University of Virginia Library

Chapter XXXV.

FOUNDATION OF TEMPERANCE SOCIETIES IN THE NEIGHBORING
PARISHES—PROVIDENTIAL ARRIVAL OF MONSIGNOR
DE FORBIN JANSON, BISHOP OF NANCY—HE PUBLICLY
DEFENDS ME AGAINST THE BISHOP OF QUEBEC, AND FOREVER
BREAKS THE OPPOSITION OF THE CLERGY.

THE people of Beauport had scarcely been a year enrolled
under the banners of temperance, when the seven thriving
taverns of that parish were deserted and their owners forced to
try some more honorable trade for a living. This fact, published
by the whole press of Quebec, more than anything forced the
opponents, especially among the clergy, to silence, without absolutely
reconciling them to my views. However, it was becoming
every day more and more evident to all that the good done in
Beauport was incalculable, both in a material and moral point of
view. Several of the best thinking people of the surrounding
parishes began to say to one another: "Why should we not
try to bring into our midst this temperance reformation which is
doing so much good in Beauport?" The wives of drunkards
would say: "Why does not our curate do here, what the curate
of Beauport has done there?"

On a certain day, one of those unfortunate women, who had
received, with a good education, a rich inheritance, which her
husband had spent in dissipation, came to tell me that she had
gone to her curate to ask him to establish a temperance society
in his parish, as we had done in Beauport; but he had told her
"to mind her own business." She had then respectfully
requested him to invite me to come and help to do for his parishioners
what I had done for mine, but she had been sternly
rebuked at the mention of my name. The poor woman was
weeping, when she said: "Is it possible that our priests are so

indifferent to our sufferings, and that they will let the demon of
drunkenness torture us as long as we live, when God gives us
such an easy and honorable way to destroy his power for ever?"

My heart was touched by the tears of that lady, and I said to
her: "I know a way to put an end to the opposition of your
curate, and force him to bring among you the reformation you
so much desire; but it is a very delicate matter for me to mention
to you. I must rely upon your sacred promise of secrecy, before
opening my mind to you on that subject."

"I take my God to witness," she answered, "that I will
never reveal your secret." "Well, madame, if I can rely upon
your discretion and secrccy, I will tell you an infallible way to
force your priest to do what has been done here."

"Oh! for God's sake," she said, "tell me what to do."

I replied: "The first time you go to confession, say to your
priest that you have a new sin to confess which is very difficult
to reveal to him. He will press you more to confess it. You
will then say:

" `Father, I confess I have lost confidence in you.' Being
asked `Why?' you will tell him: `Father, you know the bad
treatment I have received from my drunken husband, as well as
hundreds of other wives in your parish from theirs; you know
the tears we have shed on the ruin of our children, who are
destroyed by the bad example of their drunken fathers; you
know the daily crimes and unspeakable abominations caused by
the use of intoxicating drinks; you could dry our tears and make
us happy wives and mothers, you could convert our husbands
and save our children, by establishing the society of temperance
here, as it is in Beauport, and you refuse to do it. How, then,
can I believe you are a good priest, and that there is any charity
and compassion in you for us?"

"Listen with a repectful silence to what he will tell you;
accept his penance, and when he asks you if you regret that sin,
answer him that you cannot regret it till he has taken the providential
means which God offers him to convert the drunkards.

"Get as many other women whom you know are suffering
as you do, as you can, to go and confess to him the same thing;

and you will see that his obstinancy will melt as the snow before
the rays of the sun in May."

She was a very intelligent lady: She saw at once that she had
in hand an irresistible power to force her priest out of his shameful
and criminal indifference to the welfare of his people. A
fortnight later she came to tell me that she had done what I had
advised her, and that more than fifty other respectable women
had confessed to their curate that they had lost confidence in
him, on account of his lack of zeal and charity for his people.

My conjectures were correct. The poor priest was beside
himself, when forced, every day, to hear from the very lips of
his most respectable female parishioners, that they were losing
confidence in him. He feared lest he should lose his fine parish
near Quebec, and be sent to some of the backwoods of Canada.

Three weeks later, he was knocking at my door, where he
had not been since the establishment of the temperance society.
He was very pale, and looked anxious. I could see in his countenance
that I owed the honor of this visit to his fair penitents.
However, I was happy to see him. He was considered a good
priest, and had been one of my best friends before the formation
of the temperance society. I invited him to dine with me, and
made him feel at home as much as possible, for I knew by his
embarrassed manner that he had a very difficult proposition to
make. I was not mistaken. He at last said:

"Mr. Chiniquy, we had, at first, great prejudices against
your temperance society; but we see its blessed fruits in the great
transformation of Beauport. Would you be kind enough to
preach a retreat of temperance, during three days, to my people,
as you have done here?"

I answered: "Yes, sir; with the greatest pleasure. But it
is on condition that you will yourself be an example of the sacrifice,
and the first to take the solemn pledge of temperance, in
the presence of your people."

"Certainly," he answered; "for the pastor must be an example
to his people."

Three weeks later, his parish had nobly followed the example
of Beauport, and the good curate had no words to express his

joy. Without losing a day, he went to the two other curates of
what is called "La Cote de Beaupre," persuaded them to do
what he had done, and six weeks after, all the saloons from
Beauport to St. Joachim were closed; and it would have been
difficult, if not impossible, to persuade any one in that whole
region to drink a glass of any intoxicating drink.

Little by little, the country priests were thus giving up their
prejudices, and were bravely rallying around our glorious banners
of temperance. But my bishop, though less severe, was still
very cold toward me. At last, the good providence of God forced
him, through a great humiliation, to count our society among
the greatest spiritual and temporal blessings of the age.

At the end of August, 1840, the public press informed us
that the Count de Forbin Janson, Bishop de Nancy, in France,
was just leaving New York for Montreal. That bishop, who
was the cousin and minister to Charles the Tenth, had been sent
into exile by the French people, after the king had lost his
crown in the Revolution of 1830. Father Mathew had told me,
in one of his letters, that this bishop had visited him, and blessed
his work in Ireland, and had also persuaded the Pope to send
him his apostolical benediction.

I saw, at once, the importance of gaining the approbation of
this celebrated man, before he had been prejudiced by the bishop
against our temperance societies. I asked and obtained leave of
absence for a few days, and went to Montreal, which I reached
just an hour after the French bishop. I went immediately to
pay my homage to him, told him all about our temperance work,
asking him, in the name of God, to throw bravely the weight of
his great name and position in the scale in favor of our temperance
societies. He promised he would, adding: "I am perfectly
persuaded that drunkenness is not only the great and common
sin of the people, but still more of the priests in America, as
well as in Ireland. The social habit of drinking the detestable
and poisonous wines, brandies and beer used on this continent,
and in the northern parts of Europe, where the vine cannot
grow, is so general and strong, that it is almost impossible to
save the people from becoming drunkards, except through an

association in which the elite of society will work together to
change the old and pernicious habits of common life. I have
seen Father Mathew, who is doing an incalculable good in Ireland;
and, be sure of it, I shall do all in my power to strengthen
your hands in that great and good work. But do not say to anybody
that you have seen me."

Some days later, the Bishop of Nancy was in Quebec, the
guest of the Seminary, and a grand dinner was given in his
honor, to which more than one hundred priests were invited,
with the Archbishop of Quebec, his coadjutor, N. G. Turgeon,
and the Bishop of Montreal, M. Q. R. Bourget.

As one of the youngest curates, I had taken the last seat,
which was just opposite the four bishops, from whom I was
separated only by the breadth of the table. When the rich and
rare viands had been well disposed of, and the most delicate
fruits had replaced them, bottles of the choicest wines were
brought on the table in incredible numbers. Then the superior
of the college, the Rev. Mr. Demars, knocked on the table to
command silence, and rising on his feet, he said at the top of his
voice: "Please, my lord bishops, and all of you, reverend gentlemen,
let us drink to the health of my Lord Count de Forbin
Janson, Primate of Lorraine and Bishop of Nancy."

The bottles passing around were briskly emptied into the
large glasses put before every one of the guests. But when the
wine was handed to me, I passed it to my neighbor without
taking a drop, and filled my glass with water. My hope was
that nobody had paid any attention to what I had done; but I
was mistaken. The eyes of my bishop, my Lord Signaie, were
upon me. With a stern voice, he said: "Mr. Chiniquy, what
are you doing there? Put wine in your glass, to drink with us
the health of Mgr. de Nancy."

These unexpected words fell upon me as a thunderbolt, and
paralyzed me with terror. I felt as at the approach of the most
terrible tempest I had ever experienced. My blood ran cold in
my veins; I could not utter a word. For what could I say,
there, without compromising myself forever. To openly resist
my bishop, in the presence of such an august assembly, seemed

impossible. But to obey him was also impossible; for I had
promised my God and my country never to drink any wine. I
thought, at first, that I could disarm my superior by my modesty
and my humble silence. However, I felt that all eyes were
upon me. A real chill of terror and unspeakable anxiety was
running through my whole frame. My heart began to beat so
violently that I could not breathe. I wished, then, I had followed
my first impression, which was not to come to that dinner. I
think I would have suffocated, had not a few tears rolled down
from my eyes, and helped the circulation of my blood. The
Rev. Mr. Lafrance, who was by me, nudged me, and said:
"Do you not hear the order of my Lord Signaie? Why do
you not answer, by doing what you are requested to do?" I
still remained mute, just as if nobody had spoken to me. My
eyes were cast down; I wished then I were dead. The silence
of death, reigning around the tables, told me that every one
was waiting for my answer; but my lips were sealed. After
a minute of that silence, which seemed as long as a whole year,
the bishop, with a loud and angry voice which filled the large
room, repeated: "Why do you not put wine in your glass, and
drink to the health of my Lord Forbin Janson, as the rest of us
are doing?"

I felt I could not be silent any longer. "My lord," I said,
with a subdued and trembling voice, "I have put in my glass
what I want to drink. I have promised my God and my country
that I would never drink any more wine."

The bishop, forgetting the respect he owed to himself and
to those around him, answered me in the most insulting manner:
"You are nothing but a fanatic, and you want to reform us."

These words struck me as the shock of a galvanic battery,
and transformed me into a new man. It seemed as if they had
added ten feet to my stature and a thousand pounds to my
weight. I forgot that I was the subject of that bishop, and
remembered that I was a man, in the presence of another man.
I raised my head and opened my eyes; as quick as lightning I
rose to my feet, and addressing the Grand Vicar Demars, superior
of the seminary, I said with calmness: "Sir, was it that I

might be insulted at your table that you have invited me here?
Is it not your duty to defend my honor when I am here, your
guest? But, as you seem to forget what you owe to your guests,
I will take my own defense against my unjust aggressor." Then,
turning towards the Bishop de Nancy, I said: "My Lord de
Nancy, I appeal to your lordship from the unjust sentence of
my own bishop. In the name of God, and of His Son, Jesus
Christ, I request you to tell us, here, if a priest cannot, for his
Saviour's sake, and for the good of his fellow-men, as well as
for his own self-denial, give up forever the use of wine and
other intoxicating drinks, without being abused, slandered and
insulted, as I am here, in your presence?"

It was evident that my words had made a deep impression
on the whole company. A solemn silence followed for a few
seconds, which was interrupted only by my bishop, who said to
the Bishop de Nancy: "Yes, yes, my lord; give us your sentence."

No words can give an idea of the excitement of every one in
that multitude of priests, who, accustomed from their infancy,
abjectly to submit to their bishop, were, for the first time, in the
presence of such a hand-to-hand conflict between a powerless,
humble, unprotected young curate and his all-powerful, proud
and haughty archbishop.

The Bishop of Nancy, at first, refused to grant my request.
He felt the difficulty of his position; but after Bishop Signaie
had united his voice to mine, to press him to give his verdict, he
rose and said:

"My Lord Archbishop of Quebec, and you, Mr. Chiniquy,
please withdraw your request. Do not press me to give my
views on such a new, but important subject. It is only a few
days since I came in your midst. It will not do that I should so
soon become your judge. The responsibility of a judgment in
such a momentous matter is too great. I cannot accept it."

But when the same pressing request was repeated by nine-tenths
of that vast assembly of priests; and that the archbishop
pressed him more and more to pronounce his sentence, he raised
his eyes and hands to heaven, and made a silent but ardent prayer
to God. His countenance took an air of dignity, I might say

majesty, which gave him more the appearance of an old prophet
than of a man of our day. Then, casting his eyes upon his audience,
he remained a considerable time, meditating. All eyes
were upon him, anxiously waiting for the sentence. There was
an air of grandeur in him, at that moment, which seemed to tell
us that the purest blood of the great kings of France was flowing
in his veins. At last, he opened his lips, but it was again
pressingly to request me to settle the difficulty with the archbishop
among ourselves, and to discharge him of that responsibility.
But we both refused again to grant him his request, and
pressed him to give his judgment. All this time, I was standing,
having publicly said that I would never sit again at that table,
unless that insult was wiped away.

Then he said with unspeakable dignity: "My Lord of Quebec!
Here, before us, is our young priest, Mr. Chiniquy, who,
once on his knees, in the presence of God and his angels, for the
love of Jesus Christ, the good of his own soul and the good of
his country, has promised never to drink! We are the witnesses
that he is faithful to his promise, though he has been pressed to
break it by your lordship.

"And because he keeps his pledge with such heroism, your
lordship has called him a fanatic! Now, I am requested by
every one here, to pronounce my verdict on that painful occurrence.
Here it is! Mr. Chiniquy drinks no wine! But, if I
look through the past ages, when God himself was ruling his
own people, through his prophets, I see Samson, who, by the
special order of God, never drank wine or any other intoxicating
drink! If from the Old Testament, I pass to the New, I see
John the Baptist, the precursor of our Saviour Jesus Christ, who
to obey the command of God, never drank any wine!! When I
look at Mr. Chiniquy, and see Samson at his right hand to protect
him; and John the Baptist at his left to bless him, I find his
position so strong and impregnable, that I would not dare attack
or condemn him!"

These words were pronounced in the most eloquent and dignified
manner, and were listened to with a most respectful and
breathless attention.

Bishop de Nancy, keeping his gravity, sat down, emptied his
wine glass into a tumbler, filled it with water, and drank to my
health.

The poor archbishop was so completely confounded and humiliated,
that every one felt for him. The few minutes spent
at the table, after this extraordinary act of justice, seemed oppressive
to every one. Scarcely any one dared to look at his
neighbor, or speak, except in a low and subdued tone, as when a
great calamity has just occurred.

Nobody thought of drinking his wine; and the health of the
Bishop de Nancy was left undrunk. But a good number of
priests filled their glasses with water, and giving me a silent sign
of approbation, drank to my health.

The society of temperance had been dragged by her enemies
to the battle-field, to be destroyed; but she bravely fought, and
gained the victory. Now, she was called to begin her triumphant
march through our dear Canada.