CHAPTER 46
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.
.
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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.
.
.
.
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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."