University of Virginia Library

Chapter XIX.

VICARAGE AND LIFE AT ST. CHARLES, RIVIERRE BOYER.

ON the 24th September, 1833, the Rev. Mr. Casault, secretary
of the bishop of Quebec, presented to me the official letters
which named me the vicar of the Rev. Mr. Perras, arch-priest,
and curate of St. Charles, Rivierre Boyer, and I was soon on
my way, with a cheerful heart, to fill the post assigned to me
by my superior.

The parish of St. Charles is beautifully situated about twenty
miles south-west of Quebec, on the banks of a river, which flows
in its very midst, from north to south. Its large farm-houses
and barns, neatly white-washed with lime, were the symbols of
peace and comfort. The vandal axe had not yet destroyed the
centenary forests which covered the country. On almost every
farm a splendid grove of maples had been reserved as the witness
of the intelligence and taste of the people.

I had often heard of the Rev. Mr. Perras, as one of the most
learned, pious and venerable priests of Canada. I had even been
told that several of the governors of Quebec had chosen him for
the French teacher of their children. When I arrived he was
absent on a sick call, but his sister received me with every mark
of refined politeness. Under the burden of her five and fifty
years she had kept all the freshness and amiability of youth.
After a few words of welcome, she showed me my study and
sleeping room. They were both perfumed with the fragrance
of two magnificent bouquets of the choicest flowers, on the top
of one of which was written the words: "Welcome to the
angel whom the Lord sends to us as his messenger." The two
rooms were the perfection of neatness and comfort. I shut the
doors and fell on my knees to thank God and the blessed Virgin

for having given me such a home. Ten minutes later I came
back to the large parlor, where I found Miss Perras waiting for
me, to offer me a glass of wine and some excellent "pain de
savoie," as it was the universal custom, then, to do in every
respectable house. She then told me how her brother, the curate,
and herself were happy when they heard that I was to come
and live with them. She had known my mother before her
marriage, and she told me how she had passed several happy
days in her company.

She could not speak to me of any subject more interesting,
than my mother; for, though she had died a few years before,
she had never ceased to be present to my mind, and near and
dear to my heart.

Miss Perras had not spoken long when the curate arrived,
I rose to meet him, but it is impossible to adequately express
what I felt at that moment. The Israelites were hardly struck
with more awe when they saw Moses coming down from Mount
Sinai, than I was at the first sight I had of that venerable man.

Rev. Mr. Perras was then about sixty-five years old. He
was a tall man—almost a giant. No army officer, no king ever
bore his head with more dignity. But his beautiful blue eyes,
which were the embodiment of kindness, tempered the dignity
of his mien. His hair, which was beginning to whiten, had not
yet lost its golden lustre. It seemed as if silver and gold were
mixed on his head to adorn and beautify it. There was on his
face an expression of peace, calm, piety and kindness, which
entirely won my heart and respect. When, with a smile on
his lips, he extended his hands towards me, I felt beside myself,
I fell on my knees and said: "Mr. Perras, God sends me to
you that you may be my teacher and my father. You will have
to guide my first and inexperienced steps in the holy ministry.
Do bless me and pray that I may be a good priest as you are
yourself."

That unpremeditated and earnest act of mine, so touched the
good old priest, that he could hardly speak. Leaning towards
me, he raised me up and pressed me to his bosom, and with a
voice trembling with emotion he said, "May God bless you,

my dear sir, and may he also be blessed for having chosen you
to help me carry the burden of the holy ministry in my old
age." After half-an-hour of the most interesting conversation,
he showed me his library, which was very large and composed
of the best books which a priest of Rome is allowed to read;
and he very kindly put it at my service.

Next morning, after breakfast, he handed me a large and
neat sheet of paper, headed by these latin words:

It was the rule of life which he had imposed upon himself, to
guide all the hours of the day in such a way that not a moment
could be given to idleness or vain pastime.

"Would you be kind enough," he said, "to read this and
tell me if it suits your views? I have found great spiritual and
temporal benefits in following these rules of life, and would be
very happy if my dear young coadjutor would unite with me in
walking in the ways of an orderly, Christian and priestly life.

I read this document with interest and pleasure, and handed
it back to him saying: "I will be very happy, with the help of
God, to follow with you the wise rules set down here for a holy
and priestly life."

Thinking that these rules might be interesting to the reader,
I give them here in full:

                               

1.	Rising,	5.30 a. m.
2.	Prayer and meditation	6 to 6.30 a. m.
3.	Mass, hearing confession and recitation of brevarium	6.30 to 8 a. m.
4.	Breakfast	8 a. m.
5.	Visitation of the sick, and reading the lives of the saints	8.30 to 10 a. m.
6.	Study of philosophical, historical, or theological books	11 a. m. to 12.
7.	Dinner	12 to 12.30.
8.	Recreation and conversation	12.30 to 1.30.
9.	Recitation of vespers	1.30 to 2 p. m.
10.	Study of history, theology or philosophy	2 to 4 p. m.
11.	Visit to the holy sacrament and reading "Imitation of Jesus Christ,"	4 to 4.30 p. m.
12.	Hearing of confessions, or visit to the sick, or study	4.30 to 6 p. m.
13.	Supper	6 to 6.30 p. m.
14.	Recreation	6.30 to 8 p. m.
15.	Chaplet—reading of the Holy Scriptures and prayer	8 to 9 p. m.
16.	Going to bed	9 p. m.

Such was our daily life during the eight months which it
was my privilege to remain with the venerable Mr. Perras,
except that Thursdays were invariably given to visit some of
the neighboring curates, and the Sabbath days spent in hearing
confessions, and performing the public services of the church.

The conversation of Mr. Perras was generally exceedingly
interesting. I never heard from him any idle, frivolous talking,
as it is so much the habit among the priests. He was well
versed in the literature, philosophy, history and theology of
Rome. He had personally known almost all the bishops and
priests of the last fifty years, and his memory was well stored
with anecdotes and facts concerning the clergy, from almost
the days of the conquest of Canada. I could write many
interesting things, were I to publish what I heard from him,
concerning the doings of the clergy. I will only give two or
three of the facts of that interesting period of the church in
Canada.

A couple of months before my arrival at St. Charles, the
vicar who preceded me, called Lajus, had publicly eloped
with one of his beautiful penitents, who, after three months of
public scandal, had repented and come back to her heart-broken
parents. About the same time a neighboring curate, in whom
I had great confidence, compromised himself also, with one of
his fair parishioners, in a most shameful, though less public way.
These two scandals, which came to my knowledge almost at
the same time, distressed me exceedingly, and for nearly a week
I felt so overwhelmed with shame, that I dreaded to show my
face in public, and I almost regretted that I ever became a priest.
My nights were sleepless; the best viands of the table had lost
their relish. I could hardly eat anything. My conversations
with Mr. Perras had lost their charms. I even could hardly
talk with him or anybody else.

"Are you sick, my young friend?" said he to me one day.

"No, sir, I am not sick, but I am sad."

He replied, "Can I know the cause of your sadness? You
used to be so cheerful and happy since you came here. I
must bring you back to your former happy frame of mind.
Please tell me what is the matter with you? I am an old man
and I know many remedies for the soul as well as for the
body. Open your heart to me, and I hope soon to see that dark
cloud which is over you pass away."

"The two last awful scandals given by the priests," I
asswered, "are the cause of my sadness. The news of the fall
of these two confreres, one of whom seemed to me so respectable,
has fallen upon me like a thunderbolt. Though I had
heard something of that nature when I was a simple ecclesiastic
in the college, I had not the least idea that such was the life of
so many priests. The fact of the human frailty of so many,
is really distressing. How can one hope to stand up on one's
feet when he sees such strong men fall by one's side? What
will become of our holy church in Canada, and all over the
world, if her most devoted priests are so weak and have so little
self-respect, and so little fear of God?"

"My dear young friend," answered Mr. Perras, "Our
holy church is infallible. The gates of hell can not prevail
against her; but the assurance of her perpetuity and infallibility
does not rest on any human foundation. It does not rest on
the personal holiness of her priests; but it rests on the promises
of Jesus Christ. Her perpetuity and infallibility are a perpetual
miracle. It requires the constant working of Jesus Christ to
keep her pure and holy, in spite of the sins and scandals of
her priests. Even the clearest proof that our holy church has
a promise of perpetuity and infallibility, is drawn from the very
sins and scandals of her priests; for those sins and scandals
would have destroyed her long ago, if Christ was not in the
midst to save and sustain her. Just as the ark of Noah was
miraculously saved by the mighty hand of God, when the
waters of the deluge would otherwise have wrecked it, so our
holy church is miraculously prevented from perishing in the
flood of iniquities by which too many priests have deluged the
world. By the great mercy and power of God, the more the

waters of the deluge were flowing on the earth, the more the
ark was raised towards heaven by these very waters. So it
is with our holy church. The very sins of the priests make
that spotless spouse of Jesus Christ fly away higher and higher
towards the regions of holiness, as it is in God. Let, therefore,
your faith and confidence in our holy church, and your respect
for her, remain firm and unshaken in the midst of all these
scandals. Let your zeal be rekindled for her glory and extension,
at the sight of the unfortunate confreres who yield to the
attacks of the enemy. Just as the valiant soldier makes superhuman
efforts to save the flag, when he sees those who carried
it fall on the battle-field. Oh! you will see more of our flag-bearers
slaughtered before you reach my age. But be not
disheartened or shaken by that sad spectacle; for once more
our holy church will stand forever, in spite of all those human
miseries, for her strength and her infallibility do not lie in men,
but in Jesus Christ, whose promises will stand in spite of all
the efforts of hell.

"I am near the end of my course, and thanks be to God, my
faith in our holy church is stronger than ever, though I have
seen and heard many things, compared with which, the facts
which just now distress you are mere trifles. In order the
better to inure you to the conflict, and to prepare you to hear
and see more deplorable things than what is now troubling
you, I think it is my duty to tell you a fact which I got from
the late Lord Bishop Plessis. I have never revealed it to anybody,
but my interest in you is so great that I will tell it to you,
and my confidence in your wisdom is so absolute, that I am sure
you will never abuse it. What I will reveal to you is of such
a nature that we must keep it among ourselves, and never let
it be known to the people, for it would diminish, if not destroy,
their respect and confidence in us, respect and confidence, without
which, it would become almost impossible to lead them.

"I have already told you that the late venerable Bishop
Plessis was my personal friend. Our intimacy had sprung up
when we were studying under the same roof in the seminary
of St. Sulpice, Montreal, and it had increased year after year

till the last hour of his life. Every summer, when he had
reached the end of the three months of episcopal visitation of
his diocese, he used to come and spend eight or ten days of
absolute rest and enjoyment of private and solitary life with me,
in this parsonage. The two rooms you occupy were his, and
he told me many times that the happiest days of his episcopal
life were those passed in this solitude.

"One day he had come from his three months' visit, more
worn out than ever, and when I sat down with him in this
parlor, I was almost frightened by the air of distress which
covered his face. Instead of finding him the loquacious, amiable
and cheerful guest I used to have in him, he was taciturn,
cast down, distressed. I felt really uneasy for the first time,
in his presence, but as it was the last hour of the day, I supposed
that this was due to his extreme fatigue, and I hoped that the
rest of the night would bring about such a change in my venerable
friend, that I would find him the next morning, what
he used to be, the most amiable and interesting of men.

"I was, myself, completely worn out. I had traveled
nearly thirty miles that day, to go to receive him at St. Thomas.
The heat was oppressive, the roads very bad, and the dust awful.
I was in need of rest, and I was hardly in my bed, when I fell
into a profound sleep, and slept till three o'clock in the morning.
I was then suddenly awakened by sobs and half-suppressed
lamentations and prayers, which were evidently coming from
the bishop's room. Without losing a moment, I went and
knocked at the door, inquiring about the cause of these sobs.
Evidently the poor bishop had not suspected that I could hear
him.

" `Sobs! Sobs!' he answered, `What do you mean by that.
Please go back to your room and sleep. Do not trouble yourself
about me, I am well,' and he absolutely refused to open
the door of his room. The remaining hours of the night, of
course, were sleepless ones for me. The sobs of the bishop
were more suppressed, but he could not sufficiently suppress
them to prevent me from hearing them. The next morning
his eyes were reddened with weeping, and his face was that

of one who had suffered intensely all the night. After breakfast
I said to him: "My lord, last night has been one of
desolation to your lordship; for God's sake, and in the name
of the sacred ties of friendship, which has united us during
so many years, please tell me what is the cause of your sorrow.
It will become less the very moment you share it with your
friend."

"The bishop answered me: `You are right when you
think that I am under the burden of a great desolation; but
its cause is of such a nature, that I cannot reveal it even to you,
my dear friend. It is only at the feet of Jesus Christ and
His holy mother, that I must go to unburden my heart. If
God does not come to my help, it is sure that I must die from
it. But I will carry with me into my grave, the awful mystery
which kills me.'

"In vain, during the rest of the day, I did all that I could to
persuade Monseigneur Plessis to reveal the cause of his grief.
I failed. At last, through respect for him, I withdrew to my
own room, and left him alone, knowing that solitude is sometimes
the best friend of a desolated mind. His lordship, that
evening, withdrew to his sleeping room sooner than usual, and
I retired to my room much later. But sleep was out of the
question for me that night, for his desolation seemed to be so
great, and his tears so abundant, that when he bade me `good
night,' I was in fear of finding my venerable, and more than
ever dear friend, dead in his bed the next morning. I watched
him, without closing my eyes, from the adjoining room, from
ten o'clock till the next morning. Though it was evident that
he was making great efforts to suppress his sobs, I could see that
his sorrow was still more intense that night, than the last one,
and my mental agony was not much less than his, during those
distressing hours.

"But I formed an extreme resolution, which I put into effect
the very moment that he came out of his room the next morning,
to salute me.

" `My Lord,' said I, `I thought till the night before last,
that you honored me with your friendship, but I see to-day

that I was mistaken. You do not consider me as your friend,
for if you would look upon me as a friend worthy of your
confidence, you would unburden your heart unto mine. A true
friend has no secret from a true friend. What is the use of
friendship if it be not to help each other to carry the burdens of
life! I found myself honored by your presence in my house, so
long as I considered myself as your own friend. But now, that
I see I have lost your confidence, please allow me frankly to say
to your lordship, that I do not feel the same at your presence
here. Besides, it seems to me very probable that the terrible
burden which you want to carry alone will kill you, and that
very soon, and I do not at all like the idea of finding you suddenly
dead in my parsonage, and having the coroner holding his
inquest on your body, and making the painful inquiries which
are always made upon one suddenly taken by death, particularly
when he belongs to the highest ranks of society.
Then, my lord, be not offended if I respectfully request your
lordship to find another lodging as soon as possible.'

"My words fell upon the bishop like a thunderbolt. He
seemed to awaken from a profound sleep. With a deep sigh he
looked in my face, with his eyes rolling in tears, and said:

" `You are right, Perras, I ought never to have concealed my
sorrow from such a friend as you have always been for more
than half a century to me. But you are the only one to whom
I can reveal it. No doubt your priestly and Christian heart
will not be less broken than mine; but you will help me with
your prayers and wise counsels to carry it. However, before I
initiate you into such an awful mystery, we must pray."

"We then knelt down and, we said together a chaplet to
invoke the power of the Virgin Mary, after which we recited
Psalm li: `Misere mihi.' Have mercy upon me, O Lord!

"There, sitting by me on this sofa, the bishop said: `My
dear Perras, you are the only one to whom I could reveal
what you are about to hear, for I think you are the only one
who can hear such a terrible secret without revealing it, and
because, also, you are the only friend whose advice can guide me
on this terrible affliction.

" `You know that I have just finished the visit of my immense
diocese of Quebec. It has taken me several years of hard work
and fatigue, to see by my own eyes, and know by myself, the
gains and losses—in a word, the strength and life of our holy
church. I will not speak to you of the people. They are, as a
general thing, truly religious and faithful to the church. But
the priests. O, Great God! will I tell you what they are? My
dear Perras, I would almost die with joy, if God would tell me
that I am mistaken. But, alas! I am not mistaken. The sad,
the terrible truth is this (putting his righthand on his forehead,)
the priests! Ah! with the exception of you and three others, are
infidels and atheists! O, my God! my God! what will become
of the church in the hands of such wicked men!' and covering
his face with his hands, the bishop burst into tears, and for one
hour could not say a word. I myself remained mute.

"At first I regretted having pressed the bishop to reveal
such an unexpected mystery of iniquity. But, taking counsel
of our very fathomless humiliation and distress, after an hour of
silence, spent in pacing the walks of the garden, almost unable
to look each other in the face, I said: `My lord, what you have
told me is surely the saddest thing that I ever heard; but allow
me to tell you that your sorrows are out of the limits of your
high intelligence and your profound science. If you read the
history of our holy church, from the seventh to the fifteenth
century, you will know that the spotless spouse of Christ has
seen as dark days, if not darker, in Italy, France, Spain and
Germany, as she does in Canada, and though the saints of those
days deplored the errors and crimes of those dark ages, they have
not killed themselves with their vain tears as you are doing.'

"Taking the bishop by the hand, I led him to the library,
and opened the pages of the history of the church, by Cardinals
Baronius and Henrion; I showed him the names of more than
fifty Popes who had evidently been atheists and infidels. I
read to him the lives of Borgia, Alexander VI. and a dozen
others, who would surely and justly be hanged to-day by the
executioner of Quebec, were they, in that city, committing one
half of the public crimes of adultery, murder, debauchery of

every kind, which they committed in Rome, Avignon, Naples,
etc., etc. I read to him some of the public and undeniable
crimes of the successors of the apostles, and of the inferior
clergy, and I easily and clearly proved to him that his priests,
though infidels and atheists, were angels of pity, modesty, purity
and religion, when compared with a Borgia, who publicly lived
as a married man with his own daughter, and had a child by her.
He agreed with me that several of the Alexanders, the Johns,
the Piuses and the Leos, were sunk much deeper in the abyss of
every kind of iniquity than his priests.

"Five hours passed in so perusing the sad but irrefutable
pages of the history of our holy church, wrought a marvelous
and beneficial change in the mind of Monseigneur Plessis.

"My conclusion was, that if our holy church had been able
to resist the deadly influence of such scandals during so many
centuries in Europe, she would not be destroyed in Canada, even
by the legion of atheists by whom she is served to-day.

"The bishop acknowledged that my conclusion was correct.
He thanked me for the good I had done him, by preventing him
from despairing of the future of our holy church in Canada, and
the rest of the days which he spent with me, he was almost as
cheerful and amiable as before.

"Now, my dear young friend," added Mr. Perras, "I hope
you will be as reasonable and logical in your religion as Bishop
Plessis, who was probably the greatest man Canada has ever
had. When Satan tries to shake your faith by the scandals you
see, remember that Stephen, after having fought with his
adversary,—the Pope Constantine II., put out his eyes and
condemned him to die. Remember that other Pope, who
through revenge against his predecessor, had him exhumed,
brought his dead body before judges, then charged him with
the most horrible crimes, which he proved by the testimony
of scores of eye-witnesses, got him (the dead Pope), to be
condemned to be beheaded and dragged with ropes through
the muddy streets of Rome, and thrown into the river Tiber.
Yes, when your mind is oppressed by the secret crimes of the
priests, which you will know, either through the confessional

or by public rumor, remember that more than twelve Popes
have been raised to that high and holy dignity by the rich and
influential prostitutes of Rome, with whom they were publicly
living in the most scandalous way. Remember that young bastard,
John XI., the son of Pope Sergius, who was consecrated
Pope, when only twelve years old, by the influence of his prostitute
mother, Marosian, but who was so horribly profligate that
he was deposed by the people and the clergy of Rome.

"Well, if our holy church has been able to pass through such
storms without perishing, is it not a living proof that Christ is her
pilot, that she is imperishable and infallible because St. Peter is
her foundation, `Tu es Petrus et super hanc petram edificabo
Ecclesiam meam, et portae inferi non prevalebunt adversus eam.' "

Oh, my God! what shall I confess to my confusion, what
my thoughts were during that conversation, or rather that
lecture of my curate, which lasted more than an hour! Yes,
to thy eternal glory, and to my eternal shame, I must say the
truth. When the priest was exhibiting to me the horrible
unmentionable crimes of so many of our Popes, to calm my fears
and strengthen my shaken faith, a mysterious voice was repeating
to the ears of my soul, the dear Saviour's words: "A good
tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring
forth good fruit. Every tree that bringeth not good fruit is
hewn down and cast into the fire. Wherefore, by their fruits
ye shall know them," and in spite of myself the voice of my
conscience cried in thundering tones that a church, whose head
and members were so horribly corrupt, could not, by any means,
be the Church of Christ.

But the most sacred and imperative law of my church,
which I had promised by oaths, was, that I would never obey
the voice of my conscience, nor follow the dictates of my
private judgment, when they were in opposition to the teachings
of my church. Too honest to admit the conclusions of Mr.
Perras, which were evidently the conclusions of my church, I
was too cowardly and too mean to bravely express my own mind,
and repeat the words of the Son of God: "By their fruits ye
shall know them! A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit!"