by Charles
Chiniquy
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
to-day? 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
to-day, 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
`50year 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!
Table of Contents
| Chapter 1 |
The Bible and the Priest of Rome |
| Chapter 2 |
My First Schooldays at St. Thomas -- The Monk and
Celibacy |
| Chapter 3 |
The Confession of Children |
| Chapter 4 |
The Shepherd Whipped by His Sheep |
| Chapter 5 |
The Priest, Purgatory, and the Poor Widow's Cow |
| Chapter 6 |
Festivities in a Parsonage |
| Chapter 7 |
Preparation for the First Communion -- Initiation
to Idolatry |
| Chapter 8 |
The First Communion |
| Chapter 9 |
Intellectual Education in the Roman Catholic College |
| Chapter 10 |
Moral and Religious Instruction in the Roman Catholic Colleges |
| Chapter 11 |
Protestant Children in the Convents and Nunneries of Rome |
| Chapter
12 |
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? |
| Chapter 13 |
Theology of the Church of Rome: its Anti-Christian
Character |
| Chapter 14 |
The Vow of Celibacy |
| Chapter 15 |
The Impurities of the Theology of Rome |
| Chapter 16 |
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 |
| Chapter 17 |
The Roman Catholic Priesthood, or Ancient and
Modern Idolatry |
| Chapter 18 |
Nine Consequences of the Dogma of Transubstantiation
-- The Old Paganism under a Christian Name |
| Chapter 19 |
Vicarage, and Life at St. Charles, Rivierre
Boyer |
| Chapter 20 |
Papineau and the Patriots in 1833 -- The Burning of
"Le Canadien" by the Curate of St. Charles |
| Chapter 21 |
Grand Dinner of the Priests -- The Maniac Sister of
Rev. Mr. Perras |
| Chapter 22 |
I am appointed Vicar of the Curate of Charlesbourgh --
The Piety, Lives and Deaths of Fathers Bedard and Perras |
| Chapter 23 |
The Cholera Morbus of 1834 -- Admirable Courage and
Self-Denial of the Priests of Rome during the Epidemic |
| Chapter 24 |
I am named a Vicar of St. Roch, Quebec City -- The Rev.
Mr. Tetu -- Tertullian -- General Cargo -- The Seal Skins |
| Chapter 25 |
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 |
| Chapter 26 |
Continuation of the Trade in Masses |
| Chapter 27 |
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 |
| Chapter 28 |
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 |
| Chapter 29 |
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 |
| Chapter 30 |
The Murders and Thefts in Quebec from 1835 to 1836 --
The Night Excursion with Two Thieves -- The Restitution --
The Dawn of Light |
| Chapter 31 |
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 |
| Chapter 32 |
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 |
| Chapter 33 |
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 |
| Chapter 34 |
The Hand of God in the Establishment of a
Temperance Society in Beauport and Vicinity |
| Chapter 35 |
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 |
| Chapter 36 |
The God of Rome Eaten by Rats |
| Chapter 37 |
Visit of a Protestant Stranger -- He Throws an Arrow
into my Priestly Soul never to be taken out |
| Chapter 38 |
Erection of the Column of Temperance -- School
Buildings -- A noble and touching act of the People of
Beauport |
| Chapter 39 |
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 |
| Chapter 40 |
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" |
| Chapter 41 |
Perversion of Dr. Newman to the Church of Rome in the
light of his own Explanations, Common Sense and the Word of
God |
| Chapter 42 |
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 |
| Chapter 43 |
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 |
| Chapter 44 |
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 |
| Chapter 45 |
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 |
| Chapter 46 |
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 |
| Chapter 47 |
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 |
| Chapter 48 |
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 |
| Chapter 49 |
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 |
| Chapter 50 |
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 |
| Chapter 51 |
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 |
| Chapter 52 |
Correspondence with the Bishop |
| Chapter 53 |
The Immaculate Conception of the Virgin Mary |
| Chapter 54 |
The Abominations of Auricular Confession |
| Chapter 55 |
The Ecclesiastical Retreat -- Conduct of the Priests --
The Bishop forbids me to distribute the Bible |
| Chapter 56 |
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 |
| Chapter
57 |
Bishop O'Regan sells the Parsonage of the French
Canadians of Chicago, pockets the Money, and turns them out
when they come 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 |
| Chapter 58 |
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 |
| Chapter 59 |
A Moment of Interruption in the Thread of my "50year
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 |
| Chapter 60 |
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 |
| Chapter 61 |
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 |
| Chapter 62 |
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 |
| Chapter 63 |
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 |
| Chapter 64 |
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 |
| Chapter 65 |
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 |
| Chapter 66 |
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 |
| Chapter 67 |
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 |
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 Achilles; 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 to-day, 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.
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 two 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, Du-puis, 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: 50year01.htm
"Oh! que je suis malheureux!"
Oh! how miserable and wretched I am!