Chapter XXXIII.
MY NOMINATION AS CURATE OF BEAUPORT—DEGRADATION
AND RUIN OF THAT PLACE THROUGH DRUNKENNESS—
MY OPPOSITION TO MY NOMINATION USELESS—PREPARATIONS
TO ESTABLISH A TEMPERANCE SOCIETY—I WRITE TO
FATHER MATHEW FOR ADVICE.
THE 21st of September, 1838, was a day of desolation to
me. On that day I received the letter of my bishop,
appointing me curate of Beauport.
Many times, I had said to the other priests, when talking about
our choice of the different parishes, that I would never consent
to be curate of Beauport.
That parish, which is a kind of a suburb of Quebec, was too
justly considered the very nest of the drunkards of Canada.
With a soil of unsurpassed fertility, inexhaustible lime quarries,
gardens covered with most precious vegetables and fruits,
forests near at hand to furnish wood to the city of Quebec, at
their doors, the people of Beauport were, nevertheless, classed
among the poorest, most ragged and wretched people of Canada.
For almost every cent they were getting at the market went
into the hands of the saloon-keepers.
Hundreds of times I had seen the streets which led from St.
Roch to the upper town of Quebec almost impassable, when
the drunkards of Beauport were leaving the market to go
home.
How many times I heard them fill the air with their cries
and blasphemies; and saw the streets reddened with their blood,
when fighting with one another, like mad dogs
The Rev. Mr. Begin, who was their cure since 1825, had
accepted the moral principles of the great Roman Catholic
"Theologia Liguori," which says, "that a man is not guilty of
the sin of drunkenness, so long as he can distinguish between a
small pin and a load of hay." Of course the people would not
find themselves guilty of sin so long as their eyes could make
that distinction.
After weeping to my heart's content at the reading of the
letter from my bishop, which had come to me as a thunderbolt,
my first thought was that my misfortune, though very great, was
not irretrievable. I knew that there were many priests who were
as anxious to become curates of Beauport as I was opposed to it.
My hope was that the bishop would be touched by my tears,
if not convinced by my arguments, and that he would not
persist in putting on my shoulders a burden which they could
not carry.
I immediately went to the palace, and did all in my power to
persuade his lordship to select another priest for Beaufort.
He listened to my arguments with a good deal of patience
and kindness, and answered:
"My dear Mr. Chiniquy, you forget too often that `implicit
and perfect obedience' to his superiors is the virtue of a good
priest? You have given me a great deal of trouble and disappointment
by refusing to relieve the good Bishop Provencher
of his too heavy burden. It was at my suggestion, you
know very well, that he had selected you to be his co-worker
along the coasts of the Pacific, by consenting to become the
first Bishop of Oregon. Your obstinate resistance to your
superiors in that circumstance, and in several other cases, is one
of your weak points. If you continue to follow your own
mind rather than obey those whom God has chosen to guide
you, I really fear for your future. I have already too often
yielded to your rebellious character. Through respect to myself,
and for your own good, to-day I must force you to obey me.
You have spoken of the drunkenness of the people of Beauport,
as one of the reasons why I should not put you at the head of
that parish; but this is just one of the reasons why I have
chosen you. You are the only priest I know, in my diocese,
able to struggle against the long-rooted and detestable evil, with
a hope of success.
" `Quod scriptum scriptum est.' Your name is entered in our
official registers as the curate of Beauport; it will remain there
till I find better reasons than those you have given me to change
my mind. After all, you cannot complain; Beauport is not only
the most beautiful parsonage in Canada, but it is one of the most
splendid spots in the world. In your beautiful parsonage, at the
door of the old capital of Canada, you will have the privileges
of the city, and the enjoyments of some of the most splendid
scenery of this continent. If you are not satisfied with me
to-day, I do not know what I can do to please you."
Though far from being reconciled to my new position, I saw
there was no help; I had to obey. As my predecessor, Mr.
Begin, was to sell all his house furniture, before taking charge
of his far distant parish, La Riviere Ouelle, he kindly invited
me to go and buy, on long credit, what I wished for my own
use, which I did.
The whole parish was on the spot long before me, partly to
show their friendly sympathy for their late pastor, and partly to
see their new curate. I was not long in the crowd without
seeing that my small stature and my leanness were making a
very bad impression on the people, who were accustomed to pay
their respects to a comparatively tall man, whose large and square
shoulders were putting me in the shade.
Many jovial remarks, though made in half-suppressed tones,
came to my ears, to tell me that I was cutting a poor figure by
the side of my jolly predecessor.
"He is hardly bigger than my tobacco-box," said one not far
from me; "I think I could put him in my vest pocket."
"Has he not the appearance of a salted sardine!" whispered a
woman to her neighbor, with a hearty laugh.
Had I been a little wiser, I could have redeemed myself by
some amiable or funny words, which would have sounded pleasantly
in the ears of my new parishioners.
But, unfortunately for me, that wisdom is not among the gifts
I received from nature. After a couple of hours of auction, a
large cloth was suddenly removed from a long table, and
presented to our sight an incredible number of wine and beer
glasses, of empty decanters and bottles of all sizes and quality.
This brought a burst of laughter and clapping of hands from
almost every one. All eyes were turned toward me, and I heard
from hundreds of lips: "This is for you, Mr. Chiniquy."
Without weighing my words, I instantly answered: "I do
not come to Beauport to buy wine glasses and bottles, but to
break them."
These words fell upon their ears like a spark of fire on a
train of powder. Nine-tenths of the multitude, without being
very drunk, had emptied from four to ten glasses of beer or rum,
which Rev. Mr. Begin himself was offering them in a corner of
the parsonage. A real deluge of insults and cursings overwhelmed
me; and I soon saw that the best thing I could do was
to leave the place without noise, and by the shortest way.
I immediately went to the bishop's palace to try again to
persuade his lordship to put another curate at the head of such a
people.
"You see, my lord," I said, "that by my indiscreet and rash
answer I have forever lost the respect and confidence of that
people. They already hate me; their brutal cursings have fallen
upon me like balls of fire. I prefer to be carried to my grave
next Sabbath than have to address such a degraded people. I
feel that I have neither the moral nor the physical power to do
any good there."
"I differ from you," replied the bishop, "Evidently the
people wanted to try your mettle, by inviting you to buy those
glassee, and you would have lost yourself by yielding to their
desire. Now they have seen that you are brave and fearless. It
is just what the people of Beauport want; I have known them
for a long time. It is true that they are drunkards; but, apart from
that vice, there is not a nobler people under heaven. They
have, literally, no education, but they possess marvellous common
sense, and have many noble and redeeming qualities, which you
will soon find out. You took them by surprise when you boldly
said you wanted to break their glasses and decanters. Believe
me, they will bless you if, by the grace of God, you fulfill your
prophecy; though it will be a miracle if you succeed in making
the people of Beauport sober. But you must not despair. Trust
iu God; fight as a good soldier, and Jesus Christ will win the
victory."
Those kind words of my bishop did me good, though I would
have preferred being sent to the back woods of Canada, than to
the great parish of Beauport. I felt that the only thing that I
had to do was to trust in God for success, and to fight as if I
were to gain the day. It came to my mind that I had committed
a great sin by obstinately refusing to become bishop of Oregon,
and my God, as a punishment, had given me the very parish for
which I felt an almost insurmountable repugnance.
The next Sunday was a splendid day, and the church of Beauport
was filled to its utmost capacity by the people, eager to see
and hear, for the first time, their new pastor.
I had spent the last three days in prayers and fastings. God
knows that never a priest, nor any minister of the gospel,
ascended the pulpit with more exalted views of his sublime functions
than I did that day, and never a messenger of the gospel
had been more terrified than I was, when in that pulpit, by the
consciousness of his own demerits, inability and incompetency, in
the face of the tremendous responsibilities of his position. My
first sermon was on the text: "Woe unto me if I preach not the
gospel" (1 Cor. ix.: 16). With a soul and heart filled with the
profoundest emotions, a voice many times suffocated by uncontrollable
sobs, I expounded to them some of the awful responsibilities
of a pastor. The effect of that sermon was felt to the
last day of my priestly ministry in Beauport.
After the sermon, I told them: "I have a favor to ask of
you. As it is the first, I hope you will not rebuke me. I have,
just now, given you some of the duties of your poor young curate
toward you; I want you to come again this afternoon at half-past
two o'clock, that I may give you some of your duties toward
your pastor." At the appointed hour the church was still
more crowded than in the morning, and it seemed to me
that my merciful God blessed still more that second address
than the first.
The text was: "When he (the shepherd) putteth forth his
own sheep, he goeth before them, and the sheep follow him, for
they know his voice." (Jno. x.: 4.)
Those two sermons on the Sabbath were a startling innovation
in the Roman Catholic Church of Canada, which brought
upon me, at once, many bitter remarks from the bishop and surrounding
curates. Their unanimous verdict was that I wanted
to become a little reformer. They had not the least doubt that in
my pride I wanted to show to the people "that I was the most
zealous priest of the country." This was not only whispered
from ear to ear among the clergy, but several times it was thrown
into my face in the most insulting manner. However, my God
knew that my only motives were, first, to keep my people away
from the taverns, by having them before their altars during the
greatest part of the Sabbath day; second, to impress more
on their minds the great saving and regenerating truths I
preached, by presenting them twice on the same day under different
aspects.
I found such benefits from those two sermons that I continued
the practice during the four years I remained in Beauport,
though I had to suffer and hear in silence, many humiliating and
cutting remarks from many co-priests.
I had not been more than three months at the head of that
parish, when I determined to organize a temperance society on
the same principles as Father Mathew, in Ireland.
I opened my mind, at first, on that subject to the bishop, with
the hope that he would throw the influence of his position in
favor of the new association, but, to my great dismay and surprise,
not only did he turn my project into ridicule, but absolutely
forbade me to think any more of such an innovation.
"Those temperance societies are a Protestant scheme," he
said. "Preach against drunkenness, but let the respectable people
who are not drunkards alone. St. Paul advised his disciple
Timothy to drink wine. Do not try to be more zealous than they
were in those apostolic days."
I left the bishop much disappointed, but did not give up my
plan. It seemed to me if I could gain the neighboring priests to
join with me in my crusade I wanted to preach against the usage
of intoxicating drinks, we might bring about a glorious reform
in Canada, as Father Mathew was doing in Ireland.
But the priests, without a single exception, laughed at me,
turned my plans into ridicule, and requested me in the name of
common sense, never to speak any more to them of giving up
their social glass of wine.
I shall never he able to give any idea of my sadness, when I
saw that I was to be opposed by my bishop and the whole
clergy in the reform which I considered then, more and more
every day, the only plank of salvation, not only of my dear people
of Beauport, but of all Canada. God alone knows the tears
I shed, the long, sleepless nights I have passed in studying,
praying, meditating on that great and holy work of Beauport.
I had recourse to all the saints of heaven for more strength and
light; for I was determined, at any cost, to try and form a temperance
society.
But every time I wanted to begin, I was frightened by the
idea, not only of the wrath of the whole clergy, which would
hunt me down, but still more of the ridicule of the whole country,
which would overwhelm me in case of a failure. In these
perplexities, I thought I would do well to write to Father
Mathew, and ask him his advice and the help of his prayers.
That noble apostle of temperance of Ireland answered me in an
eloquent letter, and pressed me to begin the work in Canada as
he had done in Ireland, relying on God, without paying any
attention to the opposition of man.
The wise and Christian words of that great and worthy Irish
priest came to me as the voice of God; and I determined to
begin the work at once, though the whole world should be
against me.
I felt that if God was in my favor, I would succeed in
reforming my parish and my country in spite of all the priests
and bishops of the world, and I was right. Before putting the
plow into the ground, I had not only prayed to God and all his
saints, almost day and night, during many months, but I had
studied all the best books written in England, France and the
United States on the evil wrought by the use of intoxicating
drinks. I had taken a pretty good course of anatomy in the
Marine Hospital under the learned Dr. Douglas.
I was then well posted on the great subject I was to bring
before my country. I knew the enemy I was to attack. And
the weapons which would give him the death blow were in my
hands. I only wanted my God to strengthen my hands and
direct my blows. I prayed to Him, and in His great mercy He
heard me
