln was to constantly keep out of sight the
religious element of that terrible drama. Nothing would have been more easy,
then, than to find out the complicity of the priests, who were not only coming
every week and every day, but who were even living in that den of murderers.
But this was carefully avoided from the beginning to the end of the trial.
When, not long after the execution of the murderers, I went, incognito, to
Washington to begin my investigation about its true and real authors, I was not
a little surprised to see that not a single one of the Government men to whom I
addressed myself, would consent to have any talk with me on that matter, except
after I had given my word of honour that I would never mention their names in
connection with the result of my investigation. I saw, with a profound
distress, that the influence of Rome was almost supreme in Washington. I could
not find a single statesman who would dare to face that nefarious influence and
fight it down.
Several of the government men in whom I had more confidence, told me: "We
had not the least doubt that the Jesuits were at the bottom of that great
iniquity; we even feared, sometimes, that this would come out so clearly before
the military tribunal, that there would be no possibility of keeping it out of
the public sight. This was not through cowardice, as you think, but through a
wisdom which you ought to approve, if you cannot admire it. Had we been in days
of peace, we know that with a little more pressure on the witnesses, many
priests would have been compromised; for Mrs. Surratt's house was their common
rendezvous; it is more than probable that several of them might have been hung.
But the civil war was hardly over. The Confederacy, though broken down, was
still living in millions of hearts; murderers and formidable elements of
discord were still seen everywhere, to which the hanging or exiling of those
priests would have given a new life. Riots after riots would have accompanied
and followed their execution. We thought we had had enough of blood, fires,
devastations and bad feelings. We were all longing after days of peace: the
country was in need of them. We concluded that the best interests of humanity
was to punish only those who were publicly and visibly guilty; that the verdict
might receive the approbation of all, without creating any new bad feelings.
Allow us also tell you that this policy was that of our late President. For you
know it well, there was nothing which that good and great man feared so much as
to arm the Protestants against the Catholics, and the Catholics against the
Protestants."
But if any one has still any doubts of the complicity of the Jesuits in the
murder of Abraham Lincoln, let him give a moment of attention to the following
facts, and their doubts will be for ever removed. It is only from the very
Jesuit accomplices' lips that I take my sworn testimonies.
It is evident that a very elaborate plan of escape had been prepared by the priests
of Rome to save the lives of the assassins and the conspirators. It would be
too long to follow all the murderers when, Cain-like, they were fleeing in
every direction, to escape the vengeance of God and man. Let us fix our eyes on
John Surratt, who was in Washington the 14th of April, helping Booth in the
perpetration of the assassination. Who will take care of him? Who will protect
and conceal him? Who will press him on their bosom, put their mantles on his
shoulders to conceal him from the just vengeance of the human and divine laws?
The priest, Charles Boucher,* swears that only a few days after the murder,
John Surratt was sent to him by Father Lapierre, of Montreal; that he kept him
concealed in his parsonage of St. Liboire from the end of April to the end of
July, then he took him back, secretly, to Father Lapierre, who kept him
secreted in his own father's house, under the very shadow of the Montreal
bishop's palace. He swears** that Father Lapierre visited him (Surratt) often,
when secreted at St. Liboire, and that he (Father Boucher) visited him, at
least, twice a week, from the end of July to September, when concealed in
Father Lapierre's house in Montreal.
That same father, Charles Boucher, swears that he accompanied John Surratt in a
carriage, in the company of Father Lapierre, to the steamer
"Montreal," when starting for Quebec: that Father Lapaierre kept him
(John Surratt) under lock during the voyage from Montreal to Quebec, and that
he accompanied him, disguised from the Montreal steamer to the ocean steamer,
"Peruvian."*
The doctor of the steamer "Peruvian," L.I.A. McMillan, swears** that
Father Lapierre introduced him to John Surratt under the false name of
McCarthy, whom he was keeping locked in his state room, and whom he conducted
disguised to the ocean steamer "Peruvian," and with whom he remained
till she left Quebec for Europe, the 15th September, 1865.
But who is that Father Lapierre who takes such a tender, I dare say a paternal
care of Surratt? It is not less a personage than the canon of Bishop Bourget,
of Montreal. He is the confidential man of the bishop; he lives with the
bishop, eats at his table, assists him with his counsel, and has to receive his
advice in every step of life. According to the laws of Rome, the canons are to
the bishop what the arms are to the body.
Now, I ask: Is it not evident that the bishops and the priests of Washington
have trusted this murderer to the care of the bishops and priests of Montreal,
that they might conceal, feed, and protect him for nearly six months, under the
very shadow of the bishops palace? Would they have done that if they were not
his accomplices? Why did they so continually remain with him day and night, if
they were not in fear that he might compromise them by an indiscreet word? Why
do we see those priests (I ought to say, those two ambassadors and anointed
representatives of the Pope), alone in the carriage which takes that great
culprit from his house of concealment to the steamer? Why do they keep him
there, under lock, till they transfer him, under a disguised name, to the ocean
steamer, the "Peruvian," on the 15th July, 1865? Why such tender
sympathies for that stranger? Why going through such trouble and expense for
that young American among the bishops and priests of Canada? There is only one
answer. He was one of their tools, one of their selected men to strike the
great Republic of Equality and Liberty to the heart. For more than six months
before the murder, the priests had lodged, eaten, conversed, slept with him under
the same roof in Washington. They had trained him to his deed of blood, by
promising him protection on earth, and a crown of glory in heaven, if he would
only be true to their designs to the end. And he had been true to the end.
Now the great crime is accomplished! Lincoln is murdered! Jeff Davis, the dear
son of the Pope, is avenged! The great Republic has been struck to the heart!
The soldiers of Liberty all over the world are weeping over the dead form of
the one who had led them to victory: a cry of desolation goes from earth to
heaven.
It seems as if we heard the death-knell of the cause of freedom, equality and
fraternity among men. It was many centuries since the implacable enemies of the
rights and liberties of men had struck such a giant foe: their joy was as great
as their victory complete.
But do you see that man fleeing from Washington towards the north? He has the
mark of Cain on his forehead, his hands are reddened with blood, he is pale and
trembling, for he knows it; a whole outraged nation is after him for her just
vengeance; he hears the thundering voice of God: "Where is thy
brother?" Where will he find a refuge? Where, outside of hell, will he
meet friends to shelter and save him from the just vengeance of God and men?
Oh! He has sure refuge in the arms of that church who, for more than a thousand
years, is crying: "Death to all the heretics! death to all the soldiers of
Liberty!" He has devoted friends among the very men who, after having
prepared the massacre of Admiral Coligny, and his 75,000 Protestant countrymen,
rang the bells of Rome to express their joy when they heard that, at last, the
King of France had slaughtered them all.
But where will those bishops and priests of Canada send John Surratt when they
find it impossible to conceal him any longer from the thousands of detectives
of the United States, who are ransacking Canada to find out his retreat? Who
will conceal, feed, lodge, and protect him after the priests of Canada pressed
his hand for the last time on board of the "Peruvian," the 15th of
September, 1865?
Who can have any doubt about that? Who can suppose that any one but the Pope
himself and his Jesuits will protect the murderer of Abraham Lincoln in Europe?
If you want to see him after he has crossed the ocean, go to Vitry, at the door
of Rome, and there you will find him enrolled under the banners of the Pope, in
the 9th company of his Zouaves, under the false name of Watson. Of course, the
Pope was forced to withdraw his protection over him, after the Government of
the United States had found him there, and he was brought back to Washington to
be tried.
But on his arrival as a prisoner in the United States, his Jesuit father
confessor whispered in his ear: "Fear not, you will not be condemned!
Through the influence of a high Roman Catholic lady, two or three of the
jurymen will be Roman Catholics, and you will be safe."
Those who have read the two volumes of the trial of John Surratt know that
never more evident proofs of guilt were brought against a murderer than in that
case. But the Roman Catholic jurymen had read the theology of St. Thomas, a
book which the Pope has ordered to be taught in every college, academy, and
university of Rome, they had learned that it is the duty of the Roman Catholics
to exterminate all the heretics.*
They had read the decree of the Councils of Constance, that no faith was to be
kept with heretics. They had read in the Council of Lateran that the Catholics
who arm themselves for the extermination of heretics, have all their sins forgiven,
and receive the same blessings as those who go and fight for the rescue of the
Holy Land.
Those jurymen were told by their father confessors that the most holy father,
the Pope, Gregory VII., had solemnly and infallibly declared that "the
killing of an heretic was no murder." Jure Canonico.
After such teachings, how could the Roman Catholic jurymen find John Surratt
guilty of murder for killing the heretic Lincoln? The jury having disagreed, no
verdict could be given. The Government was forced to let the murderer go
unpunished.
But when the irreconcilable enemies of all the rights and liberties of men were
congratulating themselves on their successful efforts to save the life of John
Surratt, the God of heaven was stamping again on their faces the mark of
murder, in such a way that all eyes will see it.
"Murder will out," is a truth repeated by all nations from the
beginning of the world. It is the knowledge of that truth which has sustained
me in my long and difficult researches of the true authors of the assassination
of Lincoln, and which enables me today to present to the world a fact, which
seems almost miraculous, to show the complicity of the priests of Rome in the
murder of the martyred President.
Some time ago, I providentially met the Rev. Mr. R. A. Conwell, at Chicago.
Having known that I was in search of the facts about the assassination of
Abraham Lincoln, he told me he knew one of those facts which might perhaps
throw some light on the subject of my researches.
"The very day of the murder," he said, "he was in the Roman
Catholic village of St. Joseph, Minnesota State, when, at about six o'clock in
the afternoon, he was told by a Roman Catholic of the place, who was a purveyor
for a great number of priests who lived in that town, where they have a
monastery, that the State Secretary Seward and President Lincoln had just been
killed. This was told me," he said, "in the presence of a most
respectable gentlemen, called Bennett, who was not less puzzled than me. As
there were no railroad lines nearer than forty miles, nor telegraph offices
nearer than eighty miles from that place, we could not see how such news was
spread in that town. The next day, the 15th of April, I was at St. Cloud, a
town about twelve miles distant, where there were neither railroad nor
telegraph; I said to several people that I had been told in the priestly
village of St. Joseph, by a Roman Catholic, that Abraham Lincoln and the
Secretary Seward had been assassinated. They answered me that they had heard
nothing about it. But the next Sabbath, the 16th of April, when going to the
church of St. Cloud, to preach, a friend gave me a copy of a telegram sent to
him on the Saturday, reporting that Abraham Lincoln and Secretary Seward had
been assassinated the very day before, which was Friday, the 14th, at 10 p.m.
But how could the Roman Catholic purveyor of the priests of St. Joseph have
told me the same thing, before several witnesses, just four hours before its
occurrence? I spoke of that strange thing to many that same day, and, the very
next day, I wrote to the St. Paul 'Press' under the heading of 'a strange
coincidence.' Some time later, the editor of the St. Paul 'Pioneer,' having
denied what I had written on that subject, I addressed him the following note,
which he had printed, and which I have kept. Here it is, you may keep it as an
infallible proof of my veracity.
.
"TO THE EDITOR OF THE ST. PAUL 'PIONEER.'"
"You assume the non-truth of a short paragraph furnished by me to the St.
Paul 'Press,' viz:
"A STRANGE COINCIDENCE !
"At 6:30 p.m., Friday last, April 14th, I was told as an item of news,
eight miles west of this place, that Lincoln and Seward had been assassinated.
This was three hours after I had heard the news."
"St. Cloud, 17th of April, 1865.
"The integrity of history requires that the above coincidence be
established. And if anyone calls it in question, then proofs more ample than
reared their sanguinary shadows to comfort a traitor can now be given.
"Respectfully,
"F. A. Conwell."
I
asked that gentleman if he would be kind enough to give me the fact under oath,
that I might make use of it in the report I intended to publish about the
assassination of Lincoln. And he kindly granted my request in the following
form:-
.
State of Illinois,
Cook County. s,s.
Rev. F. A. Conwell being sworn, deposes and says that he is seventy-one years
old, that he is resident of North Evanston, in Cook County, State of Illinois,
that he has been in the ministry for fifty-six years, and is now one of the
chaplains of the "Seamen's Bethel Home," in Chicago; that he was
chaplain of the 1st Minnesota Regiment, in the war of the rebellion. That, on
the 14th day of April, A.D. 1865, he was in St. Joseph, Minnesota, and reached
there so early as six o'clock in the evening, in company with Mr. Bennett, who,
then and now, is a resident of St. Cloud, Minnesota. That on that date, there
was no telegraph nearer than Minneapolis, about eighty miles from St. Joseph;
and there was no railroad communication nearer than Avoka, Minnesota, about
forty miles distant. That when he reached St. Joseph, on the 14th day of April,
1865, one Mr. Linneman, who then kept the hotel of St. Joseph, told affiant
that President Lincoln and Secretary Seward were assassinated, that it was not
later than half-past six o'clock, on Friday, April 14th, 1865, when Mr.
Linneman told me this. Shortly thereafter, Mr. Bennett came in the hotel, and I
told him that Mr. Linneman said the President Lincoln and Secretary Seward were
assassinated; and then, the same Mr. Linneman reported the same conversation to
Mr. Bennett in my presence. That during that time, Mr. Linneman told me that he
had the charge of the friary or college for young men, under the priests, who
were studying for the priesthood of St. Joseph. That there was a large
multitude of this kind at St. Joseph, at this time. Affiant says that, on
Saturday morning, April 15th, 1865, he went to St. Cloud, a distance of about
ten miles, and reached there about eight o'clock in the morning. That there was
no railroad or telegraph communication to St. Cloud. When he arrived at St.
Cloud, he told Mr. Haworth, the hotel keeper, that he had been told that
President Lincoln and Secretary Seward had been assassinated, and asked if it
was true. He further told Henry Clay, Wait, Charles Gilman, who was afterwards
Lieutenant Governor of Minnesota, and Rev. Mr. Tice, the same thing, and
inquired of them if they had any such news; and they replied that they had not
heard anything of the kind.
Affiant says that, on Sunday morning, April 16th, 1865, he preached in St.
Cloud, and on the way to the church, a copy of telegram was handed him, stating
that the President and Secretary were assassinated Friday evening at about nine
o'clock. This telegram has been brought to St. Cloud by Mr. Gorton, who had
reached St. Cloud by stage; and this was the first intelligence that had
reached St. Cloud of the event.
Affiant says further that on Monday morning, April 17th, 1865, he furnished the
"Press," a paper of St. Paul, a statement that three hours before the
event took place, he had been informed at St. Joseph, Minnesota, that the
President had been assassinated, and this was published in the
"Press."
Francis Asbury Conwell.
Subscribed and sworn to be Francis A. Conwell, before me, a Notary Public of
Kankakee County, Illinois, at Chicago, Cook County, this 6th day of September,
1883.
Stephen R. Moore, Notary Public.
Though
this document was very important and precious to me, I felt that it would be
much more valuable if it could be corroborated by the testimonies of Messrs.
Bennett and Linneman, themselves, and I immediately sent a magistrate to find
out if they were still living, and if they remembered the facts of the sworn
declaration of Rev. Mr. Conwell. By the good providence of God, both of these
gentlemen were found living, and both gave the following testimonies:
.
State of Minnesota,
Sterns County, City of St. Cloud.
Horace P. Bennett, being sworn, deposes and says that he is aged sixtyfour
years; that he is a resident of St. Cloud, Minnesota, and has resided in this
county since 1856; that he is acquainted with the Rev. F. A. Conwell, who was
chaplain of the 1st Minnesota Regiment in the war of the rebellion; that on the
14th of April, 1865, he was in St. Joseph, Minnesota, in company with Mr.
Francis A. Conwell; that they reached St. Joseph about sundown on said April
14th; that there was no railroad or telegraph communication with St. Joseph, at
that time, nor nearer than Avoka, about forty miles distant. That affiant, on
reaching the hotel kept by Mr. Linneman, went to the barn while Rev. F. A.
Conwell entered the hotel; and shortly afterwards, affiant had returned to the
hotel, Mr. Conwell told him that Mr. Linneman had reported to him the
assassination of President Lincoln; that Linneman was present and substantiated
the statement.
That on Saturday morning, April 15th, affiant and Rev. Conwell came to St.
Cloud and reported that they had been told at St. Joseph about the
assassination of President Lincoln, that no one at St. Cloud had heard of the
event at this time, that the first news of the event which reached St. Cloud
was on Sunday morning, April 16th, when the news was brought by Leander Gorton,
who had just come up from Avoka, Minnesota; that they spoke to several persons
of St. Cloud, concerning the matter, when they reached there, on Sunday
morning, but affiant does not now remember who those different persons were,
and further affiant says not.
Horace P. Bennett.
Sworn before me, and subscribed in my presence, this 18th day of October, A.D.
1883.
Andrew C. Robertson, Notary Public.
Mr.
Linneman having refused to swear on his written declaration, which I have in my
possession, I take only from it what refers to the principal fact, viz, that
three or four hours before Lincoln was assassinated at Washington, the 14th of
April, 1865, the fact was told as already accomplished, in the priestly village
of St. Joseph, Minnesota.
.
"He (Linneman) remembers the time that Messrs. Conwell
and Bennett came to this place (St. Joseph, Minnesota) on Friday evening,
before the President was killed, and he asked them, if they had heard he was
dead, and they replied they had not. He heard this rumour in his store from
people who came in and out. But he cannot remember from whom.
"J. H. Linneman.
"October 20th, 1883."
I
present here to the world a fact of the greatest gravity, and that fact is so
well authenticated that it cannot allow even the possibility of a doubt.
Three or four hours before Lincoln was murdered in Washington, the 14th of April,
1865, that murder was not only known by some one, but it was circulated and
talked of in the streets, and in the houses of the priestly and Romish town of
St. Joseph, Minnesota. The fact is undeniable; the testimonies are
unchallengeable: and there were no railroad nor any telegraph communications
nearer than forty or eighty miles from the nearest station to St. Joseph.
Naturally every one asked: "How could such news spread? Where is the
source of such a rumour?" Mr. Linneman, who is a Roman Catholic, tells us
that though he heard this from many in his store, and in the streets, he does
not remember the name of a single one who told him that. And when we hear this
from him, we understand why he did not dare to swear upon it, and shrank from
the idea of perjuring himself. For every one feels that his memory cannot be so
poor as that, when he remembers so well the names of the two strangers, Messrs.
Conwell and Bennett, to whom he had announced the assassination of Lincoln,
just seventeen years before. But if the memory of Mr. Linneman is so deficient
on that subject, we can help him, and tell him with mathematical accuracy:
"You got the news from your priests of St. Joseph! The conspiracy which
cost the life of the martyred President was prepared by the priests of
Washington, in the house of Mary Surratt, No. 541, H. Street. The priests of
St. Joseph were often visiting Washington, and boarding, probably, at Mrs.
Surrat's, as the priests of Washington were often visiting their brother
priests at St. Joseph. Those priests of Washington were in daily communication
with their co-rebel priests of St. Joseph; they were their intimate friends.
There were no secrets among them, as there are no secrets among priests. They
are the members of the same body, the branches of the same tree. The details of
the murder, as the day selected for its commission, were as well known among
the priests of St. Joseph, as they were among those of Washington. The death of
Lincoln was such a glorious event for those priests! That infamous apostate,
Lincoln, who, baptized in the Holy Church, had rebelled against her, broken his
oath of allegiance to the Pope, taken the very day of his baptism, and lived
the life of an apostate! That infamous Lincoln, who had dared to fight against the
Confederacy of the South after the Vicar of Christ had solemnly declared that
their cause was just, legitimate and holy! That bloody tyrant, that godless and
infamous man, was to receive, at last, the just chastisement of his crimes, the
14th of April! What glorious news!"
How could the priests conceal such a joyful event from their bosom friend, Mr.
Linneman? He was their confidential man: he was their purveyor: he was their
right hand man among the faithful of St. Joseph. They thought that they would be
guilty of a want of confidence in their bosom friend, if they did not tell him
all about the glorious event of that great day. But, of course, they requested
him not to mention their names, if he would spread the joyful news among the
devoted Roman Catholics who almost exclusively, formed the people of St.
Joseph. Mr. Linneman has honourably and faithfully kept his promise never to
reveal their names, and today, we have in our hand, the authentic testimonies
signed by him that, though some body, the 14th of April, told him that
President Lincoln was assassinated, he does not know who told him that!
But there is not a man of sound judgment who will have any doubt about that
fact, the 14th of April, 1865, the priests of Rome knew and circulated the
death of Lincoln four hours before its occurrence in their Roman Catholic town
of St. Joseph, Minnesota. But they could not circulate it without knowing it,
and they could not know it, without belonging to the band of conspirators who
assassinated President Lincoln.
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 62 Back to Top
When
alone, on my knees, in the presence of God, on the 1st of January, 1855, I took
the resolution of opposing the acts of simony and tyranny of Bishop O'Regan, I
was far from understanding the logical consequences of my struggle with that
high dignitary. My only object was to force him to be honest, just and
Christian towards my people. That people, with me, had left their country and
had bid an eternal adieu to all that was dear to them in Canada, in order to
live in peace in Illinois, under what we then considered the holy authority of
the Church of Christ. but we were absolutely unwilling to be slaves of any man
in the land of Liberty.
If any one, at that hour, could have shown me that this struggle would lead to
a complete separation from the Church of Rome, I would have shrank from the
task. My only ambition was to purify my church from the abuses which, one after
the other, had crept everywhere about her, as noxious weeds. I felt that those
abuses were destroying the precious truths which Jesus Christ and His apostles
had revealed to us. It seemed to me that was a duty imposed upon every priest
to do all in our power to blot from the face of our church the scandals which
were the fruits of the iniquities and tyranny of the bishops. I had most
sincerely offered myself to God for his work.
From the beginning, however, I had a presentiment that the power of the bishops
would be too much for me, and that, sooner or later, they would crush me. But
my hope was that when I should have fallen, others would have taken my place
and fight the battles of the Lord, till a final victory would bring the church
back to the blessed days when she was the spotless spouse of the Lamb.
The great and providential victory I had gained at Urbana, had strengthened my
conviction that God was on my side, and that He would protect me, so long as my
only motives were in the interests of truth and righteousness. It seemed, in a
word, that I could not fail so long as I should fight against the official
lies, tyrannies, superstitions, and deceits which the bishops had everywhere in
the United States and Canada, substituted in the place of the Gospel, the
primitive laws of the church, and the teachings of the holy fathers.
In the autumn of 1856, our struggle against the Bishop of Chicago had taken
proportions which could not have been anticipated either by me or by the Roman
Catholic hierarchy of America. The whole press of the United States and Canada,
both political and religious, were discussing the causes of the probable
results of the contest.
At first, the bishops were indignant at the conduct of my lord O'Regan. They
had seen with pleasure, that a priest from his own diocese would probably force
him to be more cautious and less scandalous in his public and private dealings
with the clergy and the people. But they also hoped that I should be paralyzed
by the sentence of excommunication, and that the people, frightened by those
fulminations, would withdraw the support they had, at first, given me. They
were assured by Spink, that I would lose my suit at Urbana, and should, when
lodged in the penitentiary, become powerless to do any mischief in the church.
But their confidence was soon changed into dismay when they saw that the people
laughed at the excommunication; that I had gained my suit, and that I was
triumphing on that very battle-field from which no priest, since Luther and
Knox, had come out unscathed. Everywhere, the sound of alarm was heard, and I
was denounced as a rebel and schismatic. The whole body of the bishops prepared
to hurl their most terrible fulminations at my devoted head. But before taking
their last measure to crush me, a supreme effort was made to show us what they
considered our errors. The Rev. Messrs. Brassard, curate of Longueuil, and Rev.
Isaac Desaulnier, President of St. Hyacinthe College, were sent by the people
and bishops of Canada to show me what they called the scandal of my
proceedings, and press me to submit to the will of the bishop, by respecting
the so-called sentence of excommunication.
The choice of those two priests was very wise. They were certainly the most
influential that could be sent. Mr. Brassard had not only been my teacher at
the college of Nicolet, but my benefactor, as I have already said. When the
want of means, in 1825, had forced me to leave the college and bid adieu to my
mother and my young brothers, in order to get to a very distant land, in search
of a position, he stopped me on the road to exile and brought me back to the
college; and along with the Rev. Mr. Leprohon, he paid all my expenses to the
end of my studies. He had loved me since, as his own child, and I cherished and
respected him as my own father. The other, Rev. I. Desaulnier, had been my
classmate in the college form 1822 to 1829, and we had been united during the
whole of that period, as well as since, by the bonds of the sincerest esteem
and friendship. They arrived at St. Anne on November 24th, 1856.
I heard of their coming only a few minutes before their arrival; and nothing
can express the joy I felt at the news. The confidence I had in their honesty
and friendship, gave me, at once, the hope that they would soon see the justice
and holiness of our cause, and they would bravely take our side against our
aggressor. But they had very different sentiments. Sincerely believing that I
was an unmanageable schismatic, who was creating an awful scandal in the
church, they had not only been forbidden by the bishops to sleep in my house,
but also to have any friendly and Christian communication with me. With no
hatred against me, they were yet filled with horror at the thought that I
should be so scandalous a priest, and so daring, as to trouble the peace, and
destroy the unity of the church.
On their way from Canada to St. Anne, they had often been told that I was not
the same man as they knew me formerly to be, and that I had become sour and
gloomy, abusive, insolent, and haughty; that also I would insult them, and
perhaps advise the people to turn them away from my premises, as men who had no
business to meddle in our affairs. They were pleasantly disappointed, however,
when they saw me running to meet them, as far as I could see them, to press
them to my heart, with the most sincere marks of affection and joy. I told them
that all the treasures of California brought to my house would not make me half
so happy as I was made by their presence.
I at once expressed my hope that they were the messengers sent by God to bring
us peace and put an end to the deplorable state of things which was the cause
of their long journey. Remarking that they were covered with mud, I invited
them to go to their sleeping rooms, to wash and refresh themselves.
"Sleeping rooms! sleeping rooms!!" said Mr. Desaulnier, "but our
written instructions from the bishops who sent us, forbid us to sleep here on
account of your excommunication."
Mr. Brassard answered, "I must tell you, my dear Mr. Desaulnier, a thing
which I have kept secret till now. After reading that prohibition of sleeping
here, I said to the bishop that if he would put such a restraint upon me, he
might choose another one to come here. I requested him to let us both act
according to our conscience and common sense when we should be with Chiniquy,
and today my conscience and common sense tell me that we cannot begin our
mission of peace by insulting a man who gives us such a friendly and Christian
reception. The people of Canada have chosen us as their deputies, because we
are the most sincere friends of Chiniquy. It is by keeping that character that
we will best fulfill our sacred and solemn duties. I accept, with pleasure, the
sleeping room offered me."
Mr. Desaulnier rejoined: "I accept it also, for I did not come here to
insult my best friend, but to save him." These kind words of my guests
added to the joy I experienced at their coming. I told them: "If you are
here to obey the voice of your conscience and the dictates of your common
sense, there is a glorious task before you. You will soon find that the people
and priest of St. Anne have also done nothing but listened to the voice of
their honest conscience, and followed the laws of common sense in their conduct
towards the bishop." But, I added, "this is not the time to explain
my position, but the time to wash your dusty faces and refresh yourselves. Here
are your rooms, make yourselves at home."
After supper, which had been spent in the most pleasant way, and without any
allusion to our troubles, they handed me the letters addressed to me by the
bishops of Montreal, London, and Toronto, to induce me to submit to my
superior, and offer me the assurance of their most sincere friendship and
devotedness if I would obey.
Mr. Desaulnier then said: "Now, my dear Chiniquy, we have been sent here
by the people and bishops of Canada to take you away from the bottomless abyss
into which you have fallen with your people. We have only one day and two
nights to spend here, we must lose no time, but begin at once to fulfill our
solemn mission."
I answered: "If I have fallen into a bottomless abyss as you say, and that
you will draw me out of it, not only God and men will bless you, but I will
also for ever bless you for your charity. The first thing, however, you have to
do here, is to see if I am really fallen, with my people, into that bottomless
abyss of which you speak."
"But are you not excommunicated," quickly rejoined Mr. Desaulnier,
"and, notwithstanding that excommunication, have you not continued to say
your mass, preach, and hear the confessions of your people? Are you not then
fallen into that state of irregularity and schism which separate you entirely
from the church, and to which the Pope alone can restore you?"
"No, my dear Desaulnier," I answered, "I am not more
excommunicated than you are. For the simple reason that an act of
excommunication which is not signed and certified, is a public nullity;
unworthy of any attention. Here is the act of the so-called excommunication,
which makes so much noise in the world! Examine it yourself; look if it is
signed by the bishop, or any one else you know; consider with attention if it
is certified by anybody." And I handed him the document.
After he had examined it, and turned it every way for more than half an hour,
with Mr. Brassard, without saying a word, he at last broke his silence, and
said: "If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I could never have believed
that a bishop can play such a sacrilegious comedy in the face of the world. You
have several times published it in the press, but I confess that your best friends,
and I among the rest, did not believe you. It could not enter our minds that a
bishop should be so devoid, I do not say of every principle of religion, but of
the most common honesty, as to have proclaimed before the whole world that you
were excommunicated, when he had to offer us only that ridiculous piece of rag
to support his assertion. But, in the name of common sense, why is it that he
has not signed his sentence of excommunication, or get it signed and
countersigned by some authorized people, when it is so evident that he wanted
to excommunicate you?"
"His reason for not putting his name, nor the name of any known person at
the bottom of that so-called excommunication is very clear," I answered;
"though our bishop is one of the most accomplished rogues of Illinois, he
is still more a coward than a rogue. I had threatened to bring him before the
civil court of the country if he dared to destroy my character by a sentence of
interdict or excommunication; and he found that the only way to save himself in
the same time that he was outraging me, was not to sign that paper; he thereby
took away from me the power of prosecuting him. For, the first thing I would
have to do in a prosecution in that case, would be to prove the signature of
the bishop. Where could I find a witness who would swear that this is his
signature? Would you swear it yourself, my dear Desaulnier?" "Oh! no,
for surely it is not his signature, nor that of his grand vicar or secretary.
But without going any further," added he, "we must confess to you
that we have talked to the bishop, when passing through Chicago, asking him if
he had made any public or private inquest against you, and if he had found you
guilty of any crime. As he felt embarrassed by our questions, we told him that
it was in our public character as deputies of the bishops and people of Canada
towards you that we were putting to him those questions. That it was necessary
for us to know all about your public and private character, when we were coming
to press you to reconcile yourself to your bishop. He answered that he had
never made any inquest about you, though you had requested him several times to
do it, for the simple reason that he was persuaded that you were one of his
best priests. Your only defect, he said, was a spirit of stubbornness and want
of respect and obedience to your superior, and your meddling with his dealings
with his diocesans, with which you had no business. He told us also that you
refused to go to Kahokia. But his face became so red, and his tongue was so
strangely lisping when he said that, that I suspected it was a falsehood; and
we have now, before our eyes, that document, signed by four unimpeachable
witnesses, that it was more than a falsehood it was a lie. He proffered another
lie also, we see it now, when he said that he had signed himself the act of
excommunication; for surely this is not his handwriting. Such conduct from a
bishop is very strange. If you would appeal to the Pope, and go to Rome with
such documents in hand against that bishop, you would have an easy victory over
him. For, the canons of the church are clear and unanimous on that subject. A
bishop who pronounces such grave sentences against a priest, and makes use of
false signatures to certify his sentences, is himself suspended and excommunicated,
ipso facto, for a whole year."
Mr. Brassard added: "Cannot we confess to Chiniquy that the opinion of the
bishops of Canada is, that Bishop O'Regan is a perfect rogue, and that if he
(Chiniquy) would submit at once, under protest, to those unjust sentences, and
appeal to the Pope, he would gain his cause, and soon be reinstated by a public
decree of his Holiness."
Our discussion about the troubles I had had, and the best way to put an end to
them, having kept us up till three o'clock in the morning without being able to
come to any satisfactory issue, we adjourned to the next day, and went to take
some rest after a short prayer.
The 25th of November, at 10 a.m., after breakfast and a short walk in our
public square, to breathe the pure air and enjoy the fine scenery of our
beautiful hill of St. Anne, we shut ourselves up in my study, and resumed the
discussion of the best plans of putting an end to the existing difficulties.
To show them my sincere desire of stopping those noisy and scandalous struggles
without compromising the sacred principles which had guided me from the
beginning of our troubles, I consented to sacrifice my position as pastor of
St. Anne, provided Mr. Brassard would be installed in my place. It was decided,
however, that I should remain with him, as his vicar and help, in the
management of the spiritual and temporal affairs of the colony. The promise was
given me that on that condition the bishop would withdraw his so-called
sentence, give back to the French Canadians of Chicago the church he had taken
away from them, put a French-speaking priest at the head of the congregation,
and forgive and forget what he might consider our irregular conduct towards
him, after we should have signed the following document:
.
To His Lordship O'Regan, Bishop of Chicago.
My Lord:As my actions and writing in opposition to your orders have, since a
few months, given some scandals, and caused some people to think that I would
rather prefer to be separated from our holy church than to submit to your
authority, I hasten to express the regret I feel for such acts and writings.
And to show to the world and to you, my bishop, my firm desire to live and die
a Catholic, I hasten to write to your lordship that I submit to your sentence,
and that I promise hereafter to exercise the holy ministry only with your
permission. In consequence, I respectfully request your lordship to withdraw
the censures and interdicts you have pronounced against me and those who have
had any spiritual communication with me. I am, my lord, your devoted son in
Christ,
C. Chiniquy.
It
was eleven o'clock at night when I consented to sign this document, which was
to be handed to the bishop and have any value, only on the above conditions.
The two deputies were beside themselves with joy at the success of their
mission, and at my readiness to sacrifice myself for the sake of peace. Mons.
Desaulnier said:
"Now we see, evidently, that Chiniquy has been right with his people from
the beginning, that he never meant to create a schism and to put himself at the
head of a rebellious party, to defy the authority of the church. If the bishop
does not want to live in peace with the people and pastor of St. Anne after
such a sacrifice, we will tell him that it is not Chiniquy, but Bishop O'Regan,
who wants a schism we will appeal to the Pope I will go with Chiniquy, and we
will easily get there the removal of that bishop from the diocese of
Chicago."
Mr. Brassard confirmed that sentence, and added that he also would accompany me
to Rome to be the witness of my innocence, and the bad conduct of the bishop.
He added that it would not take him a week to raise twice the amount of money
in Montreal we would require to go to Rome.
After thanking them for what they had done and said, I asked Mr. Desaulnier if
he would be brave enough to repeat before my whole people what he had just said
before me and Mr. Brassard in the presence of God.
"Surely, I would be most happy to repeat before your whole people that it
is impossible to find fault with you in what you have done till now. But, you
know very well, I will never have such an opportunity, for it is now eleven
o'clock at night, your people are soundly sleeping, and I must start to-morrow
morning, at six o'clock, to take the Chicago train at Kankakee at 8 a.m.
I answered: "All right!"
We knelt together to make a short prayer, and I led them to their rooms,
wishing them refreshing sleep, after the hard work of the day.
Ten minutes later I was in the village, knocking at the door of six of my most
respectable parishioners, and telling them:
"Please do not lose a moment; go with your fastest horse to such and such
a part of the colony; knock at every door and tell the people to be at the
church at five o'clock in the morning, to hear with their own ears what the
deputies from Canada have to say about past struggles with the Bishop of
Chicago. Tell them to be punctual at five o'clock in their pews, where the
deputies will address them words which they must hear at any cost."
A little before five the next morning Mr. Desaulnier, full of surprise and
anxiety, knocked at my door and said:
"Chiniquy, do you not hear the strange noise of buggies and carriages
which seem to be coming from every quarter of the globe. What does it mean?
Have your people become crazy to come to church at this dark hour, so long
before the dawn of day?"
"What! what!" I answered, "I was sleeping so soundly that I have
heard nothing yet. What do you mean by this noise of carriages and buggies
around the chapel? Are you dreaming?" "No, I am not dreaming,"
he answered; "not only do I hear the noise of a great many carriages,
wagons, and buggies; but, though it is pretty dark, I see several hundred of
them around the chapel. I hear the voices of a great multitude of men, women,
and even children, putting questions to each other, and giving answers which I
cannot understand. They make such a noise by their laughing and jokes! Can you
tell me what this means? I have never been so puzzled in my life."
I answered him: "Do you not see that you are dreaming. Let me dress myself
that I may go and see something of that strange and awful dream!"
Mr. Brassard, though a little more calm than Desaulnier, was not, himself,
without some anxiety at the strange noise of that multitude of carriages, horses,
and people around my house and chapel at such an hour. Knocking at my door, he
said: "Please, Chiniquy, explain that strange mystery. Do that people come
to play us some bad trick, and punish us for our intruding in their
affairs?"
"Be quiet," I answered, "my dear friends. You have nothing to
fear from that good and intelligent people. Do you not remember that, last
night, a few minutes before eleven o'clock, Desaulnier said that he would be
honest and brave enough to repeat before my whole people what he had said
before you and me, and in the presence of God. I suppose that some of the
angels of heaven have heard those words, and have carried them this night to
every family, inviting them to be here at the chapel, that they might hear from
your own lips what you think of the grand and glorious battle they are fighting
in this distant land for the principle of truth and justice, as the gospel
secures them to every disciple of Christ."
"Well! well!" said Desaulnier, "there is only one Chiniquy in
the world to take me in such a trap, and there is only one people under heaven
to do what this people is doing here. I would never have given you that answer
had I not been morally sure that I would never have had the opportunity to
fulfill it. Who would think you would play me such a trick? But," he
added, "though I know that this will terribly compromise me before certain
parties, it is too late to retract, and I will fulfill my promise."
It is impossible to express my own joy and the joy of that noble people when
they heard from the very lips of those deputies that, after spending a whole
day and two nights in examining all that had been done by their pastor and by
them in that solemn and fearful contest, they declared that they had not broken
any law of God, nor of His holy church; and that they had kept themselves in
the very way prescribed by the canons.
Tears of joy were rolling down every cheek when they heard Mr. Desaulnier
telling them, which Mr. Brassard confirmed after, that the bishop had no possible
right to interdict their pastor, since he had told them that he was one of his
best priests; and that they had done well not to pay any attention to an act of
excommunication which was a sham and sacrilegious comedy, not having been
signed nor certified by any known person. Both deputies said:
"Mr. Brassard will be your pastor, and Mr. Chiniquy, as his vicar, will
remain in your midst. He has signed an act of submission, which we have found
sufficient, on the condition that the bishop will let you live in peace, and
withdraw the sentence he says he has fulminated against you. If he does not
accept those conditions we will tell him, it is not Mr. Chiniquy, but he, who
wants a schism, and we will go with Mr. Chiniquy to Rome, to plead his cause
and prove his innocence before his Holiness."
After this, we all knelt to thank and bless God; and never people went back to
their homes with more cheerful hearts than the people of St. Anne on that
morning of the 25th of November, 1856.
At six o'clock a.m., Mr. Desaulnier was on his way back to Chicago, to present
my conditional act of submission to the bishop, and press him, in the name of
the bishops of Canada, and in the name of all the most sacred interests of the
church, to accept the sacrifice and the submission of the people of St. Anne,
and to give them the peace they wanted and were purchasing at such a price. The
Rev. Mr. Brassard had remained with me, waiting for a letter from the bishop to
accompany me and put the last seal to our reconciliation.
The next day he received the following note from Mr. Desaulnier:
.
Bishopric of Chicago, Nov. 26th, 1856.
"The Rev. Mr. Brassard,
"Monsieur, It is advisable and indispensable that you should come here,
with Mr. Chiniquy, as soon as possible. In consequence, I expect you both day
after to-morrow, in order to settle that matter definitely.
"Respectfully yours,
"Isaac Desaulnier."
After
reading that letter with Mr. Brassard, I said:
"Do you not feel that these cold words mean nothing good? I regret that
you have not gone with Desaulnier to the bishop. You know the levity and
weakness of his character, always bold with his words, but soft as wax at the
least pressure which he feels. My fear is that the bulldog tenacity of my lord
O'Regan has frightened him, and all his courage and bravados have melted away
before the fierce temper of the Bishop of Chicago. But let us go. Be sure,
however, my dear Mr. Brassard, that if the bishop does not accept you to remain
at the head of this colony, to protect and guide it, no consideration whatever
will induce me to betray my people and let them become the prey of the wolves
which want to devour them."
We arrived at the Illinois Central depot of Chicago, the 28th, at about ten
a.m. Mr. Desaulnier was there, waiting for us. He was pale as a dead man. The
marks of Cain and Judas were on his face. Having taken him at a short distance
from the crowd, I asked him:
"What news?"
He answered: "The news is, that you and Mr. Brassard have nothing to do
but to take your bags and go away from St. Anne, to Canada. The bishop is
unwilling to make any arrangements with you. He wants me to be the pastor of
St. Anne, pro tempore, and he wants you, with Mr. Brassard, to go back quietly
to Canada, and tell the bishops to mind their own business."
"And what has become of the promise you have given me and to my people, to
go with me and Mr. Brassard to Rome, if the bishop refused that proposed
arrangements you have fixed yourselves?"
"Tat! tat! tat!" answered he. "The bishop does not care a straw
about your going, or not going to Rome. He has put me as his grand vicar at the
head of the colony of St. Anne, from which you must go in the shortest time
possible."
"Now, Desaulnier," I answered, "you are a traitor, and a Judas,
and if you want to have the pay of Judas, I advise you to go to St. Anne.
There, you will receive what you deserve. The beauty and importance of that
great colony have tempted you, and you have sold me to the bishop, in order to
become a grand vicar and eat the fruits of the vine I have planted there. But,
you will soon see your mistake. If you have any pity for yourself, I advise you
never to put your feet into that place any more."
Desaulnier answered: "The bishop will not make any arrangements with you
unless you retract publicly what you have written against him, on account of
his taking possession of the church of the French Canadians of Chicago, and you
must publish, in the press, that he was right and honest in what he did in that
circumstance."
"My dear Mr. Brassard," I said, "can I make such a declaration
conscientiously and honorably?" That venerable man answered me:
"You cannot consent to do such a thing."
"Desaulnier," I said, "do you hear? Mr. Brassard and your
conscience, if you have any, tell you the same thing. If you take sides against
me with a man whom you have yourself declared, yesterday, to be a sacrilegious
thief, you are not better than he is. Go and work with him. As for me, I go
back into the midst of my dear and noble people of St. Anne."
"What will you do there," answered Mr. Desaulnier, "when the
bishop has forbidden you to remain?"
"What will I do?" I answered. "I will teach those true disciples
of Jesus Christ to despise and shun the tyrants and the traitors, even though
wearing a mitre, or a square bonnet (un bonnet carre). Go, traitor! and finish
your Judas work! Adieu!"
I then threw myself into the arms of Mr. Brassard, who was almost speechless,
suffocated in his sobs and tears. I pressed him to my heart and said!
"Adieu! my dear Mr. Brassard. Go back to Canada and tell my friends, how
the cowardice and ambition of that traitor has ruined the hope we had of
putting an end to this deplorable state of affairs. I go back among my brethren
of St. Anne, with more determination than ever to protect them against the
tyranny and impiety of our despotic rulers. It will be more easy than ever to
show them that the Son of God has not redeemed us, on the cross, that we might
be slaves of those heartless traders in souls. I will more earnestly than ever
teach my people to shun the modern gospel of the bishops, in order to follow
the old Gospel of Jesus Christ, as the only hope and life of our poor fallen
humanity."
Mr. Brassard wanted to say something; but his voice was suffocated by his sobs.
The only words he could utter, when pressing me to his heart, were:
"Adieu, dear friend, adieu!"
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 63 Back to Top
It
was evident that the betrayal of Mr. Desaulnier would be followed by new
efforts on the part of the bishop to crush us. Two new priests were sent from
Canada, Mr. Mailloux, a vicar general, and Mr. Campo, to strengthen his hands,
and press the people to submit. Mr. Brassard wrote me from Canada in December:
"All the bishops are preparing to hurl their thunders against you, and
your people, on account of your heroic resistance to the tyranny of the Bishop
of Chicago. I have told them the truth, but they don't want to know it. My lord
Bourget told me positively that you must be forced, at any cost, to yield to
the authority of your bishop; and he has threatened to excommunicate me if I
tell the people what I know of the shameful conduct of Desaulnier. If I were
alone I would not mind his excommunication, and would speak the truth, but such
a sentence against me would kill my poor old mother. I hope you will not find
fault with me if I remain absolutely mute. I pray you to consider this letter
confidential. You know very well the trouble you would put me into by its
publication."
The
French Canadians of Chicago saw, at once, that their bishop, strengthened by
the support of Desaulnier, would be more than ever obstinate in his
determination to crush them. They thought that the best way to force him to do
them justice, was to publish a manifesto of their grievances against him, and
make a public appeal to all the bishops of the United States, and even to the
Pope.
On the 22nd of January, 1857, The Chicago Tribune was requested by them to
publish the following document:
.
At a public meeting of the French and Canadian Catholics of
Chicago, held in the hall of Mr. Bodicar, on the 22nd of January, 1857, Mr.
Rofinot being called to preside, and Mr. Franchere,* acting as a secretary, the
following address and resolutions being read, have been unanimously approved:
"Editors
of the 'Tribune.' Will you allow a thousand voices from the dead to speak to
the public through your valuable paper?
"Everybody in Chicago knows that, a few years ago, there was a flourishing
congregation of French people coming from France and Canada to this city. They
had their priest, their church, their religious meeting. All that is now
dispersed and destroyed. The present Bishop of Chicago has breathed his deadly
breath upon us. Instead of coming to us as a father, he came as a savage enemy;
instead of helping us as a friend, he has put us down as a revengeful foe. He
has done the very contrary to which was commanded him by the Gospel. 'The
bruised reed He shall not break, and the smoking flax He shall not quench.'
Instead of guiding us with the cross of the meek Jesus, he has ruled over us
with an iron rod.
"Every Sunday, the warm-hearted and generous Irish goes to his church to
hear the voice of his priest in his English language. The intelligent Germans
have their pastors to address them in their mother tongue.
"The French people are the only ones now who have no priest and no church.
They are the only ones whose beautiful language is prohibited, and which is not
heard from any pulpit in Chicago. And is it from lack of zeal and liberality?
Ah! no, we take the whole city of Chicago as a witness of what we have done.
There was not in Chicago a better looking little church than the French
Canadian church called St. Louis. But, alas! we have been turned out of it by
our very bishop. As he is now publishing many stories to contradict that fact,
we owe to ourselves and to our children to raise from the tomb, where Bishop
O'Regan has buried us, a voice to tell the truth.
"As soon as Bishop O'Regan came to Chicago, he was told that the French
priest was too popular, that his church was attended not only by his French
Canadian people, but that many Irish and Germans were going daily to him for
their religious duties. It was whispered in the ears of his Rt. Reverence that,
on account of this, many dollars and cents were going to the French priest
which would be better stored in his Rt. Reverence's purse.
"Till that time the bishop was not, in appearance, taking much trouble
about us. But as soon as he saw that there were dollars and cents at stake, we
had the honour to occupy his thoughts day and night. Here are the facts, the
undeniable public facts. He (the bishop) began by sending for our priest, and
telling him that he had to prepare himself to be removed from Chicago to some
other place. As soon as we knew that determination, a deputation was sent to
his Rt. Reverence to get the promise that we would get another French priest,
and we received from him the assurance that our just request would be granted.
But the next Sunday an Irish priest having been sent to officiate instead of a
French one, we sent a deputation to ask him where the French priest was that he
had promised us? He answered, 'That we ought to take any priest we could get,
and be satisfied.' This short and sharp answered raised our French blood, and
we began speaking more boldly to his Reverence, who got up and walked through
the room in a rage, saying some half a dozen times, 'You insult me!' But seeing
that we were a fearless people, and determined to have no other priests but one
whom we could understand, he at last promised again a French priest, if we were
ready to pay the debt of our church and priest house. We said we would pay
them, but our verbal promise was nothing to his Reverence. He immediately wrote
an agreement, though it was Sunday, and we signed it. But to attain, sooner or
later, his object, he imposed upon that unfortunate priest a condition that he
knew no Christian would obey.
"This condition was that he should not receive in his church any one but
the French. This was utterly impossible, as many Irish, Germans, and American
Catholics had been in the habit, for years past, of coming to our church: it
was impossible to turn them out at once.
"We did everything in our power to help our priest in the matter, by
taking all the seats in the church, against the will of the respectable people
of the different nations who had occupied them for years. Finding themselves
turned out of the church, and unable to conceive the reason of so gross an
insult from a fellow-Christian people, they said to us, 'Have we not paid for
our seats in your church till this day? Double the rent if you like; we are
ready to pay for it; but, for God's sake, permit us to come and pray with you
at the foot of the same altars.'
"We explained to them the tyrannical orders of the bishop, and they, too,
commenced cursing the bishop and the ship that brought him over.
"They continued, however, to come to our church, though they had no seat.
They attended divine service in the aisles of the church, and we did not like to
disturb them; but our feelings were too Christian for the bishop. He kept a
watch over our priest, and, of course, found out that he was receiving many who
were forbidden by him to attend our religious meetings.
"The bishop, then, thought once more of his dear French priest, so he came
in person to his house, and asked him if he had kept his orders. The priest
answered that it was quite impossible to obey such orders, and remain a
Christian. He acknowledged that, in many instances, he had been obliged, by the
laws of charity, to give religious help to some who were not French people.
"'Well, then,' answered the bishop, 'from this very moment, I silence you,
and I forbid you the functions of priest in my diocese.'
"The poor trembling priest, thunderstruck, could not say a word.
"He went to some friends to relate what had just happened him; and he was
advised by them to go back to the bishop immediately to beg the privilege of
remaining at the head of his congregation till Lent was over. The bishop said:
"'I will consent to your request, if you pay me one hundred dollars.'
"'I will give you the sum as soon as I can collect it, and will give you
my note for thirty days,' answered the priest.
"'I want the money, cash down,' said the bishop; 'go to some of your
friends, you can easily collect that amount.'
"This poor priest went away in search of the almighty dollars; but he
could not find them as soon as he wished, and did not return to his lordship
that day. The bishop started that night for St. Louis, but he did not forget
his dear French people in his long journey. As soon as he arrived in St. Louis,
he wrote to his grand vicar, Rev. Mr. Dunn, that the French priest pay him one
hundred dollars or remain suspended.
"This goodwill of the bishop for our spiritual welfare, and his paternal
love for our purses, did not fail to strike us. Our priest made a new effort
that very day; he went to see an old friend who had been absent from town for
some time, and related to him his sad position. This old friend (P.F. Rofinot),
seeing that he could redeem a priest for so little a sum (for the priest had
collected part of it himself), immediately proceeded with the priest to the
house of very Reverend Dunn, with the money in hand, to satisfy the bishop.
"But, alas! that bargain did not last very long; for as soon as the bishop
returned, the watch that he had left behind him performed his duty well, and
told him that the French priest was going on as before. So the poor priest had
to go again to the bishop to explain his conduct. But this time he could not
bear the idea of officiating any longer under such a tyrant. He left us to
fight the hardest battles ourselves against the bishop.
"As the church and the house of our priest were on leased grounds, the
lease had to be renewed or the buildings removed. We went to the bishop, who
advised us to buy a lot and remove the church on it, and sell the house to help
pay for the lot. Suspecting nothing wrong in that advice, we followed it. We
bargained for a lot, agreed to sell the house, and went to report our progress.
"But we were going too fast. The bishop must stop us, or he would be
frustrated in his calculations, for he had a lot himself to put the church on:
he opposed our removing our church, by telling us that there was another lot
adjoining the one we had bargained for; and that we must buy it also. We went
immediately and bought the lot on ninety days' time. But he objected to this
again, saying that he would not allow us to touch the church, unless we had the
whole lot paid for, and put the deed in his hands, and that the deed should be
made to himself personally.
"This had the effect desired by the bishop. We had collected all the money
that could be collected then, in our small congregation; it was impossible for us
to do any more, so we concluded to give up the battle. The bishop then went on,
took the money we had sold the house for (one thousand two hundred dollars). A
Catholic lady, whose husband had bought the house, had subscribed one hundred
dollars for removing the church, providing the bishop would promise that it
would remain in the hands of the French, and attended by a French priest. The
bishop proffered again to that lady the lie, which he so often uttered to us,
everywhere, even from the altar, that upon his word of bishop, it should remain
a French church, and that they should have a French priest. (This we shall call
lie number one.) He then moved the church to another lot of his own, sent an
Irish priest to officiate in it, put the money in his pocket, and made the
congregation, which is now Irish, pay for the lot, the moving and repairing of
the church, and he takes quarterly the revenues, which are no less than two
thousand dollars a year.
"This is the way we have been swindled out of our church, of the house of
our priest, and of our all, by the tyrant, Bishop O'Regan; and when a French
priest visits our city, he forbids him to address us in our mother tongue. This
is the way we French Catholics, as a society, have been blotted out of the book
of the living!
"And when Rev. Father Chiniquy has publicly accused Bishop O'Regan to have
deprived us most unjustly of our church, he has proffered a truth which has as
many witnesses as there are Catholic and Protestants in Chicago.
"We know well that Bishop O'Regan is proclaiming that he has not deprived
us of our church, that if it is in the hands of the Irish, it is because the
Irish and not the French built it. 'This is lie number two, which can be proved
by more than a thousand witnesses.'
"We would like to know if he has forgotten the agreement (mentioned above)
which he made us sign in bargaining for a French priest. He has the receipts
for every cent that was due up to the time he took possession of our church. He
then proffered these words with the French gentlemen who brought him the
receipts: "It takes the French to collect money quick these hard times,'
(being in the winter).
"We must also add that we, French people, have paid for the very vestments
that the bishop uses in his cathedral, which he has taken from our church. But
he uses them only on some high feasts, thinking too much of stolen property, to
use them on a common day.
"Will it be out of my place here, to say that the cathedral of Chicago was
built by the French, and that the lot which it is built on was given by a
Frenchman? It is very reluctantly that we expose all these facts before the
eyes of the public; but having waited patiently, during two long years, and
having used all the influence we could command in France and Canada, to no
purpose, we must resort to the sympathy of the public for justice, through the
free press of the United States.
.
"RESOLUTIONS.
"Resolved, 1st. That the Right Rev. O'Regan, Bishop of Chicago, has
entirely lost the confidence of the French and Canadian population of Chicago
since he has taken away from us our church.
"Resolved, 2nd. That the Right Rev. O'Regan has published a base slander
against the French and Canadian population of Chicago, when he said he took our
church from our hands on the pretense that we could not pay for it.
"Resolved, 3rd. That the Right Rev. O'Regan, having said to our deputies,
who went to inquire from him by what right he was taking our church from us to
give it to another congregation: 'I have the right to do what I like with your
church, and your church properties; I can sell them and put the money in my
pocket, and go where I please with it,' has assumed a power too tyrannical to
be obeyed by a Christian and a free people.
"Resolved, 4th. That the nature of the different suits which the Right
Rev. O'Regan has had before the civil courts of this state, and which he has
almost invariably lost, have proved to the whole people of Illinois that he is
quite unworthy of the position he holds in the Catholic Church.
"Resolved, 5th. That the Right Rev. O'Regan is here publicly accused of
being guilty of simony for having extorted one hundred dollars from a priest to
give him permission to officiate and administer the sacraments among us.
"Resolved, 6th. That the Right Rev. O'Regan, in forbidding the Irish and
German Catholics to communicate with the French Catholic Church, and allowing
the French and Canadians to communicate with the Irish and German Churches, has
acted with a view to deprive the French Church of religious fees and other
donations, which acts we consider unjust and against the spirit of the church,
and more resembling a mercantile transaction than a Christian work.
"Resolved, 7th. That the French and Canadian people of Illinois have seen
with feelings of grief and surprise that the Rev. Mr. Desaulnier has made
himself the humble valet of the merciless and shameless persecutor of his
countrymen.
"Resolved, 8th. That the Rev. Mr. Chiniquy, pastor of St. Anne, deserves
the gratitude of every Catholic of Illinois, for having, at first, put a stop
to the rapacious tyranny of the Bishop of Chicago.
"Resolved, 9th. That the French Catholics of Chicago are determined to
give all support in their power to the Rev. Mr. Chiniquy, in his struggle
against the Bishop of Chicago.
"Resolved, 10th. That a printed copy of these resolutions be sent to every
bishop and archbishop of the United States and Canada, that they may see the
necessity of giving to the church of Illinois a bishop more worthy of that high
position.
"Resolved, 11th. That a copy of these resolutions be sent to His Holiness
Pius IX., that he may be incited to make inquiries about the humiliated
position of the church of Illinois, since the present bishop is among us.
"Resolved, 12th. That the independent and liberty-loving press of the
United States be requested to publish the above address and resolutions all
over the country.
"P.F. Rofinot, President,
"David Franchere, Secretary."
That
cry of more than two thousand Roman Catholics of Chicago, which was reproduced
by almost the whole press of Illinois, and the United States, fell as a
thunderbolt upon the head of my lord O'Regan and Desaulnier; they wrote to all
the bishops of America, to hasten to their rescue, and for several months the
pulpits of the Roman Catholic Churches had no other mission than to repeat the
echoes of the Episcopal Fulminations hurled against my devoted head. Many
bishop's letters and mandements were published denouncing me and my people as
infamous schismatics, whose pride and obstinacy were troubling the peace of the
church. But the most bitter of all these was a letter from my lord Bourget,
Bishop of Montreal, who thought the best, if not the only way to force the
people to desert me, was by for ever destroying my honour. But he had the
misfortune to fall into the pit he had dug for me in 1851.
The miserable girl he had associated with himself, to satisfy his implacable
hatred, was dead. But, he had still in hand the lying accusations obtained from
her against me. Having probably destroyed her sworn recantation written by the
Jesuit Father Schnieder, and not having the least idea that I had kept three
other sworn copies of her recantations he thought he could safely publish that
I was a degraded man, who had been driven from Canada by him, after being
convicted of some enormous crime, and interdicted.
This declaration was brought before the public, for the first time, by him,
with an hypocritical air of compassion and mercy for me, which added much to
the deadly effect he expected to produce by it. Here are his own words,
addressed to the people of Bourbonnais, and through them, to the whole world:
.
"I must tell you that on the 27th of September, 1851, I
withdrew all his powers, and interdicted him, for reasons which I gave him in my
letter addressed to him; a letter which he had probably kept. Let him publish
that letter, if he finds that I have persecuted him unjustly."
I could hardly believe my eyes when I read this ignominious act of perfidy on
the part of that high dignitary: it seemed incredible, and surpassed anything I
had ever seen, even in Bishop O'Regan. I cannot say, however, that it took me
entirely by surprise, for I had anticipated it. When Father Schneider asked me
why I had taken four sworn copies of the recantation of the unfortunate girl
whose tears of regret were flowing before us, I told him that I knew so much of
the meanness and perfidy of Bishop Bourget, that I thought he might destroy the
copy we were sending him, in order to pierce me again with his poisonous
arrows, whilst, if I kept three other copies, one for him, one for Mr.
Brassard, and one for myself, I would have nothing to fear. I am convinced that
my merciful God knew the malice of that bishop against me, and gave me that
wisdom to save me.
I
immediately sent him, through the press, the following answer:
.
To Monsignor Bourget:
St. Anne, April 18th, 1857.
My Lord: In your letter of the 19th of March, you assure the public that you
have interdicted me, a few days before my leaving Canada for the United States,
and you invite me to give the reasons of that sentence. I will satisfy you. On
the 28th of September, 1851, I found a letter on my table from you, telling me
that you had suspended me from my ecclesiastical offices, on account of a great
crime that I had committed, and of which I was accused. But the name of the
accuser was not given, nor the nature of the crime. I immediately went to see
you, and protesting my innocence, I requested you to give me the name of my
accusers, and allow me to be confronted by them, promising that I would prove
my innocence. You refused to grant my request.
Then I fell on my knees, and with tears, in the name of God, I requested you
again to allow me to meet my accusers and prove my innocence. You remained deaf
to my prayer and unmoved by my tears; you repulsed me with a malice and air of
tyranny which I had thought impossible in you.
During the twenty-four hours after this, sentiments of an inexpressible wrath
crossed my mind. I tell it to you frankly, in that terrible hour I would have
preferred to be at the feet of a heathen priest, whose knife would have
slaughtered me on his altars, to appease his infernal gods, rather than be at
the feet of a man who, in the name of Jesus Christ, and under the mask of the
gospel, should dare to commit such a cruel act. You had taken away my honour
you had destroyed me with the most infamous calumny and you had refused me
every means of justification! You had taken under your protection the cowards
who were stabbing me in the dark!
Though it is hard to repeat it, I must tell it here publicly, I cursed you on
that horrible day.
With a broken heart I went to the Jesuit college, and I showed the wounds of my
bleeding soul to the noble friend who was generally my confessor, the Rev. Father
Schneider, the director of the college.
After three days, having providentially got some reasons to suspect who was the
author of my destruction, I sent some one to ask her to come to the college,
without mentioning my name.
When she was in the parlour, I said to Father Schneider:
"You know the horrible iniquity of the bishop against me; with the lying
words of a prostitute, he has tried to destroy me; but please come and be the
witness of my innocence."
When in the presence of that unfortunate female, I told her:
"You are in the presence of God Almighty, and two of His priests. They
will be the witnesses of what you say! Speak the truth. Say in the presence of
God and this venerable priest, if I have ever been guilty of what you have
accused me to the bishop."
At these words, the unfortunate female burst into tears; she concealed her face
in her hands, and with a voice half suffocated with her sobs, she answered:
"No sir; you are not guilty of that sin!"
"Confess here another truth," I said to her: "Is it not true
that you came to confess to me with the desire to tempt me than to reconcile
yourself to God?"
She said, "Yes, sir, that is the truth." Then I said again,
"Continue to say the truth, and I will forgive you, and God also will
forgive your iniquity. Is it not through revenge for having failed in your
criminal designs, that you have tried to destroy me by that false accusation to
the bishop?" "Yes, sir, it was the only reason which has induced me
to accuse you falsely."
And all I say here, at least in substance, has been heard, written, and signed
by the Right Rev. Schneider, one of your priests, and the present director of
the Jesuit College. That venerable priest is still living in Montreal; let the
people of Canada go and interrogate him. Let the people of Canada also go to
the Rev. Mr. Brassard, who has in his hands an authentic copy of that
declaration.
Your lordship gives the public to understand that I was disgraced by that
sentence, some days before I left Canada for Illinois. Allow me to give you my
reasons for differing from you in this matter.
There is a canon law of the church which says:
"If a censure is unjust and unfounded, let the man against whom the
sentence has been passed pay no attention to it. For, before God and His
church, no unjust sentence can bring any injury against any one. Let the one
against whom such unfounded and unjust judgment has been pronounced even take
no step to annul it, for it is a nullity by itself."
You know very well that the sentence you had passed against me was null and
void for many good reasons; that it was founded on a false testimony. Father
Schneider is there, ready to prove it to you, if you have any doubt.
The second reason I have to believe that you had yourself considered your sentence
a nullity, and that I was not suspended by it from my ecclesiastical dignity
and honour, is founded on a good testimony, I hope the testimony of your
lordship.
A few hours before my leaving Canada for the United States, I went to ask your
benediction, which you gave me with every mark of kindness. I then asked your
lordship to tell me frankly if I had to leave with the impression that I was
disgraced in his mind? You gave me the assurance of the contrary.
Then I told you that I wanted to have a public and irrefutable testimony of
your esteem, written with your own hand, and you gave me the following letter:
"Montreal, Canada, October 13, 1851.
"Sir, You ask me permission to leave my diocese to go and offer your
services to the Bishop of Chicago. As you belong to the diocese of Quebec, I
think it belongs to my lord the archbishop to give you the exact you wish. As
for me, I can not but thank you for your labours among us, and I wish you in
return the most abundant blessings from heaven. You shall ever be in my
remembrance and in my heart, and I hope that Divine Providence will permit me,
at a future time, to testify all the gratitude I owe you.
"Meanwhile, I remain your very humble and obedient servant,
"Ignatius, Bishop of Montreal.
"Mr.Chiniquy, Priest."
I then asked you to give me some other tangible token of your esteem, which I
might show everywhere I should go.
You answered that you would be happy to give me one, and you said: "What
do you wish?"
"I wish," I said, "to have a chalice from your hands to offer
the holy sacrifice of the mass the rest of my life."
You answered: "I will do that with pleasure;" and you gave an order
to one of your priests to bring you a chalice that you might give it to me. But
that priest had not the key of the box containing the sacred vases; that key
was in the hands of another priest, who was absent for a few hours.
I had not the time to wait; the hour of the departure of the trains had come; I
told you: "Please, my lord, send that chalice to the Rev. Mr. Brassard, of
Longueuil, who will forward it to me in a few days to Chicago." And the
next day one of your secretaries went to the Rev. Mr. Brassard, gave him the
chalice you had promised me, which is still in my hands. And the Rev. Mr.
Brassard is there still living, to be the witness of what I say, and to bring
that fact to your memory if you have forgotten it.
Well, my lord, I do believe that a bishop will never give a chalice to a priest
to say mass, when he knows that that priest is interdicted. And the best proof
that you know very well that I was not interdicted by your rash and unjust
sentence, is that you gave me that chalice as a token of your esteem, and of my
honesty, ect.
Respectfully,
C. Chiniquy.
Ten
thousand copies of this exposure of the depravity of the bishop were published
in Montreal. I asked the whole people of Canada to go to the Rev. Mr. Schneider
and to the Rev. Mr. Brassard to know the truth, and many went. The bishop
remained confounded. It was proved that he had committed against me a most
outrageous act of tyranny and perfidy; and that I was perfectly innocent and
honest, and that he knew it, in the very hour that he tried to destroy my
character. Probably the Bishop of Montreal had destroyed the copy of the
declaration of the poor girl he had employed, and thinking that this was the
only copy of her declaration of my innocence and honesty, he thought he could
speak of the socalled interdict after I was a Protestant. But in that he was
cruelly mistaken, for as I have already said, by the great mercy of God, three
other authenticated copies had been kept: one by the Rev. Mr. Schneider
himself, another by the Rev. Mr. Brassard, another by one whom it is not
necessary to mention, and then he had no suspicion that the revelation of his
unchristian conduct, and of his determination to destroy me with the false oath
of a prostitute, were in the hands of too many people to be denied.
The Bishop of Chicago, whom I met a few days after, told me what I was well
aware of before. "That such a sentence was a perfect nullity in every way,
and it was a disgrace only for those who were blind enough to trample under
their feet the laws of God and men to satisfy their bad passions."
A few days after the publication of that letter in Canada, Mr. Brassard wrote
me:
.
"Your last letter has completely unmasked our poor
bishop, and revealed to the world his malice, injustice and hypocrisy. He felt
so confounded by it, that he has been three days without being about to eat or
drink anything, and three nights without sleeping. Everyone says that the
chastisement you have given him is a terrible one, when it is in the face of
the whole world; but he deserved it."
When
I received that last friendly letter from Mr. Brassard on the 1st of April, 1857,
I was far from suspecting that on the 15th of the same month, I should read in
the press of Canada, the following lines from him:
.
St. Roch De L' Achigan, Le 9 Avril, 1857.
Messieurs:I request you to insert the following lines in your journal. As some
people suspect that I am favouring the schism of Mr. Chiniquy, I think it is my
duty to say that I have never encouraged him by my words or writings in that
schism. I must say that, last November, when I went to St. Anne, accompanied by
Mr. Desaulnier, Superior of St. Hyacinthe College, my only object was to
persuade that old friend to leave the bad ways in which he was walking. And in
Chicago I pressed him to put himself in a canonical way.
I, more than anyone else, deplore the fall of a man whom, I confess, I loved
much, but for the sake of whom I will not sacrifice the sacred ties of Catholic
unity. I hope that all the Canadians who were attached to Mr. Chiniquy when he
was united to the church, will withdraw from him in horror of his schism. For before
anything else, we must be truly and faithfully Catholic.
However, we have a duty to perform towards the man who has fulfilled such a
holy mission in our midst, by establishing the society of temperance. It is to
call back, with our prayers, that stray sheep who has left the true Pastor's
fold.
I request all journals to reproduce this declaration. Truly yours,
Moses Brassard, Pastor.
M.M., the Editors of the Courier du Canada.
I
felt that there was not a line, not a sentiment of Mr. Brassard in that letter.
It smelt Bishop Bourget's hand, from the beginning to the end. I thought,
however, that it was my duty to address him the following answer:
.
St. Anne, Kakakee County, Illinois, April, 23, 1857.
My Dear Mr. Brassard: I have just received your letter of the 9th inst., but
no! I will not call it a letter, it will be better named a bitter tear, and a
sad wail of a heart as good as it is noble and generous.
You have been a witness how the people and missionary of St. Anne have been
betrayed by Mr. Desaulnier. You were at my side as a friend and father, when
this traitor said to me, as well as to my brethren, "Sign this act of
submission to the Bishop of Chicago; this act alone is enough to make him
withdraw the sentence which fills your Canadian friends with anxiety. If the
bishop does not give you the place you want, and if he does not withdraw the
excommunication after having been presented with this act, I will tell him, 'It
is neither the pastor nor the people of St. Anne who wish a schism, they have
done that which religion and honour commanded, to prove it; it is you who
wishes it.'" Your tears were mingled with mine, and the incense of your
prayer ascended with those of my brethren, when on the 26th of November Mr.
Desaulnier said to the people of St. Anne, "You cannot be blamed for when
you have done since the beginning of your difficulties with your bishop."
You were a witness that our first condition to the signing of the act which you
and Mr. Desaulnier presented to us, was that you should be the pastor of St.
Anne, and that I should remain with you as long as you would find it to the
interest of my colony. You know that he gave me his word of honour, in presence
of all the people, that if the bishop would not give us peace after the signing
of the act, he (Mr. Desaulnier) would go with us to St. Louis and even to Rome,
to plead my cause and show the iniquity and unbearable tyranny of the Bishop of
Chicago. Did he not assure us that, in case the Bishop should refuse to accept
the act of submission we had signed, your mission to St. Anne was finished, and
that you both would return to Canada, after your voyage to St. Louis? Is it not
true that when in Chicago, in reply to our question, "What news?" Mr.
Desaulnier said, "You have only to take your bags and both return to
Canada at once." Mr. Desaulnier denies all those facts, with an impudence
of which he alone is capable. You are my only witness before our Canada, which
wishes and has a right to know the truth in this matter.
I took you as my witness, and you replied in many of your letters, that you
could not say the truth without compromising yourself. Is not this an
acknowledgment that we, priests of Jesus Christ, are groaning under the weight
of the most frightful tyranny; and that we are in the power of men who threaten
our honour and life, if we dare speak the truth in favour of an oppressed
brother? And this is the system which proclaims itself as the divine and
ineffable news which the Messiah brought to the world!! And this abominable
oppression, this system of deceit, is the religion which the Son of the God of
truth, justice, and mercy, has established to save the world? This is the
foundation stone of the church of Christ!!! No! You do not believe that, my
dear Mr. Brassard. Neither do I. I never did, and never will believe it.
They tell us it is for the greater good of the church that they act thus; that
it is to preserve the respect which is due to the Holy Catholic Hierarchy, that
they take those extreme measures against the people of St. Anne!
But I have carefully studied the laws of the church upon these great questions,
and I see they say precisely the contrary. I see that the Catholic church said
to us, 1. "In the church there is no arbitrary power." 2. "The
censures are null when they have been pronounced against sins which have not
been committed. 3. Never receive any accusation against a priest, which has not
been proven by two or three witnesses. 4. If a sentence is visibly unjust, the
condemned must not pay any attention to it; for before God and His Church, no
unjust sentence can injure anyone. 5. The unjust excommunication is not binding
neither before God nor the people, when that people know its injustice, because
the Holy Ghost cannot abandon those who have not deserved it."
You wish me to act according to the canons of the church. I have already told
you that if I had been interdicted on the 19th of August, I would have been
able to appeal from that sentence, but I had not. I had fifteen days to
consider. How could I have appealed from a sentence which had not been
pronounced? What witness could I bring against a fact which, I knew, had never
taken place? But you will say: "The excommunication? Should it not give
you some anxiety?" "Not the least." St. Thomas said positively that
an excommunication of which the injustice is known by the people, ought not to
prevent a priest from exercising his ministry among them. They will perhaps
say, "But where did the people get the right to judge in such
things?" St. Thomas must have believed that the people had that right,
since he said it. St. Thomas was neither a heretic nor schismatic for believing
these things.
Why, then, should I be one for having thought, spoken, and acted, according to
the doctrine of him whom the church has named the angel of the school? Besides
that, you know that the excommunication was a nullity from want of being
signed.
The reason of this surprise about the right which the people has to exercise
its judgment upon this question, is that, lately, the bishops have not only
stripped the priests, but also the people, of the holy and just rights which
Jesus Christ had given them. Those who have carefully studied the history of
the church in the first centuries know this as well as I do. But be it known,
there are rights against which time does not prescribe. There are rights which
the priests and people have never renounced, and which the Church of Christ
will always like to see them enjoy. I do not say that the bishops are not
appointed by the church to govern the flock according to their caprices, but
according to the unchangeable rules of justice, equity, and truth of the
gospel. In the primitive church, every time that a bishop forgets this, other
bishops reminded him of it.
Do we not see in the gospel, that the first Christians complained bitterly to
the apostles themselves of the manner in which they had administered the goods
entrusted to them? Were they excommunicated for that? Did they receive in
answer the insolent reply that the people receive today? viz.: "You are
but the laity, that does not concern you?" No! The apostles listened to
the complaints of the people; they found them just, and the people were allowed
to choose the administrators of their goods. The people, then, were looked upon
as something worthy of attention and respect, and were not tied, as today, to
the feet of a dignitary, and obliged to go right and left at the good pleasure
of their pretended master. The people were not, then, bridled; were not mere
machines to pay tithes, build palaces, raise proud cathedrals; nor were they
degraded, demoralized, as today; obliged to believe they had minds, but had no
right to make use of them; they were not, then, as now, poor beasts of burthen,
whose only duty is to obey their master. But their wants and wishes were
consulted, their voice was heard. They had not yet the idea that the Holy Ghost
was to enlighten only a certain class of men, and that the rest of humanity
were given up to ignorance, only to walk in the light of a few privileged
luminaries.
But the spirit of wisdom, charity, and tolerance, this respect for the will and
wishes of the people, where do you find them today? On the contrary, we find
tyranny on the one side, and stern and necessary resistance on the other;
resistances which are but the expression of the law of God. Let the tolerant
conduct of the apostles, who listened with so much humility to the complaints
of the first Christians, be compared to that of Bishop O'Regan when questioned
by the French people of Chicago upon the right he had to deprive them of their
church, to give it to another congregation, put them out of doors saying,
"You do not know your religion; I have the right to sell your churches,
and the grounds attached to them, put the money in my pocket, and eat and drink
where I like."
This is what Bishop O'Regan has said and done; and this is what the Bishop of
Canada approves and sanctions in the name of the gospel! They try to make you
believe that it is the doctrine of Jesus Christ which these high dignitaries peach
and practice. Let the poor people of Canada believe this if they wish; as for
us in St. Anne, we do not, and never will believe it. Are not these men who cry
the loudest to make us respect the canons of the church the very men who
publicly trample the most holy laws of the people and of the church under their
feet? How easy it would be to put to those powerful personages questions which
they would call impertinent, but which would shed great light in the midst of
the profound darkness in which a certain corner of the world is kept today? You
who overwhelm us with curses and send us to hell if we are not ready to say
amen to all you say, what have you done with the canon of the holy Council of
Nice, which forbids you to change a priest's charge without his permission?
Where is the canon of a general council which allows the bishops to add the
words "usque ad revocationem" in the powers given to the priests!
While one of the canons of the church says: "It is the authority of the
canons and the examination of the conduct of the priests which ought to give or
take away the ecclesiastical dignities, and not the will of the prelates."
History has preserved the names of certain tyrants who forced the trembling
hand of a father to set fire to the pile which consumed his own child. Ah! why
do these bishops of Canada remind us of that lamentable page of past centuries
in commanding you to throw burning coals on the pile to which they have led me.
You are more than a friend to me. I have the right to call you "Father."
When still very young, domestic misfortunes forced me to leave for a strange
country in search of a living; you stretched out to me a helping hand. Although
poor yourself, you shared your bread with the poor orphan. You opened to me the
doors of the college where I studied. And ever since, when a tempest threatened
my fragile bark with shipwreck, in your arms I found a sure port. Every time I
received a wound in the struggles of life, in your affection I found a remedy.
When heaven chose your poor friend to change the face of our dear country, it
was beneath your hospitable roof that I found rest. Your hand was the last one
which pressed mine, when in 1851 I left Canada to consecrate myself to the
service of the emigrants; and lastly, when the thunders of three deluded
prelates fell upon my head, I said to myself: I have in Canada a friend, a
father. I am so sure of his heart that I do not even need to call him to aid;
there is a voice in his soul which cries to him: "Go, go to the aid of thy
friend, of thy child!" I was not mistaken. On the 24th of November you
pressed me to your heart; your words of peace and charity cheered my broken
heart. For the love of God and for your sake also, my dear Mr. Brassard, I have
consented to do all you require of me. Ah! why did you not come alone? How
easily everything would have been safely settled! But without knowing it, you
had with you a traitor, who came to give the people and pastor of St. Anne the
kiss of Judas before delivering them into the hands of their enemies. Today you
are commanded to add your efforts to those of this traitor, to strike me. They
want you to add a new thorn to that crown of shame which the bishops have
placed on my forehead. But how can I be guilty for having called you as a
witness of the iniquities of my enemies? Have you forgotten with what sincerity
and promptitude I signed, as well as my brethren of St. Anne, the act of
submission to the Bishop O'Regan? Have you forgotten the desolation of your
heart and mine when (on the conditions you well know) I declared to my people
that I would no longer be their pastor?
Since the bishops of Canada command you to speak, in the name of the God of
truth and justice, I also ask you to speak. Yes, state to the people of Canada
how shamefully Mr. Desaulnier has deceived the generous people who surround me
here. Yes! tell your surprise, your just indignation, your bitter sorrow when
Mr. Desaulnier refused, in Chicago, to fulfill the sacred promise he had made!
Tell the nature of the new document which he wanted me to sign at Chicago.
Declare honestly that you said to me: "My poor friend, you cannot sign
that act without lying and dishonouring yourself for ever."
Since the bishops of Canada command you to speak, raise your voice to say to
the Canadian people what you wrote to Dr. Letourneaux and to myself: They do
not wish to know the truth in Canada more than at Chicago about the shameful
conduct of Mr. Desaulnier in this affair! Yes, speak! Give to my dear Canada
the reply which the Bishop of Chicago made when you asked: "Have you any
accusation in hand against the character of Mr. Chiniquy?" I need your
testimony upon this question for the Bishop of Chicago, forgetting what he
confessed to you is circulating, through my enemies, a thousand calumnies against
me, which are reproduced today by the Bishop of Montreal. Say to Canada that
the Bishop of Chicago assured you that he had interdicted me only because I
disobeyed him in refusing to leave St. Anne, whilst, at the very time he held a
letter brought by four witnesses, saying that I was ready to obey, and that I
would prefer going to the end of the world rather than be interdicted.
If, having said all these things, you are still commanded to strike me, do so,
dear friend. Though your blows go more directly to my heart than all the
thunders of Bishop O'Regan, they will never shake my constancy, nor make me
betray my brethren; they will neither make me change my convictions, nor force
me any longer to bend the knee before men who wish us to submit to their caprices
and impious commands rather than to the laws of the God of justice, truth and
mercy, whose priest I have the honour to be. I have sworn at the foot of the
altar to preach truth and justice, nothing will make me break my oath. Do you
remember with what dignity you refused one day to bow before one of those
modern divinities, who believe that everything is allowed them on earth. Do you
not recollect that the Bishop of Ottawa had the audacity to take one of your
letters out of the post office and read it, hoping the shameful act would never
be known? I shall never forget the noble independence with which you protested
against that abuse of power, and with what indignation you threatened to drag
that haughty bishop before the courts of justice if he did not ask pardon for
that outrage! Were you revolting against the church of Christ then? No! for you
knew that her principles of truth and justice could not sanction such
brigandage. So I did not revolt against the church of Christ when I resisted
the insolence and outrages of the Bishop of Chicago.
Like St. Jerome, I know the rights of the bishops. I respect their authority.
The Catholic Hierarchy is to me a holy and venerable institution. But when men,
sheltering themselves behind those holy institutions, trample under their feet
the principles of justice, truth, and holiness which the Gospel of Christ
inculcates, I will fight to the end, with my poor emigrants, for the
preservation of their Christian rights. You say that before all, we must be
frankly and sincerely "Catholics." I answer, yes. But when one is
wrongfully deprived of this glorious name before men because he opposes, as I
have done, the brigandage of a bishop who believes all is allowed him, he can
remain in peace, and be like St. Paul, who did not care what men said or
thought of him. To be anathematized, because I have devoted myself to the
welfare of my brethren, is not such a sad destiny as some people think. St.
Paul said: "I could wish that myself were accursed from Christ for my brethren,
my kinsmen according the flesh." The favour after which the apostle of the
Gentiles signed has been accorded me. I cannot complain of it. Besides, does
not Christ Himself say to those who labour to scatter seeds of justice and
truth upon the earth, that they ought not expect to be treated better than He?
From every part of Canada and the United States men of distinction cease not to
cry, Courage! It is true that several curse us, but it is because they are
forced to do it. Many keep silent for fear of their masters, but their prayers
and sympathies are for us. The bishops will see, sooner or later, that in order
to retain their power on earth that power must be found, as in heaven, upon
justice and truth.
When the priests of Canada, to please the bishops, contrary to their
convictions, have degraded their own sacerdotal character in my person; when
they have burned the effigy of the proscribed, having no more the glorious
privilege of burning his body; when the father whom, by the grace of God, I
have snatched from an abyss, cursed me; when this dear young man who has, so
many times blessed me, because I have shown him the Gospel, the way of honour
and virtue, by removing the stumbling block of intemperance offered to his
weakness, has been forced to curse me; when that poor woman who, by the grace
of God, owes me the bread she eats, and the few days of holy felicity she has
enjoyed upon earth, has cursed me; when this fine little child, who has so many
times blessed my name, because God made use of me to give him back a father,
has cursed me, there will be a silence of sorrow in Canada around my proscribed
name. Then a reaction will take place. A great prestige will be destroyed. A
great power, holy and benevolent in its origin, but fallen by its excesses, will
be destroyed. God grant that, in the midst of those ruins there may be no
tears, no blood. This is not prophecy, it is history. Yes, let the Canadian
clergy open the records of the past, and they will find where their blind and
demoralizing obedience to the bishops leads them and their good and generous
people, if not to infidelity and atheism.
You advise me, dear Mr. Brassard, to put myself in the canonical ways; but have
I not already done so? Have not the bishops of Canada told you that the letter signed
by me had already placed me in that position? Has not Mr. Desaulnier said, in
your presence, to my people and myself at St. Anne: "Sign this act, and if
the bishop does not take away his sentence of excommunication, I will say to
him: 'It is not Mr. Chiniquy, neither his people, who wish a schism; they have
done what religion and honour command them; it is the Bishop of Chicago who
makes the schism.'" What have we gained by taking that public step?
Nothing, but to be cruelly and shamefully betrayed. Was not Jesus Christ
betrayed only once by Judas? Do not, then, expect that we will be stronger than
the Son of God. The bishops of Canada, by their emissary, have already betrayed
us, of which you have been witness. The people and missionary of St. Anne do
not feel strong enough to present their cheek again to the smiter. In spite of
the clamours which rise around us, we are convinced that we may be good
Catholics without submitting to that degradation twice.
The bishops of Canada want you to speak. Very well! my dear Mr. Brassard, I
also implore you to speak. In the name of the friendship which has united us
for forty years, I implore you to tell the truth. Did you not, after reading
the document which the Bishop of Chicago commanded me to sign as the only
condition of peace, say to me:
"My dear friend, you cannot sign such a writing without lying and
dishonouring yourself for ever?" And behold! Today you cry to my brethren
to destroy and abandon me, when you know that the position in which I stand is
but the result of my refusal to sign a most infamous, lying, and degrading
document. These things, and many others which you know, would serve wonderfully
to open the eyes of the people upon the awful abuse of power, which certain
bishops are, every day, guilty. This would aid to unmask certain modern
divinities who pretend that we cannot go to heaven without their permission;
who preach that it is not the blood of Jesus Christ, but a certain passport, of
which they hold the patent, which assures us a place among the elect of God. A
sentence founded upon a public lie, and which was resisted, cannot constitute a
schism. Christian men who, like the Catholics of Chicago, Kankakee, and St.
Anne, resist iniquity, may be condemned by men, but not by God.
I was not suspended on the 19th of August, and so I could exercise the holy
functions of my ministry the following morning and after. It is the church
which assures me of this, through her greatest theologians. As it is not enough
to say, "My God! My God!" to be saved; so, it is not enough to cry,
"You are lost! you are lost!" for one to be lost. The Son of God, who
gave His life to save man, gave us a thousand proofs that the salvation of our
soul has a foundation more certain than the capricious will of a sinful being.
He has given to no one the power to save or condemn according to his pleasure.
If some bishops and priests believe this, it is not the faith of the people of
Chicago, Kankakee, and St. Anne.
I will tell you again, my dear Mr. Brassard, that if, in order to obey the
Bishop of Montreal, you should strip me of the little honour which surrounds my
name in Canada, I shall still never forget the good you have done me. Yes!
command my friends to betray me, to trample me under their feet, to turn away
from me in horror. Never will you be able to weaken my sentiments of respect
and gratitude for you!
I will still love and bless you; for I know the hand which forced yours to do
so. I will always know that your own heart was first struck and wounded by the
blows they commanded you to give to your friend and son in Jesus Christ,
C. Chiniquy.
The
effect of that letter upon Mr. Brassard was still more powerful than I had
expected. It forced him to blush at his own cowardice, and to ask my pardon for
the unjust sentence he had passed upon me to obey the bishop. Here are the
parts of the letter bearing on that subject: -
.
St. Roch, 29 Mai, 1857
Mon cher Chiniquy, Je suis plus convaincu que jamais que tu n'as jamais ete
interdit legalement, depuis que j'ai appris par Monseigneur de Montreal, que
l'eveque de Chicago t'a interdit de vive voix, dans sa chambre; ce que ligoury
dit etre nul et de nul effet."
I am more than ever convinced that you have been legally interdicted, since
Bishop Bourget told me that Bishop O'Regan had interdicted you privately, viva
voce in his private room. Ligouri says that it is a nullity, and that it can
have no effect. I beg your pardon for what I wrote against you. I have been
forced to do so. Because I had not yet sufficiently condemned you, and that my
name, which you were citing in your writings, was giving you too much power,
and a too clear condemnation of Bishop O'Regan, the Bishop of Montreal, abusing
his authority over me, forced me to sign that document against you. I would not
do it today if it were to be done again. Keep silence on what I tell you in
this letter. It is all confidential. You understand it.
Your devoted friend,
L.M. Brassard.
No
priest in Canada had more deservedly enjoyed the reputation of a man of honour
than Mr. Brassard. Not one ever stood so high in my esteem and respect. His
sudden and unexpected fall filled my heart with an unspeakable sadness. I may
say that it snapped the last thread which held me to the Church of Rome. Till
then, it was not only my hope, by my firm conviction, that there were many
honest, upright priests in that church, and Mr. Brassard was, to me, the very
personification of honesty. How can I describe the shock I felt when I saw him
there, in the mud, a monument of the unspeakable corruption of my church! The
perfidious Delilah had seduced and destroyed this modern Samson, enchained, as
a trembling slave, at the feet of the new implacable Moloch, "The
authority of the bishop!" He had not only lost the fear of God, and the
respect he owed to himself, by publicly declaring that I was guilty, when he
knew that I was innocent, but he had so completely lost every sentiment of
honesty, that he wanted me to keep secret his declaration of my innocence, at
the very moment he was inviting my whole country, through the press, to abhor
and condemn me as a criminal!
I read again and again the strange letter. Every word of it was destroying the
last illusions which had concealed from my mind the absolute and incurable
perversity of the Church of Rome. I had no hard feelings against this last
friend whom she had poisoned with the wine of her prostitutions. I felt only a
profound compassion for him. I pitied and forgave him from the bottom of my
heart. But every word of his letter sounded in my ears as the warning voice of
the angel sent to save Lot from the doomed city of Sodom: "Escape for thy
life. Look not behind thee; neither stay thou in all the plain. Escape to the
mountain lest thou be consumed" (Gen. xix. 17).
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 64 Back to Top
I
had not forgotten the advice given me by Archbishop Kenrick, of St. Louis,
April 9th, 1856, to address my complaints to the Pope himself. But the terrible
difficulties and trials which had constantly followed each other, had made it
impossible to follow that advice. The betrayal of Mons. Desaulnier and the
defection of Mons. Brassard, however, had so strangely complicated my position,
that I felt the only way to escape the wreck which threatened myself and my
colony, and to save the holy cause God had entrusted to me, was to strike such
a blow to our haughty persecutor that he would not survive it. I determined to
send to the Pope all the public accusations which had been legally proved and
published against the bishop, with a copy of the numerous and infamous suits
which he had sustained before the civil courts, and had almost invariably lost,
with the sentences of the judges who had condemned him. This took nearly two
months of the hardest labours of my life. I had gathered all those documents,
which covered more than two hundred pages of foolscap. I mailed them to Pope
Pius IX., accompanied by only the following words: "Holy Father, for the
sake of your precious lambs which are slaughtered and devoured in this vast
diocese by a ravening wolf, Bishop O'Regan, and in the name of our Saviour
Jesus Christ, I implore your Holiness to see if what is contained in these
documents is correct or not. If everything is found correct, for the sake of
the blood shed on Calvary, to save our immortal souls, please take away from
our midst the unworthy bishop whose daily scandals cannot longer be tolerated
by a Christian people."
In order to prevent the Pope's servants from throwing my letter with those
documents into their waste-paper baskets, I sent a copy of them all to Napoleon
III., Emperor of France, respectfully requesting him to see, through his
ambassador at Washington, and his consul at Chicago, whether these papers
contained the truth or not. I told him how his countrymen were trampled under the
feet of Bishop O'Regan, and how they were ruined and spoiled to the benefit of
the Irish people; how the churches built by the money of the French were openly
stolen, and transferred to the emigrants from Ireland. Napoleon had just sent
an army to punish the Emperor of China on account of some injustice done to a
Frenchman. I told him "the injustice done to that Frenchman in the Chinese
Empire is nothing to what is done here every day, not against one, but hundreds
of your majesty's countrymen. A word from the Emperor of France to His Holiness
will do here what your armies have done in China: force the unjust and
merciless oppressor of the French of Illinois to do them justice."
I ended my letter by saying: "My grandfather, though born in Spain,
married a French lady, and became, by choice and adoption, a French citizen. He
became a captain in the French navy, and for gallant service, was awarded lands
in Canada, which by the fate of war fell into the hands of Great Britain. Upon
retiring from the service of France he settled upon his estates in Canada,
where my father and myself were born. I am thus, with other Canadians who have
come to this country, a British subject by birth, an American citizen by
adoption, but French still in blood and Roman Catholic in religion. I,
therefore, on the part of a noble French people, humbly ask your majesty to aid
us by interceding with his Holiness, Pope Pius IX., to have these outrages and
wrongs righted."
The success of this bold step was more prompt and complete than I had expected.
The Emperor was, then, all powerful at Rome. He had not only brought the Pope
from Civita Vecchia to Rome, after taking that city from the hands of the
Italian Republicans, a few years before, but he was still the very guardian and
protector of the Pope.
A few months later, when in Chicago, the Grand Vicar Dunn showed me a letter
from Bishop O'Regan, who had been ordered to go to Rome and give an account of
his administration, in which he had said: "One of the strangest things
which has occurred to me in Rome, is that the influence of the Emperor Napoleon
is against me here. I cannot understand what right he has to meddle in the
affairs of my diocese."
I had learned since, that it was really through the advice of Napoleon that
Cardinal Bidini, who had been previously sent to the United States to inquire
about the scandal given by Bishop O'Regan, gave his opinion in our favour. The
cardinals, having consulted the bishops of the United States, who unanimously
denounced O'Regan as unfit and unworthy of such a high position, immediately
ordered him to go to Rome, where the Pope unceremoniously transferred him from
the bishopric of Chicago to a diocese extinct more than 1,200 years ago, called
"Dora." This was as good as a bishopric in the moon. He consoled
himself in his misfortune by drawing the hundreds of thousands of dollars of
stolen money he had sent at different times, to be deposited in the banks of
Paris, and went to Ireland, where he established a bank, and died in 1865.
On the 11th of March 1858, at about ten o'clock p.m., I was not a little
pleased and surprised to hear the voice of my devoted friend, Rev. M. Dunn,
grand vicar of Chicago, asking my hospitality for the night. His first words
were: "My visit here must be absolutely incognito. In ordering me to come
and see you, the Bishop of Dubuque, who is just named administrator of Chicago,
advised me to come as secretly as possible." He said: "Your triumph
at Rome is perfect. You have gained the greatest victory a priest ever won over
his unjust bishop; but you must thank the Emperor Napoleon for it. It is to his
advice, which, under the present circumstances, is equal to an order,that you
owe the protection of the Cardinal Bidini. His report to the Pope is, that all
the documents you sent to Rome were correct. The inquiry of the cardinal has
brought facts to the knowledge of the Pope, still more compromising than what
you have written against him. Several bishops of the United States have
unanimously denounced Bishop O'Regan as a most depraved man, entirely unworthy
of his position, and have advised the Pope to take him away and choose another
bishop for Chicago. It is acknowledged, at Rome, that all the sentences
pronounced by that bishop against you, are unjust and null. Our good administrator
has been advised to put an end, at once, to all the troubles of your colony, by
treating you as a good and faithful priest.
"I come here, not only to congratulate you on your victory, but also to
thank you, in my name, and in the name of the church, for having saved our
diocese from such a plague; for Bishop O'Regan was a real plague. A few more
years of such administration would have destroyed our holy religion in
Illinois. However, as you handled the poor bishop pretty roughly, it is suspected,
at a distance, that you and your people are more Protestants than Catholics. We
know better here; for, from the beginning, it was evident that the act of
excommunication, posted at the door of your chapel by three priests too drunk
to know what they were about, is a nullity, having never been signed by the
bishop. It was a shameful and sacrilegious comedy. But, in many distant places,
that excommunication was accepted as valid, and you are considered by many as a
real schismatic. Bishop Smith has thought it advisable to ask you to give him a
written and canonical act of submission, which he will publish to show the
world that you are still a good Roman Catholic priest."
I thanked the grand vicar for his kind words, and the good news he was giving
me, and I asked him to help me to thank God for having so visibly protected and
guided me through all these terrible difficulties. We both knelt and repeated
the sublime words of gratitude and joy of the old prophet: "Bless the
Lord, oh! my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name," ect.
(Ps. ciii.) I then said I had no objection to give the renewed act of my faith
and submission to the church, that it might be published. I took a piece of
paper, and with emotion of joy and gratitude to God, which it would be
impossible to express, I slowly prepared to write. But as I was considering
what form I should give to that document, a sudden, strange thought struck my
mind: "Is this not the golden opportunity to put an end to the terrible
temptations which have shaken my faith and distressed me for so many
years." I said to myself:
.
"Is not this a providential opportunity to silence those
mysterious voices which are troubling me almost every hour, that, in the church
of Rome, we do not follow the Word of God, but the lying traditions of
men?"
I
determined then to frame my act of submission in such a way that I would
silence those voices, and be, more than ever, sure that my faith, the faith of
my dear church, which had just given me such a glorious victory at Rome, was
based upon the Holy Word of God, on the divine doctrines of the Gospel. I then
wrote down, in my own name, and in the name of my people:
.
"My lord Bishop Smith, Bishop of Dubuque and
administrator of the diocese of Chicago:We want to live and die in the holy
Catholic, apostolic and Roman church, out of which there is no salvation, and
to prove this to your lordship, we promise to obey the authority of the church
according to the word and commandments of God as we find them expressed in the
Gospel of Christ.
"C. Chiniquy."
I
handed this writing to Mr. Dunn, and said:
"What do you think of this act of submission?" He quickly read it,
and answered:
"It is just what we want from you."
"All right," I rejoined. "But I fear the bishop will not accept
it. Do you not see that I have put a condition to our submission? I say that we
will submit ourselves to the bishop's authority, but only according to the Word
of God and the Gospel of Christ."
"Is not that good?" quickly replied Mr. Dunn.
"Yes, my dear Mr. Dunn, this is good, very good indeed," I answered,
"but my fear is that it is too good for the bishop and the Pope!"
"What do you mean?" he replied.
"I mean that though this act of submission is very good, I fear lest the
Pope and the bishop reject it."
"Please explain yourself more clearly," answered the grand vicar.
"I do not understand the reason for such a fear."
"My dear Mr. Dunn," I continued, "I must confess to you here a
thing which is known only to God. I must show you a bleeding wound which is in
my soul for many years. A wound which has never been healed by any of the
remedies I have applied to it. It is a wound which I never dared to show to any
man, except to my confessor, though it has often made me suffer almost the
tortures of hell. You know well that there is not a living priest who has
studied the Holy Scriptures and the Holy Fathers, with more attention and
earnestness, these last few years than I have. It was not only to strengthen my
own faith, but also the faith of our people, and to be able to fight the
battles of our church against her enemies, that I spent so many hours of my
days and nights in those studies. But, though I am confounded and ashamed to
confess it to you, I must do it. The more I have studied and compared the Holy Scriptures
and the Holy Fathers with the teachings of our church, the more my faith has
been shaken, and the more I have been tempted to think, in spite of myself,
that our church has, long ago, given up the Word of God and the Holy Fathers,
in order to walk in the muddy and crooked ways of human and false traditions.
Yes! the more I study, the more I am troubled by the strange and mysterious
voices which haunt me day and night, saying: 'Do you not see that in your
Church of Rome, you do not follow the Word of God, but only the lying
traditions of men?' What is more strange and painful is, that the more I pray
to God to silence these voices, the louder they repeat the same distressing
things. It is to put an end to those awful temptations that I have written this
conditional submission. I want to prove to myself that I will obey the Word of
God and the Gospel of Christ in our church, and I shall be happy all the rest
of my life, if the bishops accept this submission. But I fear it will be
rejected."
Mr. Dunn promptly replied:
"You are mistaken, my dear Mr. Chiniquy. I am sure that our bishop will
accept this document as canonical, and sufficient to show your orthodoxy to the
world."
"If it be so," I replied, "I will be a most happy man." It
was agreed that on the 25th of March I would go with him to Dubuque, to present
my act of submission to the administrator of the diocese, after the people had
signed it. Accordingly, at seven p.m. on that day, we both took the train at
Chicago for Dubuque, where we arrived next morning. At eleven a.m. I went to
the palace of the bishop, who received me with marks of the utmost cordiality
and affection.
I presented him our written act of submission with a trembling hand, fearing he
would reject it. He read it twice, and throwing his arms around me, he pressed
me to his heart. I felt his tears of joy mixed with mine, rolling down my
cheeks, as he said: "How happy I am to see that submission! How happy the
Pope and all the bishops of the United States will be to hear of it, for I will
not conceal it from you; we feared that both you and your people would separate
from the church, by refusing to submit to her authority." I answered that
I was not less happy to see the end of those painful difficulties, and I
promised him that, with the help of God, our holy church would not have a more
faithful priest than myself.
While engaged in that pleasant conversation, the dinner hour came. He gave me
the place of honour on his right, before the two grand vicars, and nothing
could be more pleasant than the time we spent around the table, which was
served with a good and well prepared, though frugal meal. I was happy to see
that the bishop, with his priests,were teetotalers. No wine nor beer to tempt
the weak. Before the dinner was over, the bishop said to Mr. Dunn: "You
will accompany Mr. Chiniquy to St. Anne in order to announce, in my name, to
the people, the restoration of peace, next Sabbath. No doubt it will be joyful
news to the colony of Father Chiniquy. After so many years of hard fighting,
the pastor and the people of St. Anne will enjoy the days of peace and rest
which are now secured to them."
Then, addressing himself to me, the bishop said: "The only condition of
that peace is that you will spend fifteen days in retreat and meditation in one
of the religious houses you will choose yourself. I think that, after so much
noise and exciting controversies, it will do you good to pass those days in
meditation and prayer, in some of our beautiful and peaceful solitudes." I
answered him: "If your lordship had not offered me the favour of those
days of perfect and Christian rest, I would have asked you to grant it. I
consider it as a crowning of all your acts of kindness to offer me those few
days of calm and meditation, after the terrible storms of those last three
years. If your lordship has no objection to my choice, I will go to the
beautiful solitude where M. Saurin has built the celebrated Monastery, College,
and University of St. Joseph, Indiana. I hope that nothing will prevent my being
there next Monday, after going next Sabbath in the company of Grand vicar Dunn,
to proclaim the restoration of the blessed peace to my people of St.
Anne." "You cannot make a better choice," answered the bishop.
"But, my lord," I rejoined, "I hope your lordship will have no
objection to give me a written assurance of the perfect restoration of that
longsought peace. There are people who, I know, will not believe me, when I
tell them how quickly and nobly your lordship has put an end to all those deplorable
difficulties. I want to show them that I stand today in the same relation with
my superiors and the church in which I stood previous to these unfortunate
strifes." "Certainly," said the bishop, "you are in need of
such a document from your bishop, and you shall have it. I will write it at
once."
But he had not yet written two lines, when Mr. Dunn looked at his watch and
said: "We have not a minute to lose, if we want to be in time for the
Chicago train." I then said to the bishop: "Please, my lord, address
me that important document to Chicago, where I will get it at the postoffice,
on my way to the University of St. Joseph, next Monday; your lordship will have
plenty of time to write it, this afternoon." The bishop having consented,
I hastily took leave of him, with Mr. Dunn, after having received his
benediction.
On our way back to St. Anne, the next day, we stopped at Bourbonnais to see the
Grand Vicar Mailloux, one of the priests who had been sent by the Bishops of
Canada to help my lord O'Regan to crush me. We found him as he was going to his
dining-room to take his dinner. He was visibly humiliated by the complete
defeat of Bishop O'Regan, at Rome.
After Mr. Dunn had told him that he was sent to proclaim peace to the people of
St. Anne, he coldly asked the written proof of that strange news. Mr. Dunn
answered him: "Do you think, sir, that I would be mean enough to tell you
a lie?"
"I do not say that you are telling me a lie," replied Mr. Mallous,
"I believe what you say. But, I want to know the condition of that
unexpected peace. Has Mr. Chiniquy made his submission to the church?"
"Yes, sir," I replied, "here is a copy of my act of
submission."
He read it, and coldly said: "This is not an act of submission to the
church, but only to the authority of the Gospel, which is a very different
thing. This document can be presented by a Protestant; but it cannot be offered
by a Catholic priest to his bishop. I cannot understand how our bishop did not
see that at once."
Mr. Dunn answered him: "My dear Grand Vicar Mailloux, I have always been
told that it does not do to be more loyal than the king. My hope was that you
would rejoice with us at the news of the peace. I am sorry to see that I was
mistaken. However, I must tell you that if you want to fight, you will have
nobody to fight against; for Father Chiniquy was yesterday accepted as a
regular priest of our holy church by the administrator. This ought to satisfy
you."
I listened to the unpleasant conversation of those two grand vicars, with
painful feelings, without saying a word. For, I was troubled by those
mysterious voices which were reiterating in my mind the cry: "Do you not
see that in the Church of Rome, you do not follow the Word of God, but only the
lying traditions of men?"
I felt much relieved, when I left the house of that so badly disposed confrere,
to come to St. Anne, where the people had gathered on the public square, to
receive us, and rend the air with their cries of joy at the happy news of
peace.
The next day, 27th of March, was Palm Sunday, one of the grand festivities of
the Church of Rome; there was an immense concourse of people, attracted not
only by the religious solemnity of the feast; but also by the desire to see and
hear the deputy sent by their bishop to proclaim peace. He did it in a most
elegant English address, which I translated into French. He presented me with a
blessed palm, and I offered him another loaded with beautiful flowers, in the
presence of the people, as a public sign of the concord which was restored between
my colony and the authorities of the church.
That my Christian readers may understand my blindness, and the mercies of God
towards me, I must confess here, to my shame, that I was glad to have made my
peace with those sinful men, which was not peace with my God. But, that great
God had looked down upon me in mercy. He was soon to break that peace with the
great apostate church, which is poisoning the world with the wine of her
enchantments, that I might walk in the light of the Gospel and possess that
peace and joy which passeth all understanding.
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 65 Back to Top
Bishop
Smith had fulfilled his promise in addressing to me a testimonial letter, which
would show to both friends and foes that the most honourable and lasting peace
between us was to succeed the deplorable years of strife through which we had
just passed. I read it with Grand Vicar Dunn, who was not less pleased than I
with the kind expressions of esteem towards my people and myself with which it
was filled. I had never had a document in which my private and public character
were so kindly appreciated. I put it in my portfolio as the most precious
treasure I had ever possessed, and my gratitude to the bishop who had written
such friendly lines, was boundless. I, at once, addressed a short letter to
thank and bless him: and I requested him to pray for me during the happy days
of retreat I was to spend at the monastery of St. Joseph.
The venerable Grand Vicar Surin, and his assistant, Rev. M. Granger, received
me as two Christian gentlemen receive a brother priest, and I may say that,
during my stay in the monastery, they constantly overwhelmed me with the most
sincere marks of kindness. I found in them both the very best types of priests
of Rome. A volume, and not a chapter, would be required, were I to tell what I
saw there of the zeal, devotedness, ability and marvelous success of their
labours. Suffice it to say, that Grand Vicar Saurin is justly considered one of
the greatest and highest intellects Rome has ever given to the United States.
There is not, perhaps, a man who had done so much for the advancement of that
church in this country as that highly gifted priest. My esteem, respect, I
venture to say, my veneration for him, increased every time I had the privilege
of conversing with him. The only things which pained me were:
1st. When some of his inferior monks came to speak to him, they had to kneel
and prostrate themselves as if he had been a god, and they had to remain in
that humble and degrading posture, till, with a sign of his hand or a word from
his lips, he told them to rise.
2nd. Though he promised to the numerous Protestant parents, who entrusted their
boys and girls to his care for their education, never to interfere with their
religion, he was, nevertheless, incessantly proselytizing them. Several of his
Protestant pupils were received in the Church of Rome, and renounced the
religion of their fathers, in my presence, on the eve of Easter of that year.
While, as a priest, I rejoined in the numerous conquests of my church over her
enemies, in all her colleges and nunneries, I objected to the breach of
promise, always connected with those conversions. I, however, then thought, as
I think today, that a Protestant who takes his children to a Roman Catholic
priest or a nun for their education, had no religion. It is simply an absurdity
to promise that we will respect the religion of a man who has none. How can we
respect that which does not exist?
As a general thing, there are too few people who understand the profound
meaning of our Saviour's words to His disciples: "Come ye yourselves apart
into a desert place and rest awhile." These words, uttered after the
apostles had gathered themselves together unto Jesus, and told Him all things
both what they had done and taught, ought to receive more attention, on the
part of those whom the Son of God has chosen to continue the great work of
preaching His Gospel to the world. I had never before so well realized how good
it was to be alone with Christ, and tell Him all I had done, said, and taught.
Those few days of rest and communion with my Saviour were one of the greatest
favours my merciful God had ever given me.
My principal occupation was to read and meditate on the Gospel. That divine
book had never been so precious to me as since God had directed me to put it as
the fundamental stone of my faith in the act of submission I had just given to
my bishop: and my church had never been so dear to me as since she had accepted
that conditional submission. I felt a holy pride and joy at having finally
silenced the voice of the enemy which, so often, troubled my faith by crying to
my soul: "Do you not see that in your Church of Rome, you do not follow
the Word of God, but only the lying traditions of men." My church, through
her bishop, had just given me what I considered an infallible assurance of the
contrary, by accepting the document signed by me and by my people, where we had
clearly said that we would never obey any authority or any superior, except when
"their orders or doctrines would be based upon the Gospel of Christ."
My soul was rejoicing in those thoughts, when on the 5th of April (Monday after
Easter) Grand Vicar Saurin handed me a letter from Mr. Dunn, telling me that a
new storm, brought by the Jesuits, and more formidable than the past ones, was
about to break on me; that I had to prepare for new and more serious conflicts
than I had ever experienced.
The next morning, Mr. Saurin handed me another letter from the Bishop of
Dubuque and with a sympathy which I will never forget, he said: "I am
sorry to see that you are not at the end of your troubles, as you expected.
Bishop Smith orders you back to Dubuque with words which are far from being
friendly." But, strange to say, this bad news, which would have saddened
and discouraged me in other circumstances, left me perfectly calm and cheerful
on that day. In my dear Gospel, which had been my daily bread, the last eight
days, I had found the helmet for my head, the breastplate and the shield to protect
me, and the unconquerable sword with which to fight. From every page, I head my
Saviour's voice: "Fear not, I am with thee" (Isaiah xlii. 5).
When on my way back to Dubuque, I stopped at Chicago to know from my faithful
friend, Mr. Dunn, the cause of the new storm. He said:
"You remember how Grand Vicar Mailloux was displeased with the conditional
submission you had given to the bishop. As soon as we had left him, he sent the
young priest who is with him to the Jesuits of Chicago to tell them that the
authority of the church and of the bishop would be for ever lost if Chiniquy
were allowed to submit on such a condition. He wanted them to notice that it
was not to the authority of the bishops and the church you had submitted; but
only to the authority of the Bible. The Jesuits were of the same mind. They
immediately sent to Dubuque, and said to the bishop, 'Do you not see that
Chiniquy is a disguised Protestant; that he has deceived you by presenting you
such an act of submission. Does not your lordship see that Chiniquy has not
submitted himself to your authority, but to the authority of his Bible alone?
Do you not fear that the whole body of the bishops and the Pope himself will
condemn you for having fallen into the trap prepared by that disguised Protestant?'
Our administrator, though a good man when left to himself, is weak, and like
soft wax, can be manipulated in every way. The Jesuits, who want to rule the
priests and the church with an iron rod, and who are aiming to change the Pope
and the bishops into the most heartless tyrants, have advised the administrator
to force you to give an unconditional act of submission. It is not the Word of
God which must rule us now. It is the old Jupiter who is coming back to rule us
under the name of a modern divinity, called 'the authority of the bishops.' The
administrator and the Jesuits themselves have telegraphed your submission to
several bishops, who have unanimously answered that it must be rejected, and
another, without condition, requested from you. You were evidently too correct
when you told me, the other day, that your act of submission was too good for
the bishops and the Pope. What will you do?"
I replied: "I do not know what I will do, but be sure of this, my dear Mr.
Dunn, I will do what our great and merciful God will tell me."
"Very well, very well," he answered; "may God help you!"*
After warmly shaking hands with me, I left to take the train for Dubuque, where
I arrived next morning. I went immediately to the bishop's palace. I found him
in the company of a Jesuit, and I felt myself as a poor helpless ship between
two threatening icebergs.
"Your lordship wants to see me again," I said.
"Yes, sir, I want to see you again," he answered.
"What do you want from me, my lord?" I replied.
"Have you the testimonial letter I addressed to you at Chicago last
week?"
"Yes, my lord, I have it with me."
"Will you please show it to me?" he replied.
"With pleasure here it is;" and I handed him the precious document.
As soon as he had assured himself that it was the very letter in question, he
ran to the stove and threw it into the fire. I felt so puzzled at the action of
my bishop that I remained almost paralyzed; but soon coming to myself, I ran to
save from the flames that document which was more valuable and precious to me
than all the gold of California, but it was too late. It was in ashes. I turned
to the bishop and said: "How can you take from me a document which is my
property, and destroy it without my permission?"
He answered me with an impudence that cannot be expressed on paper: "I am
your superior, and have no account to give you."
I replied: "Yes, my lord, you are my superior indeed! You are a great
bishop in our church, and I am nothing but a poor miserable priest. But there
is an Almighty God in heaven, who is as much above you as He is above me. That
great God has granted me rights which I will never give up to please any man.
In the presence of that God I protest against your iniquity."
"Have you come here to lecture me?" replied the bishop.
"No, my lord, I did not come to lecture you; I come at your command, but I
want to know if it was to insult me as you have just done that you requested me
to come here again."
"I ordered you to come here again because you deceived me the last time
you were here," he answered: "you gave me an act of submission which
you know very well is not an act of submission. I accepted it then, but I was
mistaken; I reject it today."
I answered: "How can you say that I deceived you? The document I presented
you is written in good, plain English. It is there, on your table, I see it:
you read it twice, and understood it well. If you were deceived by its
contents, you deceived yourself. You are, then, a self-deceiver, and you cannot
accuse me of having deceived you."
He then took the document, read it slowly; and when at the words, "we
submit ourselves to your authority, according to the Word of God as we find it
in the Gospel of Christ," he stopped and said: "What do you mean by
this?"
I answered, "I mean what you see there. I mean that neither I nor my
people will ever submit ourselves to anybody, except according to the eternal
laws of truth, justice, and holiness of God, as we find them expressed in the
Bible."
He angrily answered, "Such language on your part is sheer Protestantism. I
cannot accept such a conditional submission from any priest."
Then again I seemed to hear the mysterious voice, "Do you not see that in
your Church of Rome you do not follow the Word of God, but the lying traditions
of men?"
Thanks be to God, I did not silence the voice in that solemn hour. An ardent,
though silent prayer, went from the bottom of my heart to God! speak, speak
again to Thy poor servant, and grant me the grace to follow Thy holy
Word!" I then said to the bishop:-
"You distress me by rejecting this act of submission, and asking another.
Please explain yourself more clearly, and tell me the nature of the new one you
require from me and my people."
Taking then a more subdued and polite tone, the bishop said:
"I hope, Mr. Chiniquy, that, as a good priest, you do not want to rebel
against your bishop, and that you will give me the act of submission I ask from
you. Take away these 'Words of God,' 'Gospel of Christ,' and 'Bible' from your
present document, and I will be satisfied."
"But, my lord, with my people I have put these words because we want to
obey only the bishops who follow the Word of God. We want to submit only to the
church which respects and follows the Gospel of Christ."
In an irritated manner he quickly answered: "Take away from your act of
submission those 'Words of God,' and 'Gospel of Christ,' and 'Bible!' of I will
punish you as a rebel."
"My lord," I replied, "those expressions are there to show us
and to the whole world that the Word of God, the Gospel of Christ, and the
Bible are the fundamental stones of our holy church. If we reject those
precious stones, on what foundations will our church and our faith rest?"
He answered angrily: "Mr. Chiniquy, I am your superior, I do not want to
argue with you. You are inferior: your business is to obey me. Give me at once
an act of submission, in which you will simply say that you and your people
will submit yourselves to my authority, and promise to do anything I will bid
you."
I calmly answered: "What you ask me is not an act of submission, it is an
act of adoration. I do absolutely refuse to give it."
"If it be so, sir," he answered, "you can no longer be a Roman
Catholic priest."
I raised my hands to heaven, and cried with a loud voice: "May God Almighty
be for ever blessed."
I took my hat, and left to go to my hotel. When alone in my room I locked the
door and fell on my knees, to consider, in the presence of God, what I had just
done. There the awful, undeniable truth stared me in the face. My church could
not be the church of Christ! That sad truth had not been revealed to me by any
Protestant, not any other enemy of the church. It was from her own lips I had
got it! It had been told me by one of her most learned and devoted bishops! My
church was the deadly, the irreconcilable enemy of the Word of God, as I had so
often suspected! I was not allowed to remain a single day longer in that church
without positively and publicly giving up the Gospel of Christ! It was evident
to me that the Gospel was only a blind, a mockery to conceal her iniquities,
tyrannies, superstitions, and idolatries. The only use of the Gospel in my
church was to throw dust in the eyes of the priests and people! It had no
authority. The only rule and guide were the will, the passions, and the
dictates of sinful men!
There, on my knees, and alone with God, it was evident to me that the voice
which had so often troubled and shaken my faith, was the voice of my merciful
God. It was the voice of my dear Saviour, who was bringing me out of the ways
of perdition in which I had been walking. And I had tried so often to silence
that voice!
"My God! my God!" I cried, "The Church of Rome is not Thy
church. to obey the voice of my conscience, which is Thine, I gave it up. When
I had the choice between giving up that church or the Bible, I did not
hesitate. I could not give up Thy Holy Word. I have given up Rome! But, oh
Lord, where is Thy church? Oh! speak!! where must I go to be saved?"
For more than one hour I cried to God in vain; no answer came. In vain I cried
for a ray of light to guide me. The more I prayed and wept, the greater was the
darkness which surrounded me! I then felt as if God had forsaken me, and an
unspeakable distress was the result of that horrible thought. To add to that
distress, the thought flashed across my mind that by giving up the Church of
Rome, I had given up the church of my dear father and mother, of my brother, my
friends, and my country in fact, all that was near and dear to me!
I hope that none of my readers will ever experience what it is to give up
friends, relatives, parents, honour, country everything! I did not regret the
sacrifice, but I felt as if I could not survive it. With tears, I cried to God
for more strength and faith to bear the cross which was laid on my too weak
shoulders, but all in vain.
Then I felt that an implacable war was to be declared against me, which would
end only with my life. The Pope, the bishops, and priests, all over the world,
would denounce and curse me. They would attack and destroy my character, my
name and my honour, in their press, from their pulpit, and in their
confessionals, where the man they strike can never know whence the blow is
coming! Almost in despair, I tried to think of some one who would come to my help
in that formidable conflict, but could find none. Every one of the millions of
Roman Catholics were bound to curse me. My best friends my own people even my
own brothers, were bound to look upon me with horror as an apostate, a vile
outcast! Could I hope for help or protection from Protestants? No! for my
priestly life had been spent in writing and preaching against them. In vain
would I try to give an idea of the desolation I felt when that thought struck
my mind.
Forsaken by God and man, what would become of me? Where would I go when out of
that room? Expelled with contempt by my former Roman Catholic friends; repulsed
with still more contempt by Protestants: where could I go to hide my shame and
drag on my miserable existence? How could I go to hide into that world where
there was no more room for me; where there was no hand to press mine; none to
smile upon me! Life suddenly became to me an unbearable burden. My brain seemed
to be filled with burning coals. I was losing my mind. Yea, death, and instant death,
seemed to me the greatest blessing in that awful hour! and, will I say it? Yes!
I took my knife to cut my throat, and put an end to my miserable existence! But
my merciful God, who wanted only to humble me, by showing me my own
helplessness, stopped my hand, and the knife fell on the floor.
Though I felt the pangs of that desolation for more than two hours, I
constantly cried to God for a ray of His saving light, for a word telling me
what to do, where to go to be saved. At last, drops of cold sweat began to
cover again my face and my whole body. The pulsations of my heart began to be
very slow and weak: I felt so feeble that I expected to faint at any moment, or
fall dead! At first, I thought that death would be a great relief, but then, I
said to myself, "If I die, where will I go, when there is no faith, nor a
ray of light to illumine my poor perishing soul! Oh, my dear Saviour," I
cried, "come to my help! Lift up the light of Thy reconciled countenance
upon me."
In that very instant, I remembered that I had my dear New Testament with me,
which I used then, as now, to carry everywhere. The thought flashed across my
mind that I would find in that Divine book the answer to my prayer, and light
to guide me thorough that dark night, to that house of refuge and salvation,
after which my soul was ardently longing. With a trembling hand and a praying
heart, I opened the book at random but no! not I, my God himself opened it for
me. My eyes fell on these words: "YE ARE BOUGHT WITH A PRICE. BE NOT YE THE
SERVANTS OF MEN" (I Cor. vii. 23).
Strange to say! Those words came to my mind, more as a light than an
articulated sound. They suddenly but most beautifully and powerfully gave me,
as much as a man can know it, the knowledge of the great mystery of a perfect
salvation through Christ alone. They at once brought a great and delightful
calm to my soul. I said to myself: "Jesus has bought me, then I am His;
for when I have bought a thing it is mine, absolutely mine! Jesus has bought
me! I, then, belong to Him! He alone has a right over me. I do not belong to
the bishops, to the popes, not even to the church, as I have been told till
now. I belong to Jesus and to Him alone! His Word must be my guide, and my
light by day and by night. Jesus has bought me," I said again to myself;
"then He has saved me! and if so, I am saved, perfectly saved, for ever
saved! for Jesus cannot save me by half. Jesus is my God; the works of God are
perfect. My salvation must, then, be a perfect salvation. But how has He saved
me? What price has He paid for my poor guilty soul?" The answer came as
quickly as lightning: "He bought you with His blood shed on the cross! He
saved you by dying on Calvary!"
I then said to myself again: "If Jesus has perfectly saved me by shedding
His blood on the cross, I am not saved, as I have thought and preached till
now, by my penances, my prayers to Mary and the saints, my confessions and
indulgences, not even by the flames of purgatory!"
In that instant, all things which, as a Roman Catholic, I had to believe to be
saved all the mummeries by which the poor Roman Catholics are so cruelly
deceived, the chaplets, indulgences, scapularies, auricular confession,
invocation of the virgin, holy water, masses, purgatory, ect., given as means
of salvation, vanished from my mind as a huge tower, when struck at the
foundation, crumbles to the ground. Jesus alone remained in my mind as the
Saviour of my soul!
Oh! what a joy I felt at this simple, but sublime truth! But it was the will of
God that this joy should be short. It suddenly went away with the beautiful
light which had caused it; and my poor soul was again wrapped in the most awful
darkness. However profound that darkness was, a still darker object presented
itself before my mind. It was a very high mountain, but not composed of sand or
stones, it was a mountain of my sins. I saw them all standing before me. And
still more horrified was I when I saw it moving towards me as if, with a mighty
hand, to crush me. I tried to escape, but in vain. I felt tied to the floor,
and the next moment it had rolled over me. I felt as crushed under its weight;
for it was as heavy as granite. I could scarcely breathe! My only hope was to
cry to God for help. With a loud voice, heard by many in the hotel, I cried:
"O my God! have mercy upon me! My sins are destroying me! I am lost, save
me!" But, it seemed God could not hear me. The mountain was between, to
prevent my cries from reaching Him, and to hide my tears. I suddenly thought
that God would have nothing to do with such a sinner, but to open the gates of
hell to throw me into that burning furnace prepared for his enemies, and which
I had so richly deserved!
I was mistaken. After eight or ten minutes of unspeakable agony, the rays of a
new and beautiful light began to pierce through the dark cloud which hung over
me. In that light, I clearly saw my Saviour. There He was, bent under the
weight of His heavy cross. His face was covered with blood, the crown of thorns
was on His head, and the nails in His hands. He was looking to me with an
expression of compassion, love, which no tongue can describe. Coming to me, He
said: "I have heard thy cries, I have seen thy tears, I have given Myself
for thee. My blood and My bruised body have paid thy debts; wilt thou give Me
thy heart? Wilt thou take My Word for the only lamp of thy feet, and the only
light of thy path? I bring thee eternal life as a gift!"
`I answered: "Dear Jesus, how sweet are Thy words to my soul! Speak, oh!
speak again! Yes, beloved Saviour, I want to love Thee; but dost Thou see that
mountain which is crushing me? Oh! remove it! Take away my sins!"
I had not done speaking when I saw His mighty hand stretched out. He touched
the mountain, and it rolled into the deep and disappeared. At the same time, I
felt as if a shower of the blood of the Lamb were falling upon me to purify my
soul. And, suddenly, my humble room was transformed into a real paradise. The
angels of God could not be more happy than I was in that most mysterious and
blessed hour of my life. With an unspeakable joy, I said to my Saviour:
"Dear Jesus, the gift of God! Thou hast brought me the pardon of my sins
as a gift. Thou has brought me eternal life as a gift! Thou hast redeemed and
saved me, beloved Saviour; I know, I feel it. But this is not enough. I do not
want to be saved alone. Save my people also. Save my whole country! I feel rich
and happy in that gift; grant me to show its beauty, and preciousness, to my
people, that they may rejoice in its possession."
This sudden revelation of that marvelous truth of salvation as a gift, had so
completely transformed me, that I felt quite a new man. The unutterable
distress of my soul had been changed into an unspeakable joy. My fears had gone
away, to be replaced by a courage and a strength such as I had never
experienced. The Popes, with their bishops and priests, and millions of abject
slaves might now attack me, I felt that I was a match for them all. My great
ambition was to go back to my people and tell them what the Lord had done for
my soul. I washed my tears away, paid my bill, and took the train which brought
me back into the midst of my dear countrymen. At that very same hour they were
very anxious and excited, for they had just received, at Kankakee City, a
telegram from the Bishop of Dubuque, telling them: "Turn away your priest,
for he has refused to give me an unconditional act of submission."
They had gathered in great numbers to hear the reading of that strange message.
But they unanimously said: "If Mr. Chiniquy has refused to give an unconditional
act of submission, he has done right, we will stand by him to the end."
However, I knew nothing of that admirable resolution. I arrived at St. Anne on
a Sabbath day at the hour of the morning service. There was an immense crowd at
the door of the chapel. They rushed to me, and said: "You are just coming
from the bishop; what good news have you to bring us?"
I answered: "No news here, my good friends; come to the chapel and I will
tell you what the Lord had done for my soul."
When they had filled the large building, I told them:
"Our Saviour, the day before His death, said to His disciples: 'I will be
a scandal* to you, this night.' I must tell you the same thing. I will be,
today, I fear, the cause of a great scandal to every one of you. But, as the
scandal which Christ gave to His disciples has saved the world, I hope that, by
the great mercy of God, the scandal I will give you will save you. I was your
pastor till yesterday! But I have no more that honour today, for I have broken
the ties by which I was bound as a slave at the feet of the bishops and of the
Pope."
This sentence was scarcely finished, when a universal cry of surprise and
sadness filled the church: "Oh! what does that mean!" exclaimed the
congregation.
"My dear countrymen," I added, "I have not come to tell you to
follow me! I did not die to save your immortal souls; I have not shed my blood
to buy you a place in heaven; but Christ has done it. Then follow Christ and
Him alone! Now, I must tell you why I have broken the ignominious and
unbearable yoke of men, to follow Christ. You remember that, on the 21st of
March last, you signed, with me, an act of submission to the authority of the
Bishop of the Church of Rome, with the conditional clause that we would obey
him only in matters which were according to the teachings of the Word of God as
found in the Gospel of Christ. In that act of submission we did not want to be
slaves of any man, but the servants of God, the followers of the Gospel. It was
our hope then, that our church would accept such a submission. And your joy was
great when you heard that Grand Vicar Dunn was here on the 28th of March to
tell you that Bishop Smith had accepted the submission. But that acceptation
was revoked. Yesterday, I was told, in the presence of God, by the same bishop,
that he ought not to have accepted an act of submission from any priest or
people based on the Gospel of Christ! Yes! yesterday Bishop Smith rejected,
with the utmost contempt, the act of submission we had given him, and which he
had accepted only two weeks ago, because 'the Word of God' was mentioned in it!
When I respectfully requested him to tell me the nature of the new act of
submission he wanted from us, he ordered me to take away from it 'the Word of
God, the Gospel of Christ, and the Bible,' if we wanted to be accepted as good
Catholics! WE had thought, till then, that the sacred Word of God and Holy
Gospel of Christ were the fundamental and precious stones of the Church of
Rome. We loved her on that account, we wanted to remain in her bosom, even when
we were forced to fight as honest men, against that tyrant, O'Regan. Believing
that the Church of Rome was the child of the Word of God, that it was the most
precious fruit of the Divine tree planted on the earth, under the name of the
Gospel, we would have given the last drop of our blood to defend her!
"But, yesterday, I have learned from the very lips of a Bishop of Rome,
that we were a band of simpletons in believing those things. I have learned
that the Church of Rome has nothing to do with the Word of God, except to throw
it overboard, to trample it under their feet, and to forbid us even to name it
even in the solemn act of submission we have given. I have been told that we
could no longer be Roman Catholics, if we persisted in putting the Word of God
and the Gospel of Christ as the foundation of our religion, our faith and our
submission. When I was told by the bishop that I had either to renounce the
Word of God as the base of my submission, or the title of the priest of Rome, I
did not hesitate. Nothing could induce me to give up the Gospel of Christ; and
so I gave up the title and position of priest in the Roman Catholic Church. I
would rather suffer a thousand deaths than renounce the Gospel of Christ. I am
no longer a priest of Rome; but I am more than ever a disciple of Christ, a
follower of the Gospel. That Gospel is for me, what it was for Paul, 'The power
of God unto salvation' (Rom. i. 16). It is the bread of my soul. In it we can
satisfy our thirst with the waters of eternal life! No! no!! I could not buy
the honour of being any longer a slave to the bishops and popes of Rome, by
giving up the Gospel of Christ!
"When I requested the bishop to give me the precise form of submission he
wanted from us, he answered: "Give me an act of submission, without any
condition, and promise that you will do anything I bid you.' I replied:
"'This is not an act of submission, it is an act of adoration! I will
never give it to you!'
"'If so,' said he, 'you can no longer be a Roman Catholic priest.'
"I raised my hands to heaven, and with a loud and cheerful voice, I said:
'My God Almighty be for ever blessed!'"
I then told them something of my desolation, when alone, in my room; of the
granite mountain which had been rolled over my shoulders, of my tears, an of my
despair. I told them also how my bleeding, dying, crucified Saviour had brought
me the forgiveness of my sins; how He had given me eternal salvation, as a
gift, and how rich, happy, and strong I felt in that gift. I then spoke to them
about their own souls.
My address lasted more than two hours, and God blessed it in a marvelous way.
Its effects were profound and lasting, but it is too long to be described here.
In substance, I said: "I respect you too much to impose myself upon your
honest consciences, or to dictate what you ought to do on this most solemn
occasion. I feel that the hour has come for me to make a great sacrifice; I
must leave you! but, no! I will not go away before you tell me to do so. You
will yourselves break the ties so dear which have united us. Please, pay
attention to these, my parting words: If you think it is better for you to
follow the Pope than to follow Christ; that it is better to trust in the works
of your hands, and in your own merits, than in the blood of the Lamb, shed on
the cross, to be saved; if you think it is better for you to follow the
traditions of men than the Gospel; and if you believe that it is better for you
to have a priest of Rome, who will keep you tied as slaves to the feet of the
bishops, and who will preach to you the ordinances of men, rather than have me
preach to you nothing but the pure Word of God, as we find it in the Gospel of
Christ, tell it to me by rising up, and I will go!" But, to my great
surprise, nobody moved. The chapel was filled with sobs; tears were flowing
from every eye; but not one moved to tell me to leave them! I was puzzled. For
though I had hoped that many, enlightened by the copies of the New Testament
that I had given them, tired of the tyranny of the bishops, and disgusted with
the superstitions of Rome, would be glad to break the yoke with me, to follow
Christ, I was afraid that the greatest number would not dare to break their
allegiance to the church, and publicly give up her authority. After a few
minutes of silence, during which I mixed my tears and my sobs with those of my
people, I told them: "Why do you not at once rise up and tell me to go?
You see that I can no longer remain your pastor after renouncing the tyranny of
the bishops and the traditions of men to follow the Gospel of Christ as my only
rule. Why do you not bravely tell me to go away?"
But this new appeal was still without any answer I was filled with
astonishment. However, it was evident to me that a great and mysterious change
was wrought in that multitude. Their countenances, their manners, were
completely changed. They were speaking to me with their eyes filled with tears,
and their manly faces beaming with joy. Their sobs, in some way, told me that
they were filled with new light; that they were full of new strength, and ready
to make the most heroic sacrifices, and break their fetters to follow Christ,
and Him alone. There was something in those brave, honest and happy faces which
was telling me more effectually than the most eloquent speech: "We believe
in the gift, we want to be rich, happy, free, and saved in the gift: we do not
want anything else: remain among us and teach us to love both the gift and the
giver!"
A thought suddenly flashed across my mind, and with an inexpressible sentiment
of hope and joy, I told them: "My dear countrymen! The Mighty God, who
gave me His saving light, yesterday, can grant you the same favour today. He
can, as well, save a thousand souls as one. I see, in your noble and Christian
faces, that you do not want any more to be slaves of men. You want to be the
free children of God, intelligent followers of the Gospel! The light is
shining, and you like it. The gift of God has been given to you! With me, you
will break the fetters of a captivity, worse than that of Egypt, to follow the
Gospel of Christ, and take possession of the Promised Land: let all those who
think it is better to follow Jesus Christ than the Pope, better to follow the
Word of God than the traditions of men; let all those of you who want me to
remain here and preach to you nothing but the Word of God, as we find it in the
Gospel of Christ, tell it to me, by rising up. I am your man! Rise up!"
Without a single exception, that multitude arose! More than a thousand of my
countrymen had, for ever, broken their fetters. They had crossed the Red Sea
and exchanged the servitude of Egypt for the blessings of the Promised Land!
[Bold emphasis by WStS]
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CHAPTER 66 Back to Top
Where
shall I find words to express the sentiments of surprise, admiration and joy I
felt when, after divine service, alone in my humble study, I considered, in the
presence of God, what His mighty hand had just wrought under my eyes. The
people who surrounded the Saviour when He cried to Lazarus to come forth, were
not more amazed at seeing the dead coming out of his grave than I was when I
had seen, not one, but more than a thousand, of my countrymen so suddenly and
unexpectedly coming out from the grave of the degrading slavery in which they
were born and brought up. No, the heart of Moses was not filled with more joy
than mine, when on the shores of the Red Sea, he sang his sublime hymn:
"I will sing unto the Lord: for He hath triumphed gloriously: the horse and
his rider hath He thrown into the sea. The Lord is my strength and song, and He
is become my salvation: He is my God, and I will prepare Him an habitation: my
fathers' God, and I will exalt Him" (Ex. xv. 2).
My
joy was, however, suddenly changed into confusion, when I considered the
unworthiness of the instrument which God had chosen to do that work. I felt
this was only the beginning of the most remarkable religious reform which had
ever occurred on this continent of America, and I was dismayed at the thought
of such a task! I saw, at a glance, that I was called to guide my people into
regions entirely new and unexplored. The terrible difficulties which Luther,
Calvin and Knox had met, at almost every step, were to meet me. Though giants,
they had, at many times, been bought low and almost discouraged in their new
positions. What would become of me, seeing that I was so deficient in
knowledge, wisdom and experience!
Many times, during the first night after the deliverance of my people from the
bondage of the Pope, I said to my God in tears: "Why hast not Thou chosen
a more worthy instrument of Thy mercies towards my brethren?" I would have
shrank before the task, had not God said to me in His Word: "For ye see
your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many
mighty, not many noble, are called; but God hath chosen the foolish things of
the world to confound the wise. And God hath chosen the weak things of the
world to confound the things which are mighty, and base things of the world and
things which are despised, hath God chosen; yea, the things which are not, to
bring to naught the things that are, that no flesh should glory in His
presence" (I Cor. i. 29 29).
These words calmed my fears and gave me new courage. Next morning, I said to
myself: "Is it not God alone who has done the great things of yesterday?
Why should I not rely upon Him for the things which remain to be done? I am
weak, it is true, but He is strong and mighty. I am unwise, but He is the God
of light and wisdom: I am sinful, but He is the God of holiness: He wants the
world to know that He is the worker."
It would make the most interesting book, were I to tell all the marvelous
episodes of the new battle my dear countrymen and I had to fight against Rome,
in those stormy but blessed days. Let me ask my readers to come with me to that
Roman Catholic family, and see the surprise and desolation of the wife and
children when the father returned from public service and said: "My dear
wife and children, I have, for ever, left the Church of Rome, and hope that you
will do the same. The ignominious chains by which we were tied, as the slaves
of the bishops and the Pope, are broken. Christ Jesus alone will reign over us
now. His Holy Word alone will rule and guide us. Salvation is a gift: I am
happy in it possession."
In another house, the husband had not been able to come to church, but the wife
and children had. It was now the wife who announced to her husband that she
had, for ever, renounced the usurped authority of the bishops and the Pope: and
that it was her firm resolution to obey no other master than Christ, and accept
no other religion than the one taught in the Gospel. At first, this was
considered only as a joke; but as soon as it was realized to be a fact, there
were, in many places, confusion, tears, angry words and bitter discussions. But
the God of truth, light and salvation was there; and as it was His work, the
storms were soon calmed, the tears dried, and peace restored.
A week had scarcely passed, when the Gospel cause had achieved one of the most
glorious victories over its implacable enemy, the Pope. In a few days, 405 out
of 500 families which were around me in St. Anne, had not only accepted the
Gospel of Christ, as their only authority in religion; but had publicly given
up the name of Roman Catholics, to call themselves Christian Catholics.
A few months later, a Romish priest, legally questioned on the subject, by the
Judge of Kankakee, had to swear that only fifteen families had remained Roman
Catholics in St. Anne.
A most admirable feature of this religious movement, was the strong
determination of those who had never been taught to read, to lose no time in
acquiring the privilege of reading for themselves the Divine Gospel which had
made them free from the bondage of man. Half of the people had never been
taught to read while in Canada; but as their children were attending the
schools we had established in different parts of the colony, every house, as
well as our chapel, on Sabbath days, was soon turned into a school-house, where
our school-boys and girls were the teachers, and the fathers and mothers, the
pupils. In a short time, there were but few, except those who refused to leave
Rome, who could not read for themselves the Holy Word of God.
But, however great the victory we had gained over the Pope, it was not yet
complete. It was true that the enemy had received a deadly wound. The beast,
with the seven heads, had its principal one severed. The usurped authority of
the bishops had been destroyed, and the people had determined to accept none
but the authority of Christ. But many false notions, drank with the milk of
their mothers, had been retained. Many errors and superstitions still remained
in their minds, as a mist after the rising of the sun, to prevent them from
seeing clearly the saving light of the Gospel, it was my duty to destroy those
superstitions, and root out these noxious weeds. But, I knew the formidable
difficulties the reformers of the fifteenth century had met, the deplorable
divisions which had spread among them, and the scandals which had so seriously
retarded and compromised the reformation.
I cried to God for wisdom and strength. Never had I understood so clearly, as I
did in that most solemn and difficult epoch of my life, the truth that prayer
is to the troubled mind what oil is to the raging waves of the sea. My people
and I, as are all Roman Catholics, were much given to the worship of images and
statues. There were fourteen beautiful pictures hung on the walls of our chapel
called: "The Way of the Cross," on which the circumstances of the
passion of Jesus Christ were represented, each surmounted with a cross. One of
our favourite devotional exercises, was to kneel, three or four times a week,
before them, prostrate ourselves and say, with a loud voice: "Oh! holy
cross, we adore thee." We used to address our most fervent prayers to
them, as if they could hear us, asking them to change our hearts and purify our
souls! Our blind devotions were so sincere that we used to bow our heads to the
ground before them. I may say the same of the beautiful statue, or rather idol,
of the Virgin Mary, represented as a child learning to read at the feet of her
mother, St. Anne.
The group was a masterpiece of art, sent to me by some rich friends from
Montreal, not long after I had left that city to form the colony of St. Anne,
in 1852. We had frequently addressed our most fervent prayers to those statues,
but after the blessed Pentecost on which we had broken the yoke of the Pope, I
never entered my church without blushing at the sight of those idols on the
altar. I would have given much to have the pictures, crosses and things
removed, but dare not lay hands suddenly on them, I was afraid, lest I should
do harm to some of my people who, it seemed to me, were yet too weak in their
religious views to bear it. I was just then reading how Knox and Calvin had
made bonfires of all those relics of old Paganism, and I wished I could do the
same; but I felt like Jacob, who could not follow the rapid march of his
brother, Esau, towards the land of Seir. "The children are tender and the
flocks and herds with young are with me. If men should overdrive them one day,
all the flock will die" (Gen. xxxiii. 13).
Our merciful God saw the perplexity in which I was, and taught me how to get
rid of those idols without harming the weak.
One Sabbath, on which I preached on the Second Commandment: "Thou shalt
not make to thyself any graven image," ect. (Exod. xx. 4), I remained in
the chapel to pray after the people had left. I looked up to the group of
statues on the altar, and said to them: "My good ladies, you must come
down from that high position: God Almighty alone is worshipped here now: if you
could walk out of this place I would politely invite you to do it. But you are
nothing but mute, deaf, blind and motionless idols: you have eyes, but you
cannot see: ears, but you cannot hear: feet, but you cannot walk. What will I
do with you now? Your reign has come to an end."
It suddenly came to my mind that when I had put these statues on their high
pedestal, I had tied them with a very slender, but strong silk cord, to prevent
them from falling. I said to myself: "If I were to cut that string, the
idols would surely fall, the first day the people would shake the floor when
entering or going out." Their fall and destruction would then scandalize
on one. I took my knife and scaled the altar, cut the string, and said:
"Now, my good ladies, take care of yourselves, especially when the chapel
is shaken by the wind, or the coming in of the people."
I never witnessed a more hearty laugh than at the beginning of the religious
services, on the next Sabbath. The chapel, being shaken by the action of the
whole people who fell on their knees to pray, the two idols, deprived of their
silk support, after a couple of jerks which, in former days, we might have
taken for a friendly greeting, fell down with a loud crash, and broke into
fragments. Old and young, strong and weak, and even babes in the faith, after
laughing to their hearts' content at the sad end of their idols, said to each
other: "How foolish and blind were we, to put our trust in, and pray to
these idols, that they might protect us, when they cannot take care of
themselves!" The last vestige of idol worship among our dear converts,
disappeared for ever with the dust and broken fragments of those poor helpless
statues. The very next day, the people themselves took away all the images
before which they had so often abjectly prostrated themselves, and destroyed
them.
From the beginning of this movement, it had been my plan to let the people draw
their own conclusions as much as possible from their own study of the Holy
Scriptures. I used to direct their steps, in such a way, that they might
understand that I was myself led with them by the mighty and merciful arm of
God, in our new ways. It was also evident to me that, from the beginning, the
great majority, after searching the Scriptures with prayerful attention, had
found out that Purgatory was a diabolical invention used by the priests of
Rome, to enrich themselves, at the expense of their poor blind slaves. But I
was also convinced that quite a number were not altogether free from that
imposture. I did not know how to attack and destroy that error without wounding
and injuring some of the weak children of the Gospel. After much praying, I
thought that the best way to clear the clouds which were still hovering around
the feeblest intelligences, was to have recourse to the following device:
The All Souls Day (1st Nov.) had come, when it was the usage to take up
collections for the sake of having prayers and masses said for the souls in
purgatory. I then said to the people, from the pulpit: "You have been
used, from your infancy, to collect money, today, in order to have prayers said
for the souls in purgatory. Since we have left the Church of Rome for the
Church of Christ, we have spent many pleasant hours together in reading and
meditating upon the Gospel. You know that we have not found in it a single word
about purgatory. From the beginning to the end of that divine book, we have
learned that it was only though the blood of the Lamb, shed on the Cross, that
our guilty souls could be purified from their sins. I know, however, that a few
of you have retained something of the views taught to you, when in the Church
of Rome, concerning purgatory. I do not want to trouble them by useless
discussions on the subject, or by refusing the money they want to give for the
souls of their dear departed parents and friends. The only thing I want to do
is this: You used to have a small box passed to you to receive that money.
Today, instead of one box, two boxes will be passed, one white, the other
black. Those who, like myself, do not believe in purgatory, will put their
donations in the white box, and the money will be given to the poor widows and
orphans of the parish to help them to get food and clothing for next winter.
Those of you who still believe in purgatory, will put their money into the
black box, for the benefit of the dead. The only favour I ask of them is that
they should tell me how to convey their donations to their departed friends. I
tell you frankly that the money you give to the priests, never goes to the
benefit of the souls of purgatory. The priests, everywhere, keep that money for
their own bread and butter."
My remarks were followed by a general smile. Thirty-five dollars were put in
the white box for the orphans and widows, and not a cent fell into the box for
the souls of purgatory.
From that day, by the great mercy of God, our dear converts were perfectly rid
of the ridiculous and sacrilegious belief in purgatory. This is the way I have
dealt with all the errors and idolatries of Rome. We had two public meetings
every week, when our chapel was as well filled as on Sabbath. After the
religious exercise, every one had the liberty to question me and argue on the
various subjects announced at the last meeting.
The doctrines of auricular confession, prayers in an unknown language, the
mass, holy water and indulgences, were calmly examined, discussed, and thrown
overboard, one after the other, in a very short time. The good done in those
public discussions was incalculable. Our dear converts not only learned the
great truths of Christianity, but they learned also how to defend and preach
them to their relations, friends and neighbours. Many would come from long
distances to see for themselves that strange religious movement which was
making so much noise all over the country. It is needless to say that few of
them went back without having received some rays of the saving light which the
Sun of Righteousness was so abundantly pouring upon me and my dear brethren of
St. Anne.
Three months after our exit from the land of bondage, we were not less than six
thousand French Canadian marching towards the Promised Land.
How can I express the joy of my soul, when, under cover of the darkness of
night, I was silently pacing the streets of our town, I heard, from almost
every house, sounds of reading the Holy Scriptures, or the melodies of our
delightful French hymns! How many times did I then, uniting my feeble voice
with that old prophet, say in the rapture of my joy: "Bless the Lord, O my
soul: and all that is within me, bless His holy name" (Ps. ciii. 1).
But it was necessary that such a great and blessed work should be tried. God
cannot be purified without going through the fire.
On the 27th of July, a devoted priest, through my friend, Mr. Dunn, of Chicago,
sent me the following copy of a letter, written by the Roman Catholic Bishop of
Illinois (Duggan) to several of his co-bishops: "The schism of the
apostate, Chiniquy, is spreading with an incredible and most irresistible
velocity. I am told that he has not less then ten thousand followers from his
countrymen. Though I hope that this number is an exaggeration, it shows that
the evil is great; and that we must not lose any time in trying to open the
eyes of the deluded people he is leading to perdition. I intend (D.V.) to visit
the very citadel of that deplorable schism, next Tuesday, the 3rd of August. As
I speak French almost as well as English, I will address the deluded people of
St. Anne in their own language. My intention is to unmask Chiniquy, and show
what kind of a man he is. Then I will show the people the folly of believing
that they can read and interpret the Scriptures, by their own private judgment.
After which, I will easily show them that out of the Church of Rome there is no
salvation. Pray to the blessed Virgin Mary that she may help me reclaim that
poor deceived people."
Having read that letter to the people on the first Sabbath of August, I said:
"We know a man only after he has been tried. So we know the faith of a
Christian only after it has been through the fire of tribulations. I thank God
that next Tuesday will be the day chosen by Him to show the world that you are
worthy of being in the front rank of the great army Jesus Christ is gathering
to fight His implacable enemy, the Pope, on this continent. Let every one of
you come and hear what the bishop has to say. Not only those who are in good
health must come, but even the sick must be brought to hear and judge for
themselves. If the bishop fulfills his promise to show you that I am a depraved
and wicked man, you must turn me out. You must give up or burn your Bibles, at
his bidding, if he proves that you have neither the right to read, nor the
intelligence to understand them; and if he shows you that, out of the Church of
Rome, there is no salvation, you must, without an hour's delay, return to that
church and submit yourselves to the Pope's bishops. But if he fails (as he will
surely do) you know what you have to do. Next Tuesday will be a most glorious
day for us all. A great and decisive battle will be fought here, such as this
continent has never witnessed, between the great principles of Christian truth
and liberty, and the principles of lies and tyranny of the Pope. I have only
one word more to say: From this moment to the solemn hour of the conflict, let
us humbly, but fervently ask our great God, through His beloved and eternal
Son, to look down upon us in His mercy, enlighten and strengthen us, that we
may be true to Him, to ourselves, and to His Gospel, and then, the angels of
heaven will unite with all the elect of God on earth to bless you for the great
and glorious victory you will win."
Never had the sun shone more brightly on our beautiful hill than on the 3rd of
August, 1858. The hearts had never felt so happy, and the faces had never been
so perfectly the mirrors of joyful minds, as on that day, among the multitudes
which began to gather from every corner of the colony, a little after twelve
o'clock, noon.
Seeing that our chapel, though very large, would not be able to contain half
the audience, we had raised a large and solid platform, ten feet high, in the
middle of the public square, in front of the chapel. We covered it with
carpets, and put a sofa, with a good number of chairs, for the bishop, his long
suite of priests, and one for myself, and a large table for the different books
of references I wanted to have at hand, to answer the bishop.
At about two o'clock p.m., we perceived his carriage, followed by several
others filled with priests. He was dressed in his white surplice, and his
official "bonnet carre" on his head, evidently to more surely command
the respect and awe of the multitude.
I had requested the people to keep silence and show him all the respect and
courtesy due a gentleman who was visiting them, for the first time.
As soon as his carriage was near the chapel, I gave a signal, and up went the
American flag to the top of a mast put on the sacred edifice. It was to warn
the ambassador of the Pope that he was not treading the land of the holy
inquisition and slavery, but the land of Freedom and Liberty. The bishop understood
it. For, raising his head to see that splendid flag of stripes and stars,
waving to the breeze, he became pale to death. And his uneasiness did not
abate, when the thousands round him rent the air with the cry: "Hurrah for
the flag of the free and the brave!" The bishop and his priests thought
this was the signal I had given to slaughter them; for they had been told
several times, that I and my people were so depraved and wicked that their
lives were in great danger among us. Several priests who had not much relish
for the crown of martyrdom, jumped from their carriages and ran away, to the
great amusement of the crowd. Perceiving the marks of the most extreme terror
on the face of the bishop, I ran to tell him that there was not the least
danger, and assured him of the pleasure we had to see him in our midst.
I offered my hand to help him down from his carriage, but he refused it. After
some minutes of trembling and hesitation, he whispered a few words in the ear
of his Grand Vicar Mailloux, who was well known by my people, and of whom I
have already spoken. I knew that it was by his advice that the bishop was among
us, and it was by his instigation that Bishop Smith had refused the submission
we had given him.
Rising slowly, he said with a loud voice: "My dear French Canadian
countrymen, here is your holy bishop. Kneel down, and he will give you his
benediction."
But, to the great disgust of the poor grand vicar, this so well laid plan for
beginning the battle failed entirely. Not a single one of that immense
multitude cared for the benediction. Nobody knelt.
Thinking that he had not spoken loud enough, he raised his voice to the highest
pitch and cried:
"My dear fellow countrymen: This is your holy bishop. He comes to visit
you. Kneel down, and he will give you his benediction."
But nobody knelt, and, what was worse, a voice from the crowd answered:
"Do you not know, sir, that there we no longer bend the knee before any
man? It is only before God we kneel."
The whole people cried "Amen!" to that noble answer. I could not
refrain a tear of joy from falling down my cheeks, when I saw how this first
effort of the ambassador of the Pope to entrap my people had signally failed.
But though I thanked God from the bottom of my heart for this first success He
had given to His soldiers, I knew the battle was far from being over.
I implored Him to bide with us, to be our wisdom and our strength to the end. I
looked at the bishop, and seeing his countenance as distressed as before, I
offered him my hand again, but he refused it the second time with supreme
disdain, but accepted the invitation I gave him to come to the platform.
When half way up the stairs he turned, and seeing me following him, he put
forth his hand to prevent me from ascending any further, and said: "I do
not want you on this platform; go down, and let my priests alone accompany
me."
I answered him: "It may be that you do not want me there, but I want to be
at your side to answer you. Remember that you are not on your own ground here,
but on mine!"
He then, silently and slowly, walked up. When on the platform, I offered him a
good arm-chair, which he refused, and sat on one of his own choice, with his
priests around him. I then addressed him as follows:
"My lord, the people and pastor of St. Anne are exceedingly pleased to see
you in their midst. We promise to listen attentively to what you have to say,
on condition that we have the privilege of answering you."
He answered angrily: "I do not want you to say a word here."
Then stepping to the front, he began his address in French, with a trembling
voice. But it was a miserable failure from beginning to end. In vain did he try
to prove that out of the Church of Rome, there is no salvation. He failed still
more miserably to prove that the people have neither the right to read the
Scriptures, nor the intelligence to understand them. He said such ridiculous
things on that point, that the people went into fits of laughter, and some
said: "This is not true. You do not know what you are talking about. The
Bible says the very contrary."
But I stopped them by reminding them of the promise they had made of not
interrupting him.
A little before the closing of his address, he turned to me and said: "You
are a wicked, rebel priest against your holy church. Go from here into a
monastery to do penance for your sins. You say that you have never been
excommunicated in a legal way! Well, you will not say that any longer, for I
excommunicate you now before this whole people."
I interrupted him and said: "You forget that you have no right to
excommunicate a man who has publicly left your church long ago."
He seemed to realize that he had made a fool of himself in uttering such a
sentence, and stopped speaking for a moment. Then, recalling his lost courage,
he took a new and impressive manner of speaking. He told the people how their
friends, their relatives, their very dear mothers and fathers in Canada were
weeping over their apostasy. He spoke for a time with great earnestness of the
desolation of all those who loved them, at the news of their defection from
their holy mother church. Then, resuming, he said: "My dear friends:
Please tell me what will be your guide in the ways of God after you have left
the holy church of your fathers, the church of your country; who will lead you
in the ways of God?"
Those words, which have been uttered with great emphasis and earnestness, were
followed by a most complete and solemn silence. Was that silence the result of
a profound impression made on the crowd, or was it the silence which always
precedes the storm? I could not say. But I must confess that, though I had not
lost confidence in God, I was not without anxiety. Though silent and ardent
prayers were going to the mercy-seat from my heart, I felt that that poor heart
was troubled and anxious, as it had never been before. I could have easily
answered the bishop and confounded him in a few words; but I thought that it
was much better to let the answer and rebuke come from the people.
The bishop, hoping that the long and strange silence was a proof that he had
successfully touched the sensitive cords of the hearts, and that he was to win
the day, exclaimed a second time with still more power and earnestness:
"My dear French Canadian friends: I ask you, in the name of Jesus Christ,
your Saviour and mine, in the name of your desolated mothers, fathers, and
friends who are weeping along the banks of your beautiful St. Lawrence River I
ask it in the name of your beloved Canada! Answer me! now that you refuse to
obey the holy Church of Rome, who will guide you in the ways of
salvation?"
Another solemn silence followed that impassionate and earnest appeal. But this
silence was not to be long. When I had invited the people to come and hear the
bishop, I requested them to bring their Bibles. Suddenly we heard the voice of
an old farmer, who, raising his Bible over his head with his two hands, said:
"This Bible is all we want to guide us in the ways of God. We do not want
anything but the pure Word of God to teach us what we must do to be saved. As
for you, sir, you had better go away and never come here any more."
And more than five thousand voices said "Amen!" to that simple and
yet sublime answer. The whole crowd filled the air with cries: "The Bible!
the Holy Bible, the holy Word of God is our only guide in the ways of eternal
life! Go away, sir, and never come again!"
These words, again and again repeated by the thousands of people who surrounded
the platform, fell upon the poor bishop's ears as formidable claps of thunder.
They were ringing as his death-knell in his ears. The battle was over, and he
had lost it.
Bathed in his tears, suffocated by his sobs, he sat or, to speak more
correctly, he fell into the arm-chair, and I feared at first lest he should
faint. When I saw that he was recovering and strong enough to hear what I had
to say, I stepped to the front of the platform. But I had scarcely said two
words when I felt as if the claws of a tiger were on my shoulders. I turned and
found that it was the clenched fingers of the bishop, who was shaking me while
he was saying with a furious voice: "No! no! not a word from you."
As I was about to show him that I had a right to refute what he had said, my
eyes fell on a scene which baffles all description. Those only who have seen the
raging waves of the sea suddenly raised by the hurricane can have an idea of
it. The people had seen the violent hand of the bishop raised against me; they
had heard his insolent and furious words forbidding me to say a single word in
answer: and a universal cry of indignation was heard: "The infamous
wretch! Down with him! He wants to enslave us again! he denies us the right of
free speech! he refuses to hear what our pastor has to reply! Down with
him!" At the same time a rush was made by many toward the platform to
scale it, and others were at work to tear it down. That whole multitude,
absolutely blinded by their uncontrollable rage, were as a drunken man who does
not know what he does. I had read that such things had occurred before, but I
hope I shall never see it again. I rushed to the head of the stairs, and with
great difficulty repulsed those who were trying to lay their hands on the
bishop. In vain I raised my voice to calm them, and make them realize the crime
they wanted to commit. No voice could be heard in the midst of such terrible
confusion. It was very providential that we had built the scaffold with strong
materials, so that it could resist the first attempt to break it.
Happily, we had in our midst a very intelligent young man called Bechard, who
was held in great esteem and respect. His influence, I venture to say, was
irresistible over the people. I called him to the platform, and requested him,
in the name of God, to appease the blind fury of that multitude. Strange to
say, his presence and a sign from his hand acted like magic.
"Let us hear what Bechard has to say," whispered every one to his
neighbour, and suddenly the most profound calm succeeded the most awful noise
and confusion I had ever witnessed. In a few appropriate and eloquent words,
that young gentleman showed the people that, far from being angry, they ought
to be glad at the exhibition of the tyranny and cowardice of the bishop. Had he
not confessed the weakness of his address when he refused to hear the answer?
Had he not confessed that he was the vilest and the most impudent of tyrants
when he had come into their very midst to deny them the sacred right of speech
and reply? Had he not proved, before God and man, that they had done well to
reject, for ever, the authority of the Bishop of Rome, when he was giving them
such an unanswerable proof that that authority meant the most unbounded tyranny
on his part, and he most degraded and ignominious moral degradation on the part
of his blind slaves?
Seeing that they were anxious to hear me, I then told them:
"Instead of being angry, you ought to bless God for what you have heard
and seen from the Bishop of Chicago. You have heard, and you are witnesses that
he has not given us a single argument to show that we were wrong when he gave
up the words of the Pope to follow the words of Christ. Was he not right when
he told you that there was no need, on my part, to answer him? Do you not all
agree that there was nothing to answer, nothing to refute in his long address?
Has not our merciful God brought that bishop into your midst today to show you
the truthfulness of what I have so often told you, that there was nothing
manly, nothing honest, or true in him? Have you heard from his lips a single
word which could have come from the lips of Christ? A word which could have
come from that great God who so loved His people that He sent His eternal Son
to save them? Was there a single sentence in all you heard which would remind
you that salvation through Christ was a gift? that eternal life was a free
gift? Have you heard anything from him to make you regret that you are no
longer his obedient and abject slaves?"
"No! no!" they replied.
"Then, instead of being angry with that man, you ought to thank him and
let him go in peace," I added.
"Yes! yes!" replied the people, "but on condition that he shall
never come again."
Then Mons. Bechard stepped to the front, raised his hat, and cried with his
powerful voice; "People of St. Anne! you have just gained the most
glorious victory which has ever been won by a people against their tyrants.
Hurrah for St. Anne, the grave of the tyranny of the Bishops of Rome in
America!"
That whole multitude, filled with joy, rent the air with the cry: "Hurrah
for St. Anne, the grave of the tyranny of the Bishops of Rome in America!"
I then turned towards the poor bishop and his priests, whose distress and fear
were beyond description, and told them: "You see that the people forgive
you the iniquity of your conduct, by not allowing them to answer you; but I advise
you not to repeat that insult here. Please take the advice they gave you; go
away as quickly as possible. I will go with you to your carriage, through the
crowd, and I pledge myself that you will be safe, provided you do not insult
them again."
Opening their ranks, the crowd made a passage, through which I led the bishop
and his long suite of priests to their carriages. This was done in the most
profound silence, only a few women whispering to the prelate as he was hurrying
by: "Away with you, and never come here again. Henceforward we follow
nothing but Christ."
Crushed by waves of humiliation, such as no bishop had ever met with on this
continent, the weight of the ignominy which he had reaped in our midst
completely overpowered his mind, and ruined him. He left us to wander every day
nearer the regions of lunacy. That bishop, whose beginning had been so
brilliant, after his shameful defeat at St. Anne, on the 3rd of August, 1858,
was soon to end his broken career in the lunatic asylum of St. Louis, where he
is still confined to-day.
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CHAPTER 67 Back to Top
The
marvelous power of the Gospel to raise a man above himself and give him a
supernatural strength and wisdom in the presence of the most formidable
difficulties has seldom been more gloriously manifested than on the 3rd of
August, 1858, on the hill of St. Anne, Illinois.
Surely the continent of America had never seen a more admirable transformation
of a whole people than was then and there accomplished. With no other help than
the reading of the Gospel, that people had suddenly exchanged the chains of the
most abject slavery for Christian Liberty.
By the strength of their faith they had pulverized the gigantic power of Rome,
put to flight the haughty representative of the Pope, and had raised the
banners of Christian Liberty on the very spot marked by the bishop as the
future citadel of the empire of Popery in the United States. Such work was so
much above my capacity, so much above the calculation of my intelligence, that
I felt that I was more its witness than its instrument. The merciful and mighty
hand of God was too visible to let any other idea creep into my mind; and the
only sentiments which filled my soul were those of an unspeakable joy, and of
gratitude to God. But I felt that the greater the favours bestowed upon us from
heaven, the greater were the responsibilities of my new position.
The news of that sudden religious reformation spread with lightning speed all
over the continents of America and Europe, and an incredible number of
inquiring letters reached me from every corner. Episcopalians, Methodists,
Congregationalists, Baptists, and Presbyterians, of every rank and colour,
kindly pressed me to give them some details. Of course, those letters were often
accompanied by books considered the most apt to induce me to join their
particular denominations.
Feeling too young and inexpert in the ways of God to give a correct
appreciation of the Lord's doings among us, I generally answered those kind
inquirers by writing them: "Please come and see with your own eyes the
marvelous things our merciful God is doing in the midst of us, and you will
help us to bless Him."
In less than six months, more than one hundred venerable ministers of Christ,
and prominent Christian laymen of different denominations, visited us. Among
those who first honoured us with their presence was the Right Rev. Bishop
Helmuth, of London, Canada; then, the learned Dean of Quebec, so well known and
venerated all over Great Britain and Canada. He visited us twice, and was one
of the most blessed instruments of the mercies of God towards us.
I am happy to say that those eminent Christians, without any exception, after
having spent from one to twenty days in studying for themselves this new religious
movement, declared that it was the most remarkable and solid evangelical
reformation among Roman Catholics they had ever seen. The Christians of the
cities of Chicago, Baltimore, Washington, Philadelphia, New York, Boston, ect.,
having expressed the desire to hear from me of the doings of the Lord among us,
I addressed them in their principal churches, and was received with such marks
of kindness and interest, for which I shall never be able sufficiently to thank
God.
I have previously said that we had, at first, adopted the beautiful name of
Christian Catholics, but we soon perceived that unless we joined one of the
Christian denominations of the day, we were in danger of forming a new sect.
After many serious and prayerful considerations, it seemed that the wisest
thing we could do was to connect ourselves with that branch of the vine which
was the nearest to, if not identical with, that of the French Protestants,
which gave so many martyrs to the Church of Christ. Accordingly, it was our
privilege to be admitted in the Presbyterian Church of the United States. The
Presbytery of Chicago had the courtesy to adjourn their meeting from that city
to our humble town, on the 15th of April, 1860, when I presented them with the
names of nearly two thousand converts, who, with myself, were received into
full communion with the Church of Christ.
This solemn action was soon followed by the establishment of missions and
congregations in the cities and towns of Chicago, Aurora, Kankakee, Middleport,
Watseka, Momence, Sterling, Manteno, ect., where the light of the Gospel had
been received by large numbers of our French Canadian emigrants, whom I had
previously visited.
The census of the converts taken then gave us about six thousand five hundred
precious souls already wrenched from the iron grasp of Popery. It was a result
much beyond my most sanguine hopes, and it would be difficult to express the
joy it gave me, if left alone, to distribute the bread of life to such
multitudes, scattered over a territory of several hundred miles. I determined,
with the help of God, to raise a college, where the children of our converts
would be prepared to preach the Gospel.
Thirty-two of our young men, having offered themselves, I added, at once to my
other labours, the daily task of teaching them the preparatory course of study
for their future evangelical work.
That year (1860) had been chosen by Scotland to celebrate the centenary
anniversary of her Reformation. The committee of management, composed of Dr.
Guthrie, Professor Cunningham, and Dr. Begg, invited me to attend their general
meetings in Edinburgh. On the 16th of August, it was my privilege to be
presented by those venerable men to one of the grandest and noblest assemblies
which the Church of Christ has ever seen. After the close of that great
council, which I addressed twice, I was invited, during the next six months, to
lecture in Great Britain, France, and Switzerland, and to raise the funds
necessary for our college. It was during that tour that I had the privilege of
addressing, at St. Etienne, the Synod of the Free Protestant Church of France,
lately established through the indomitable energy and ardent piety of the Rev.
Felix Monod.
Those six months' efforts were crowned with the most complete success, and more
than 15,000 dollars were handed me for our college by the disciples of Christ.
But it was the will of God that I should pass through the purifying fires of
the greatest tribulations. On my return from Europe into my colony, in the
beginning of 1861, I found everything in confusion. The ambition of the young
man I had invited to preach in my place, and in whom I had so imprudently put
too much confidence, encouraged by the very man I had chosen for my
representative and my attorney during my absence, came very near ruining that
great evangelical work, by sowing the seeds of division and hatred among our
dear converts. Through the dishonest and false reports of those two men, the
money I had collected and left in England (in the hands of a gentleman who was
bound to send it at my order) was retained nearly two years, and lost in the
failure of the Gelpeck New York Bank, through which it was sent. The only way
we found to save ourselves from ruin, was to throw ourselves into the hands of
our Christian brothers of Canada.
A committee of the Presbyterian Church, composed of Revs. Dr. Kemp, Dr. Cavan,
and Mr. Scott, was sent to investigate the causes of our troubles, and they
soon found them. Dr. Kemp published a critical resume of their investigation,
which clearly showed where the trouble lay. Our integrity and innocence were
publicly acknowledged, and we were solemnly and officially received as members
of the Presbyterian Church of Canada, on the 11th of June, 1863. We may
properly acknowledge here that the Christian devotedness, the admirable ability
and zeal of the late Dr. Kemp in performance of that work, has secured him our
lasting gratitude.
In 1874, I was again invited to Great Britain by the committee appointed to
prepare the congratulatory address of the English people to the Emperor of
Germany and Bismark, for their noble resistance to the encroachments of Popery.
I addressed the meetings held for that purpose in Exeter Hall, under the
presidency of Lord John Russell, on the 27th of January, 1874. The next several
Gospel ministers pressed me to publish my twenty-five years' experience of
auricular confession, as an antidote to the criminal and too successful efforts
of Dr. Pusey, who wanted to restore that infamous practice among the
Protestants of England.
After much hesitation and many prayers, I wrote the book entitled: "The
Priest, the Woman, and the Confessional," which God has so much blessed to
the conversion of many, that twenty-seven editions have already been published.
I spent the next six months in lecturing on Romanism in the principal cities of
England, Scotland and Ireland.
On my return, pressed by the Canadian Church to leave my colony of Illinois,
for a time at least, to preach in Canada, I went to Montreal, where, in the
short space of four years, we had the unspeakable joy to see seven thousand of
French Canadian Roman Catholics and emigrants from France, publicly renouncing
the errors of Popery to follow the Gospel of Christ.
In 1878, exhausted by the previous years of incessant labours, I was advised,
by my physicians, to breathe the bracing air of the Pacific Ocean. I crossed
the Rocky Mountains and spent two months lecturing in San Francisco, Portland,
Oregon, and in Washington Territory, where I found a great many of my French
countrymen, many of whom received the light of the Gospel with joy.
After this, I visited the Sandwich Islands, where I preached on my return,
crossed the Pacific and went to the Antipodes, lecturing two years in
Australia, Tasmania, and New Zealand. It would require a large volume to tell
the great mercies of God towards me during that long, perilous, but interesting
voyage. During those two years, I gave 610 public lectures, and came back to my
colony of St. Anne with such perfectly restored health, that I could say with
the Psalmist: "Bless the Lord, O my soul." "Thy youth is renewed
like the eagle's" (Ps. ciii. 1,5).
But the reader has the right to know something of the dangers through which it
has pleased God to make me pass.
Rome is the same today as she was when she burned John Huss and Wishart, and
when she caused 70,000 Protestants to be slaughtered in France, and 100,000 to
be exterminated in Piedmont in Italy.
On the 31st of December, 1869, I forced the Rt. Rev. Bishop Foley, of Chicago,
to swear before the civil court, at Kankakee, that the following sentence was
an exact translation of the doctrine of the Church of Rome as taught today in
all the Roman Catholic seminaries, colleges, and universities, through the
"Summa Theologica" of Thomas Aquinas (vol. iv. p. 90). "Though
heretics must not be tolerated because they deserve it, we must bear with them
till, by a second admonition, they may be brought back to the faith of the
church. But those who, after a second admonition, remain obstinate to their
errors, must not only be excommunicated, but they must be delivered to the
secular power to be exterminated."
It is on account of this law of the Church of Rome, which is today in full
force, as it was promulgated for the first time, that not less than thirty
public attempts have been made to kill me since my conversion.
The first time I visited Quebec, in the spring of 1859, fifty men were sent by
the Bishop of Quebec (Baillargeon) to force me to swear that I would never
preach the Bible, or to kill me in case of my refusal.
At 4 o'clock a.m., sticks were raised above my head, a dagger stuck in my
breast, and the cries of the furious mob were ringing in my ears:
"Infamous apostate! Now you are in our hands, you are a dead man if you do
not swear that you will never preach your accursed Bible."
Never had I seen such furious men around me. Their eyes were more like the eyes
of tigers than of men. I expected every moment to receive the deadly blow, and
I asked my Saviour to come and receive my soul. But the would-be murderers,
with more horrible imprecations, cried again: "Infamous renegade! Swear
that you will never preach any more your accursed Bible, or you are a dead
man!"
I raised my eyes and hands towards heaven and said: "Oh! my God! hear and
bless the last words of Thy poor servant: I solemnly swear, that so long as my
tongue can speak, I will preach Thy Word, as I find it in the Holy Bible!"
Then opening my vest and presenting my naked breast, I said: "Now!
Strike!"
But my God was there to protect me: they did not strike. I went through their
ranks into the streets, where I found a carter, who drove me to Mr. Hall, the
mayor of the city, for that day. I showed him my bleeding breast, and said:
"I just escaped, almost miraculously, from the hands of men sworn to kill
me if I preach again the Gospel of Christ. I am, however, determined to preach
again today at noon, even if I have to die in the attempt." I put myself
under the protection of the British flag.
Soon after, more than 1,000 British soldiers were around me, with fixed
bayonets. They formed themselves into two lines along the streets through which
the Mayor took me, in his own sleigh, to the lecture room. I could then deliver
my address on "The Bible," to at least 10,000 people who were crowded
inside and outside the walls of the large building. After this, I had the joy
of distributing between five and six hundred Bibles to that multitude, who
received them as thirsty and hungry people receive fresh water and pure bread,
after many days of starvation.
I have been stoned twenty times. The principal places in Canada where I was
struck and wounded, and almost miraculously escaped, were: Quebec, Montreal,
Ottawa, Charlotte Town, Halifax, Antigonish, ect. In the last mentioned, on the
10th of July, 1873, the pastor, the Rev. P. Goodfellow, standing by me when
going out of his church, was also struck several times by stones which missed
me. At last, his head was so badly cut, that he fell on the ground bathed in
blood. I took him up in my arms, though wounded and bleeding myself. We would
surely have been slaughtered there, had not a noble Scotchman, named Cameron,
opened the door of his house, at the peril of his own life, to give us shelter
against the assassins of the Pope. The mob, furious that we had escaped, broke
the windows and besieged the house from 10 a.m. till 3 next morning. Many times
they threatened to set fire to Mr. Cameron's house, if he did not deliver me
into their hands to be hung. They were prevented from doing so only from fear
of burning the whole town, composed in part of their own dwellings. Several
times they put long ladders against the walls, with the hope of reaching the
upper rooms, where they could find and kill their victim. All this was done
under the very eyes of five or six priests, who were only at a distance of a
few rods.
At Montreal, in the winter of 1870, one evening, coming out of Cote Street
Church, where I had preached, accompanied by Principal Mac Vicar, we fell into
a kind of ambuscade, and received a volley of stones, which would have
seriously, if not fatally, injured the doctor had he not been protected from
head to foot by a thick fur cap and overcoat, worn in the cold days of winter
in Canada.
After a lecture given at Parramatta, near Sydney, Australia, I was again
attacked with stones by the Roman Catholics. One struck my left leg with such
force that I thought it was broken, and I was lame for several days.
In New South Wales, Australia, I was beaten with whips and sticks, which left
marks upon my shoulders.
At Marsham, in the same province, on the 1st of April, 1879, the Romanists took
possession of the church where I was speaking, rushed towards me with daggers
and pistols, crying: "Kill him! Kill him!"
In the tumult, I providentially escaped through a secret door. But I had to
crawl on hands and knees a pretty long distance in a ditch filled with mud, not
to be seen and escape death. When I reached the hospitable house of Mr.
Cameron, the windows were broken with stones, much of the furniture destroyed,
and it was a wonder I escaped with my life.
At Ballarat, in the same province, three times the houses where I lodged were
attacked and broken. Rev. Mr. Inglis, one of the most eloquent ministers of the
city, was one of the many who were wounded by my side. The wife of the Rev. Mr.
Quick came also nearly being killed while I was under their hospitable roof.
In the same city, as I was waiting for the train at the station, a well-dressed
lady came as near as possible and spat in my face. I was blinded, and my face
covered with filth. She immediately fled, but was soon brought back by my
secretary and a policeman, who said: "Here is the miserable woman who has
just insulted you: what shall we do with her?" I was then almost done cleaning
my face with my handkerchief and some water, brought by some sympathizing
friends. I answered: "Let her go home in peace. She has not done it of her
own accord: she was sent by her confessor; she thinks she had done a good
action. When they spat in our Saviour's face, He did not punish those who
insulted Him. We must follow His example." And she was set at liberty, to
the great regret of the crowd.
The very next day (21st of April) at Castlemain, I was again fiercely attacked
and wounded on the head as I came from addressing the people. One of the
ministers who was standing by me was seriously wounded and lost much blood. At
Geelong, I had again a very narrow escape from stones thrown at me in the
streets. In 1879, while lecturing in Melbourne, the splendid capital of
Victoria, Australia, I received a letter from Tasmania, signed by twelve
ministers of the Gospel saying:
"We are much in need of you here, for though the Protestants are in the
majority, they leave the administration of the country almost entirely in the
hands of Roman Catholics, who rule us with an iron rod. The governor is a Roman
Catholic, etc. We wish to have you among us, though we do not dare to invite
you to come. For we know that your life will be in danger day and night while
in Tasmania. The Roman Catholics have sworn to kill you, and we have too many
reasons to fear that they will fulfill their promises. But, though we do not
dare ask you to come, we assure you that there is a great work for you here,
and that we will stand by you with our people. If you fall, you will not fall
alone."
I answered: "Are we not soldiers of Christ, and must we not be ready and
willing to die for Him, as He did for us? I will go."
On the 24th of June, as I was delivering my first lecture in Hobart Town, the
Roman Catholics, with the approbation of their bishop, broke the door of the
hall, and rushed towards me, crying, "Kill him! kill him!" The mob
was only a few feet from me, brandishing their daggers and pistols, when the
Protestants threw themselves between them and me, and a furious hand-to-hand
fight occurred, during which many wounds were received and given. The soldiers
of the Pope were overpowered, but the governor had to put the city under
martial law for four days, and call the whole militia to save my life from the
assassins drilled by the priests.
In a dark night, as I was leaving the steamer to take the train, on the Ottawa
River, Canada, twice the bullets of the murderers whistled at no more than two
or three inches from my ears. Several times in Montreal and Halifax the
churches where I was preaching were attacked and the windows broken by the mobs
sent by the priests, and several of my friends were wounded (two of whom, I
believe, died from the effects of their wounds) whilst defending me.
The 17th of June, 1884, after I had preached in Quebec, on the text: "What
would I do to have eternal life," a mob of more than 1,500 Roman
Catholics, led by two priests, broke the windows of the church and attacked me
with stones, with the evident object to kill me. More than one hundred stones
struck me, and I would surely have been killed there had I not had,
providentially, two heavy overcoats, which I put, one around my head, and the
other around my shoulders. Notwithstanding that protection, I was so much bruised
and wounded from head to feet, that I had to spend the three following weeks on
a bed of suffering, between life and death. A young friend, Zotique Lefevore,
who had heroically put himself between my would-be-assassins and me, escaped
only after receiving six severe wounds in the face. The same year, 1884, in the
month of November, I was attacked with stones and struck several times, when
preaching or coming out from the church in the city of Montreal. Numbers of
policemen and other friends who came to my rescue were wounded, my life was
saved only by an organization of a thousand young men, who, under the name of
Protestant Guard, wrenched me from the hands of the would-be murderers.
When the bishops and priests saw that it was so difficult to put me out of the
way with stones, sticks, and daggers, they determined to destroy my character
by calumnies, spread everywhere, and sworn before civil tribunals as Gospel
truths. During eighteen years they kept me in the hands of the sheriffs a
prisoner, under bail, as a criminal. Thirty-two times my name has been called
before the civil and criminal courts of Kankakee, Joliet, Chicago, Urbana, and
Montreal, among the names of the vilest and most criminal men. I have been
accused by Grand Vicar Mailloux of having killed a man and thrown his body into
a river to conceal my crime. I have been accused of having set fire to the
church of Bourbonnais and destroyed it. Not less than seventy-two false
witnesses have been brought by the priests of Rome to support this last
accusation. But, thanks be to God, at every time, from the very lips of the
perjured witnesses, we got the proof that they were swearing falsely, at the
instigation of their father confessors. And my innocence was proven by the very
men who had been paid to destroy me. In this last suit, I thought it was my
duty, as a Christian and citizen, to have one of those priests punished for
having so cruelly and publicly trampled under his feet the most sacred laws of
society and religion. Without any vengeance on my part, God knows it, I asked
the protection of my country against these incessant plots. Father Brunet,
found guilty of having invented those calumnies and supported them by false
witnesses, was condemned to pay 2,500 dollars or go to goal for fourteen years.
He preferred the last punishment, having the promise from his Roman Catholic
friends that they would break the doors of the prison and let him go free to
some remote place. He was incarcerated at Kankakee; but on a dark and stormy
night, six months later, he was rescued, and fled to Montreal (distant about
900 miles). There he made the Roman Catholics believe that the blessed Virgin
Mary, dressed in a beautiful white robe, had come in person to open for him the
gates of the prison.
I do not mention these facts here, to create bad feelings against the poor
blind slaves of the Pope It is only to show to the world that the Church of
Rome of today is absolutely the same as when she reddened Europe with the blood
of millions of martyrs. My motive in speaking of those murderous attacks, is to
induce the readers to help me to bless God, who has so mercifully saved me from
the hands of the enemy. More than any living man, I can say with the old
prophet: "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want" (Ps. xxiii. 1).
With Paul, I could often say: "We are troubled on every side, yet not
distressed: we are perplexed, but not in despair: persecuted, but not forsaken:
cast down, but not destroyed: always bearing about in the body the dying of the
Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus might be manifest in our body" (2
Cor. iv. 8 10). Those constant persecutions, far from hindering the onward
march of the evangelical movement to which I have consecrated my life, seem to
have given it a new impulse and a fresher life. I have even remarked that the
very day after I had been bruised and wounded, the number of converts had
invariably increased. I will never forget the day, after the terrible night
when more than a thousand Roman Catholics had come to stone me, and on which I
received a severe wound, more than one hundred of my countrymen asked me to
enroll their names under the banner of the Gospel, and publicly sent their
recantation of the errors of Rome to the bishop. Today, the Gospel of Christ is
advancing with an irresistible power among the French Canadians from the
Atlantic to the Pacific Oceans. We find numbers of converts in almost every
town and city from New York to San Francisco. Rallied around the banners of
Christ, they form a large army of fearless soldiers of the Cross. Among those
converts we count now twenty-five priests and more than fifty young zealous
ministers born in the Church of Rome.
In hundreds of places, the Church of Rome has lost her past prestige, and the
priests are looked upon with indifference, if not contempt, even by those who
have not yet accepted the light.
A very remarkable religious movement has also been lately inaugurated among the
Irish Roman Catholics, under the leadership of Revs. McNamara, O'Connor, and
Quinn, which promises to keep pace with, if not exceed the progress of the
Gospel among the French.
Today, more than ever, we hear the good Master's voice: "Lift up your eyes
and look on the fields, for they are white already to harvest" (John iv.
35).
Oh! may the day soon come when all my dear countrymen will hear the voice of
the Lamb and come to wash their robes in His blood! Will I see the blessed hour
when the dark night in which Rome keeps my dear Canada will be exchanged for
the bright and saving light of the Gospel?
At all events, I cannot but bless God for what mine eyes have seen and mine
ears have heard of His mercies towards me and my countrymen. From my infancy,
He has taken me into His arms, and led me most mercifully, through ways I did
not know, from the darkest regions of superstition, to the blessed regions of
light, truth and life!
From the day He granted me to read His divine word on my dear mother's knee, to
the hour He came to me as "the Gift of God," He has not let a single
day pass without speaking to me some of His warning and saving words. I have
not always paid sufficient attention to His sweet voice, I confess it to my
shame. My mind was so filled with the glittering sophisms of Rome, that many
times, I refused to yield to the still voice which was almost night and day
heard in my soul. But my God was not repelled by my infidelities, as the reader
will find in this book. When driven away in the morning, He came back in the
silent hours of the night. For more than twenty-five years, He forced me to
see, as a priest, the abominations which exist inside the walls of the modern
Babylon. I may say, He took me by the lock of mine head, as He did with the
prophet of old, and said:
"Son of man, lift up thine eyes now the way towards the north. So I lifted
up mine eyes the way towards north, and behold, northward at the gate of the
altar, this image of jealousy in the entry. He said furthermore unto me: 'Son
of man, seest thou what they do, even the great abominations that the house of
Israel committeth here, that I should go far off from my sanctuary? But turn
thee yet again, and thou shalt see greater abominations.' And he brought me to
the door of the court; and when I looked, behold a hole in the wall. Then said
he unto me, 'Son of man, dig now in the wall;' and when I had digged in the
wall, behold, a door. And he said, 'Go in and see the wicked abominations that
they do here.' So I went in and saw; and behold every form of creeping things
and abominable beasts, and all the idols of the house of Israel, portrayed upon
the wall and round about. And there stood before them seventy men of the
ancients of the house of Israel, and in the midst of them stood Jaazaniah, the
son of Shaphan, with every man his censor in his hand; and a thick cloud of
incense went up. Then said he unto me: 'Son of man, hast thou seen what the
ancients of the house of Israel do in the dark, every man in the chambers of
his imagery?' for they say, 'The Lord seeth us not; the Lord hath forsaken the
earth.' He said also unto me: 'Turn thee yet again, and thou shalt see greater
abominations that they do.' Then he brought me to the door of the gate of the
Lord's house, which was toward the north; and, behold, there sat women weeping
for Tammuz. Then said he unto me: 'Hast thou seen this, O son of man? Turn thee
yet again, and thou shalt see greater abominations than these.' And he brought
me into the inner court of the Lord's house; and, behold, at the temple of the
Lord, between the porch and the altar, were about five and twenty men, with
their backs towards the temple of the Lord, and their faces towards the east;
and they worshipped the sun towards the east. Then he said unto me: 'Hast thou
seen this, O son of man? Is it a light thing to the house of Judah that they
commit the abominations which they commit here? for they have filled the land
with violence and have returned to provoke me into anger; and lo! they put the
branch to their nose. Therefore, will I also deal in fury; mine eye shall not
spare, neither will I have pity; and they cry in mine ears, with a loud voice,
yet will I not hear them" (Ezek. viii. 5 18).
I can say with John:
"And there came one of the seven angels which had the seven vials, and
talked with me, saying unto me: 'Come hither: I will show unto thee the
judgment of the great whore that sitteth upon many waters; with whom the kings
of the earth have committed fornication, and the inhabitants of the earth have
been made drunk with the wine of her fornication.' So he carried me away in the
Spirit into the wilderness; and I saw a woman sit upon a scarlet coloured
beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns. And the
woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet colour, and decked with gold and
precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full of
abominations and filthiness of her fornication: and upon her forehead was a
name written: 'Mystery, Babylon the Great, the Mother of Harlots and
Abominations Of The Earth.' And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the
saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus; and when I saw her, I
wondered with great admiration' (Rev. xvii. 1 6).
And after the Lord had shown me all these abominations, He took me out as the
eagle takes his own young ones on his wings. He brought me into His beautiful
and beloved Zion, and He set my feet on the rock of my salvation. There, He
quenched my thirst with the pure waters which flow from the fountains of
eternal life, and He gave me to eat the true bread which comes from heaven.
Oh! that I might go all over the world, through this book, and say with the
Psalmist: "Come, all ye that fear God, and I will declare what He hath
done for my soul."
Let all the children of God who will read this book lend me their tongues to
praise the Lord. Let him lend me their hearts, to love Him. For, alone, I
cannot praise Him, I cannot love Him as He deserves. When look upon the
seventy-six years which have passed over me, my heart leaps for joy, for I find
myself at the end of trials. I have nearly crossed the desert.
Only the narrow stream of Jordan is between me and the new Jerusalem. I already
hear the great voice out of heaven saying: "Behold, the tabernacle of God
is with men, and He will dwell with them, and be their God, and God shall wipe
away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither
sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain; for the former things
have passed away....He that overcometh shall inherit all things" (Rev.
xxi. 3, 4, 7).
Rich with the unspeakable gift which has been given me, and pressing my dear
Bible to my heart, as the richest treasure, I hasten my steps with an
unspeakable joy toward the Land of Promise. I already hear the angel's voice
telling me: "Come: the Master calls thee."
A few days more and the bridegroom will say to my soul: "Surely I come
quickly." And I will answer: "Even so, come Lord Jesus." Amen.
.
.
.
.
Foot Notes
CHAPTER 13
Page 73 - 78 [All Latin]
CHAPTER 20
* "Hence Sanchez teaches, n. 19, with Cajet. Sot. Covar. Valent, that it
is lawful to persuade a man, determined to slay some oen, that he should commit
theft or fornication." (Mor. Theol. lib. iii. t. ii. cap. 2, p. 175, p.
157. Mech. 1845.)
CHAPTER 32
* In order to be understood by those of my readers who have never been deceived
by the diabolical doctrines of the Church of Rome, I must say here, that when
young I had learned in my catechism, and when a priest I had believed and
preached what Rome says on that subject. Here is her doctrine as taught in her
Catechism:-
"Who are those who go to heaven?"
Ans. "Those only who have never offended God, or who, having offended Him,
have done penance."
CHAPTER 41
* "The Pope, the Kings, and the People" (Mullan & Son,
Paternoster Square), pp. 269-70. Also see (London) Standard, 7th April, 1870.
CHAPTER 46
* Latin
CHAPTER 54
* Those who would like to know all about the abominations of auricular
confession should have my volume "The Priest, the Woman and the
Confessional." It is probably the only book ever written on that subject
which completely unveils the mask of Rome, by telling the whole truth.
CHAPTER 57
* Psalm xlii. 7, "Deep calleth unto deep." - A.V.
* Those gentlemen, with the exception of Mr. Allaire, are still living, 1885.
* Canon of the Church, by Pope Gelasius.
CHAPTER 58
* Vol. iii., page 139.
** Eccl. Laws, by Hericourt, c. xxii., No. 50
***Pope Gelasius.
****Eccl. Laws, by Hericourt, c.xxii., No. 51
CHAPTER 59
* The Shepherd of the Valley, official Journal of the Bishop of St. Louis, Nov.
23, 1851.
**New York Freeman, official journal of Bishop Hughes, Jan. 26, 1852.
***Catholic World, Arpil, 1870.
****Catholic Review, June, 1865.
*****Catholic World, July 1870.
******Father Hecker, Catholic World, July, 1870.
*Pope Pius VII, Encyclical, 1808
**St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologia, Vol. iv. p. 90
*Latin
**Tablet, Oct. 9, 1864.
*Brownson's Review, May, 1864.
**Pittsburg Catholic Visitor, July 1848, official journal of the Bishop.
***Boston Pilot, official journal of the Bishop.
****Brownson's Review, 1849.
*****Brownson's Review, June 1851.
******Roman Catholic Chief-Justice Tany, in his Dred Scot Decision.
*******Western Tablet, official paper of the Bishop of Chicago.
*Encyclical Letters of Pope Pius IX., August, 15, 1854.
**Daniel O'Connell.
***Taledo Catholic Review.
****Suarez, Defensio Fidei; Book VI. c. 4, Nos. 13, 14.
*****Tamburini; General of the Jesuits.
******Busembaum. - Lacroix, Theologia Moralis, 1757.
*Latin
** Spiritual Exercise, by Ignatius Loyola, founder of the Jesuits.
***Ignatius Loyola, Spiritual Exercise.
****Pope Gregory XVI., Incyclical, August 15th, 1832.
*****Gladstone, Letter to Lord Aberdeen.
*Saint Liguori, The Nun Sanctified.
**Decree of Pope Urban XIII.(signed) by Cardinals Felia, Guido, Desiderio, Antonio,
Belligero, and Fabricius.
***Newton's Principia, by Fathers Lesueur and Jacquier, vol iii, p. 450.
****Univers, the official Catholic paper of the Bishop of France, March 28th,
1868.
*Bishop Vaughan's address to the Catholic Club at Salford, England, January
2nd, 1873.
**Secret Plans of the Jesuits, revealed by Abate Leon, p. 127.
***Sully's Memoirs, tom. ii. chap. iii.
****The Secret Plan, pp. 127-128
*****Brownson's Essays, pp. 282-284.
*Memorial of the Captivity of Napoleon at St. Helena, by General Montholon,
vol. ii. p. 62.
**Memorial of the Captivity of Napoleon at St. Helena, vol. ii. p. 174.
***Rambler, one of the most prominent Catholic papers of England, September,
1851.
CHAPTER 61
*The Inner Life of Lincoln. By Carpenter. Pp. 193 - 195.
*Six Months in the White House. By Carpenter. P. 86.
**Ibid.
*History of the Civil War. By Abbot. Vol. ii., p. 594.
CHAPTER 63
*These two gentlemen are still living in Chicago, 1885.
CHAPTER 65
*That same Mr. Dunn was also excommunicated not long after by his bishop, and
died after publicly refusing to be relieved from that sentence.
* [?] "All ye shall be offended because of Me this night" (Matt.
xxvi. 31; Mark xiv. 27).