University of Virginia Library

Chapter XLVI.

THE HOLY FATHERS—NEW MENTAL TROUBLES AT NOT FINDING
THE DOCTRINES OF MY CHURCH IN THEIR WRITINGS—
PURGATORY AND THE SUCKING PIG OF THE POOR MAN
OF VARENNES.

THE most desolate work of a sincere catholic priest is the
study of the Holy Fathers. He does not make a step in
the labyrinth of their discussions and controversies without seeing
the dreams of his theological studies and religious views disappear
as the thick morning mist, when the sun rises above the
horizon. Bound, as he is, by a solemn oath, to interpret the
Holy Scriptures only according to the unanimous consent of the
Holy Fathers, the first thing which puzzles and distresses him.
is their absolute want of unanimity on the greater part of the
subjects which they discuss. The fact is, that more than two-thirds
of what one Father has written, is to prove that what
some other Holy Father has written, is wrong and heretical.

The student of the Fathers not only detects that they do not
agree with one another, but finds that many of them do not even
agree with themselves. Very often they confess that they were
mistaken when they said this and that; that they have lately
changed their minds; that they now hold for saving truth, what
they formerly condemned as damnable error!

What becomes of the solemn oath of every priest, in presence
of this undeniable fact? How can he make an act of faith when
he feels that its foundation is nothing but falsehood?

No words can give an idea of the mental tortures I felt, when
I saw positively, that I could not, any longer, preach on the eternity
of the suffering of the damned, nor believe in the real presence
of the body, soul and divinity of Christ in the sacrament
of communion; nor in the supremacy of the sovereign pontiff of

Rome, nor in any of the other dogmas of the church, withont
perjuring myself! For there was not one of those dogmas
which had not been flatly and directly denied by some Holy
Fathers.

It is true, that in my Roman Catholic theological books, I
had long extracts of Holy Fathers, very clearly supporting and
confirming my faith in these dogmas. For instance, I had the
apostolic liturgies of St. Peter, St. Mark, and St. James, to prove
that the sacrifice of the mass, purgatory, prayers for the dead,
transubstantiation, were believed and taught from the very days
of the apostles.

But what was my dismay when I discovered that those liturgies
were nothing else than vile and audacious forgeries presented
to the world, by my Popes and my church, as gospel truths.

I could not find words to express my sense of shame and
consternation, when I became sure that the same church which
had invented these apostolic liturgies, had accepted and circulated
the false decretals of Isidore, and forged innumerable additions
and interpolations to the writings of the Holy Fathers, in
order to make them say the very contrary of what they intended.

How many times, when alone, studying the history of the
shameless fabrications, I said to myself: "Does the man whose
treasury is filled with pure gold, forge false coins, or spurious,
pieces of money? No! How, then, is it possible thrt my church
does possess the pure truth, when she has been at work during
so many centuries, to forge such egregious lies, under the names
of liturgies and decretals, about the holy mass, purgatory, the
supremacy of the Pope, etc."

"If those dogmas could have been proved by the gospel and
the true writings of the Fathers, where was the necessity of
forging lying documents? Would the Popes and councils have
treasuries with spurious bank bills, if they had had exhaustless
mines of pure gold in hand? What right has my church to be
called holy and infallible, when she is publicly guilty of such
impostures?"

From my infancy I had been taught, with all the Roman
Catholics, that Mary is the mother of God, and many times

every day, when praying to her, I used to say, "Holy Mary,
mother of God, pray for me."

But what was my distress when I read in the "Treatise on
Faith and Creed," by St Augustine, chapter iv., § 9, these very
words, "When the Lord said: Woman, what have I to do
with thee? Mine hour is not yet come." (John xix: 4.) He
rather admonishes us to understand that, in respect of His being
God, there was no mother for Him.

This was so completely demolishing the teachings of my
church, and telling me that it was blasphemy to call Mary,
mother of God, that I felt as if struck with a thunderbolt.

Several volumes might be written, if my plan were to give
the story of my mental agonies, when reading, the Holy Fathers,
I found their furious battles against each other, and reviewed
their fierce divisions on almost every subject. The horror of
many of them at the dogmas which my church had taught to
make me believe from my infancy, as the most solemn and
sacred revelations of God to man, such as transubstantiation,
auricular confession, purgatory, the supremacy of Peter, the absolute
supremacy of the Pope over the whole church of Christ.
Yes! what thrilling pages I would give to the world, were it
my intention to portray in their true colors, the dark clouds, the
flashing lights and destructive storms which, during the long
and silent hours of the many nights I spent in comparing the
Fathers with the Word of God and the teachings of my church.
Their fierce and constant conflicts; their unexpected, though
undeniable opposition to many of the articles of the faith I
had to believe and preach; were coming to me day after day, as
the barbed darts thrown at the doomed whale when coming out
of the dark regions of the deep to see the light and breathe the
pure air.

Thus, as the unexpected contradictions of the Holy Fathers
to the tenets of my church, and their furious and uncharitable
divisions among themselves, were striking me, I plunged deeper
and deeper in the deep waters of the Fathers and the Word of
God, with the hope of getting rid of the deadly darts which were
piercing my Roman Catholic conscience. But it was in vain.

The deeper I went, the more the deadly weapons would stick to
the flesh and bone of my soul. How deep was the wound I
received from Gregory the Great, one of the most learned Popes
of Rome, against supremacy and universality of the power
of the Pope of Rome as taught to-day, the following extracts
from his writings will show: "But I confidently say that whosoever
calls himself universal bishop, or desires to be called so, in
his pride, he prefers himself to the rest. And he is led to error
with a similar pride. For as that wicked one wishes to appear
a God, above all men, whosoever he is, who alone desires to be
called a supreme Bishop, extols himself above the other bishops."
(Bk. vii. Int. 15. Epist. 33, to Maurituus Augustus.)

These words wounded me very painfully. I showed them to
Mr. Brassard, saying: "Do you not see here the incontrovertible
proof of what I have told you many times, that, during the first
six centuries of Christianity, we do not find the least proof that
there was anything like our dogma of the supreme power and
authority of the Bishop of Rome, or any other bishop, over the
rest of the Christian world? If there is anything which comes
to the mind with an irresistible force, when reading the Fathers
of the first centuries, it is that, not one of them had any idea that
there was, in the church, any man chosen by God, to be in fact
or name, the universal and supreme pontiff. With such an
undeniable fact before us, how can we believe and say that the
religion we profess and teach is the same which was preached
from the begining of Christianity?"

"My dear Chiniquy," anwered Mr. Brassard, "did I not tell
you, when you bought the Holy Fathers, that you were doing a
foolish and dangerous thing? In every age, the man who singularises
himself and walks out of the common tracks of life is
subject to fall into ridicule. As you are the only priest in Canada
who has the Holy Fathers, it is thought and said in many
quarters, that it is through pride you got them; that it is to
raise yourself above the rest of the clergy, that you study them,
not only at home, but that you carry some wherever you go. I
see with regret, that you are fast losing ground in the mind, not
only of the bishop, but of the priests in general, on account of

your indomitable perseverance in giving all your spare time in
their study. You are also too free and imprudent in speaking
of what you call the contradictions of the Holy Fathers, and
their want of harmony with some of our religious views.
Many say that this too great application to study, without a
moment of relaxation, will upset your intelligence and trouble
your mind. They even whisper that there is danger ahead for
your faith, which you do not suspect, and that they would not
be surprised if the reading of the Bible and the Holy Fathers
would drive you into the abyss of Protestantism. I know that
that they are mistaken, and I do all in my power to defend you.
But, I thought, as your most devoted friend, that it was my duty
to tell you those things, and warn you before it is too late."

I replied: "Bishop Prince told me the very same things,
and I will give you the answer he got from me; `When you
ordain a priest, do you not make him swear that he will never
interpret the Holy Scriptures, except according to the unanimous
consent of the Holy Fathers? Ought you not, then, to know
what they teach? For, how can we know their unanimous consent
without studying them. Is it not more than strange that
not only the priests do not study the Holy Fathers, but the only
one in Canada who is trying to study them, is turned into ridicule
and suspected of heresy? Is it my fault if that precious
stone, called `unanimous consent of the Holy Fathers' which is
the very foundation of our religious belief and teachings, is to be
found nowhere in them? Is it my fault if Origen never believed
in the eternal punishment of the damned; if St. Cyprien denied
the supreme authority of the Bishop of Rome, if St. Augustine
positively said that nobody was obliged to believe in purgatory,
if St. John Chrysostom publicly denied the obligations of
auricular confession, and the real presence of the body of Christ
in the eucharist? Is it my fault if one of the most learned and
holy Popes, Gregory the Great, has called by the name of Antichrist,
all his successors, for taking the name of supreme pontiff,
and trying to persuade the world that they had, by divine
authority, a supreme jurisdiction and power over the rest of the
church?"

"And what did Bishop Prince answer you?" rejoined
Mr. Brassard.

"Just as you did, by expressing his fears that my too great
application to the study of the Bible and the Holy Fathers
would either send me to the lunatic asylum, or drive me into
the bottomless abyss of Protestantism."

I answered him, in a jocose way: "that if the too great study
of the Bible and the Holy Fathers were to open me the gates of
the lunatic asylum, I feared I would be left alone there, for I
know that they are keeping themselves at a respectable distance
from those dangerous writings." I added seriously. "So long
as God keeps my intelligence sound, I cannot join Protestants,
for the numberless and ridiculous sects of these heretics are a
sure antidote against their poisonous errors. I will not remain a
good Catholic on account of the unanimity of the Holy Fathers,
which does not exist, but I will remain a Catholic on account of
the grand and visible unanimity of the prophets, apostles and the
evangelists, with Jesus Christ. My faith will not be founded upon
the fallible, obscure and wavering words of Origen, Tertullian,
Chrysostom, Augustine or Jerome; but on the infallible word of
Jesus, the Son of God, and His inspired writers; Mathew, Mark,
Luke, John, Peter, James and Paul. It is Jesus, not Origen
who will now guide me; for the second was a sinner, like myself,
and the first is forever my Saviour and my God. I know
enough of the Holy Fathers to assure your lordship that the
oath we take accepting the Word of God according to their
unanimous consent, is a miserable blunder, if not a blasphemous
perjury. It is evident that Pius IV., who imposed the obligation
of that oath upon us all, never read a single volume of the Holy
Fathers. He would not have been guilty of such an incredible
blunder, if he had known that the Holy Fathers are unanimous
in only one thing, which is to differ from each other on almost
everything; except we suppose that, like the last Pope, he was
too fond of good champagne, and that he wrote that ordinance
after a luxurious dinner."

I spoke this last sentence in a half-serious and half-joking
way.

The bishop answered: "Who told you that about our last
Pope?"

"Your lordship," I answered, "told me that, when you
complimented me on the apostolical benediction which the
present Pope sent me through my Lord Baillargeon, `that his
predecessor would not have given me his benediction for preaching
temperance because he was too fond of wine!"

"Oh yes! yes! I remember it now," answered the bishop.
"But it was a bad joke on my part, which I regret."

"Good or bad joke," I replied, "It is not the less the fact,
that our last Pope was too fond of wine. There is not a single
priest of Canada who has gone to Rome, without bringing that
back as a public fact, from Italy."

"And what did my Lord Prince say to that," asked again
Mr. Brassard.

"Just as when he was cornered by me, on the subject of the
Virgin Mary, he abruptly put an end to the conversation, by
looking at his watch and saying that he had a call to make, at
that very hour."

Not long after that painful conversation about the Holy
Fathers, it was the will of God, that new arrow should be
thrust into my Roman Catholic conscience, which went through
and through, in spite of myself.

I had been invited to give a course of three sermons at
Varennes. The second day, at tea time, after preaching and
hearing confessions for the whole afternoon, I was coming from
the church with the curate, when half-way to the parsonage,
we were met by a poor man, who looked more like one coming
out of the grave, than a living man; he was covered with rags,
and his pale and trembling lips indicated that he was reduced to
the last degree of human misery. Taking off his hat, through
respect for us, he said to Rev. Primeau, with a trembling voice;
"You know, Mr. le Cure, that my poor wife died, and was
buried ten days ago, but I was too poor to have a funeral service
sung the day she was buried, and I fear she is in purgatory,
for almost every night, I see her in my dreams, wrapped up in
burning flames. She cries to me for help, and asks me to have

a high mass sung for the rest of her soul. I come to ask you to
be so kind as to sing that high mass for her."

"Of course," answered the curate, "your wife is in the
flames of purgatory, and suffers there the most unspeakable tortures,
which can be relieved only by the offering of the holy
sacrifice of mass. Give me five dollars and I will sing that mass
to-morrow morning."

"You know very well, Mr. le Cure," answered the poor
man, in a most supplicating tone, "that my wife has been sick,
as well as myself, a good part of the year. I am too poor to
give you five dollars!"

"If you cannot pay, you cannot have any mass sung. You
know it is the rule. It is not in my power to change it."

These words were said by the curate with a high and unfeeling
tone, which were in absolute contrast with the solemnity and
distress of the poor sick man. They made a very painful impression
upon me, for I felt for him. I knew the curate was
well-off, at the head of one of the richest parishes of Canada;
that he had several thousand dollars in the bank. I hoped at
first, that he would kindly grant the petition presented to him,
without speaking of the pay, but I was disappointed. My first
thought, after hearing his hard rebuke, was to put my hand in
my pocket and take one of the several five-dollar gold pieces I
had, and give it to the poor man, that he might be relieved from
his terrible anxiety about his wife. It came also to my mind to
say to him: "I will sing your high mass for nothing to-morrow."
But alas! I must confess, to my shame, I was too cowardly to do
that noble deed. I had a sincere desire to do it, but was prevented
by the fear of insulting that priest, who was older than
myself, and for whom I had always entertained great respect.
It was evident to me that he would have taken my action as a
condemnation of his conduct.

When I was feeling ashamed of my own cowardice, and still
more indignant against myself than against the curate, he said to
the disconcerted poor man: "That woman is your wife; not
mine. It is your business, and not mine, to see how to get her
out of purgatory."

Turning to me, he said, in the most amiable way: "Please,
sir, come to tea."

We hardly started, when the poor man, raising his voice,
said, in a most touching way: "I cannot leave my poor wife in
the flames of purgatory; if you cannot sing a high mass, will
you please say five low masses to rescue her soul from those
burning flames?"

The priest turned towards him and said: "Yes, I can say
five masses to take the soul of your wife out of purgatory, but
give me five shillings; for you know the price of a low mass is
one shilling."

The poor man answered: "I can no more give one dollar
than I can five. I have not a cent; and my three poor little
children are as naked and starving as myself."

"Well! well!" answered the curate, "when I passed this
morning, before your house, I saw two beautiful sucking pigs.
Give me one of them, and I will say your five low masses."

The poor man said: "These small pigs were given me by a
charitable neighbor, that I might raise them to feed my poor
children next winter. They will surely starve to death, if I
give my pigs away."

But I could not listen any longer to that strange dialogue;
every word of which fell upon my soul as a shower of burning
coals. I was beside myself with shame and disgust. I abruptly
left the merchant of souls, finishing his bargains, went to my
sleeping-room, locked the door, and fell upon my knees to weep
to my heart's content.

A quarter of an hour later, the curate knocked at my door
and said: "Tea is ready; please come down!" I answered:
"I am not well; I want some rest. Please excuse me, if I do
not take my tea to-night."

It would require a more eloquent pen than mine to give the
correct history of that sleepless night. The hours were dark
and long.

"My God! my God!" I cried, a thousand times, "Is it possible
that, in my so dear Church of Rome, there can be such
abominations as I have seen and heard to-day? Dear adorable

Saviour, if thou wert still on earth, and should see the soul
of a daughter of Israel fallen into a burning furnace, wouldst
thou ask a shilling to take it out? Wouldst thou force the poor
father, with his starving children, to give their last morsel of
bread, to persuade thee to extinguish the burning flames? Thou
hast shed the last drop of thy blood to save her. And how
cruel, how merciless, we, thy priests, are, for the same precious
soul! But are we really thy priests? Is it not blasphemous
to call ourselves thy priests, when not only we will not sacrifice
anything to save that soul, but will starve the poor husband and
his orphans? What right have we to extort such sums of money
from thy poor children to help them out of purgatory? Do not
thy apostles say that thy blood alone can purify the soul?

"Is it possible that there is such a fiery prison for the sinners
after death, and that neither thyself nor any of thy apostles has
said a word about it?

"Several of the Fathers consider purgatory as of Pagan origin.
Tertullian spoke of it only after he had joined the sect of
the Montanists, and he confesses that it is not through the Holy
Scriptures, but through the inspiration of the Paraclete of Montanus
that he knows anything about purgatory. Augustine, the
most learned and pious of the Holy Fathers, does not find purgatory
in the Bible, and positively says that its existence is
dubious; that every one may believe what he thinks proper
about it. Is it possible that I am so mean as to have refused to
extend a helping hand to that poor distressed man, for fear of
offending the cruel priest?

"We priests believe, and say that we can help souls out of
the burning furnace of purgatory, by our prayers and masses;
but instead of rushing to their rescue, we turn to the parents,
friends, the children of those departed souls, and say: "Give
me five dollars; give me a shilling, and I will put an end to those
tortures; but if you refuse us that money, we will let your
father, husband, wife, child, or friend endure those tortures, hundreds
of years more! Would not the people throw us into the
river, if they could once understand the extent of our meanness
and avarice? Ought we not to be ashamed to ask a shilling to

take out of the fire a human being who calls us to the rescue?
Who, except a priest, can descend so low in the regions of
depravity?"

It would take too long to give the thoughts which tortured
me during that terrible night. I literally bathed my pillow with
my tears. Before saying my mass next morning, I went to confess
my criminal cowardice and want of charity towards that
poor man, and also the terrible temptation against my faith which
tortured my conscience dnring the long hours of that night!
And I repaired my cowardice by giving $5.00 to that poor man.

I spent the morning in hearing confessions till ten o'clock,
when I delivered a very exciting sermon on the malice of sin,
proved by the sufferings of Christ on the cross. This address
gave a happy diversion to my mind, and made me forget the sad
story of the sucking pig.

After the sermon, the curate took me by the hand to his dining
room, where he gave me, in spite of myself, the place of honor.

He had the reputation of having one of the best cooks of
Canada, in the widow of one of the governors of Nova Scotia,
whom he had as his housekeeper. The dishes before our eyes
did not diminish his good reputation.

The first dish was a sucking pig, roasted with an art and perfection
as I had never seen; it looked like a piece of pure gold,
and its smell would have brought water to the lips of the most
penitent anchorite.

I had not tasted anything for the last twenty-four hours; had
preached two exciting sermons, and spent six hours in hearing
confessions. I felt hungry; and the sucking pig was the most
tempting thing to me. It was a real epicurean pleasure to look
at it and smell its fragrance. Besides, that was a favorite dish
with me. I cannot conceal that it was with real pleasure that I
saw the curate, after sharpening his long, glittering knife on the
file, cutting a beautiful slice from the shoulder, and offering it to
me. I was too hungry to be over patient. My knife and fork
had soon done their work. I was carrying to my mouth the
tempting and succulent mouthful, when, suddenly, the remembrance
of the poor man's sucking pig came to my mind. I laid

the piece on my plate, and with painful anxiety, looked at the
curate and said: "Will you allow me to put you a question
about this dish?"

"Oh! yes; ask me, not only one, but two questions, and I
will be happy to answer you to the best of my ability," answered
he, with his fine manners.

"Is this the sucking pig of the poor man of yesterday?" I
asked.

With a convulsive fit of laughter, he replied: "Yes; it is
just it. If we cannot take away the soul of the poor woman
out of the flames of purgatory, we will, at all events, eat a fine
sucking pig!"

The other thirteen priests filled the room with laughter, to
show their appreciation of their host's wit.

However, their laughter was not of long duration. With a
feeling of shame and uncontrollable indignation, I pushed away
my plate with such force, that it crossed the table, and nearly
fell on the floor, saying, with a sentiment of disgust which no
pen can describe: "I would rather starve to death than eat of
that execrable dish; I see in it the tears of the poor man; I see
the blood of his starving children; it is the price of a soul. No!
no, gentlemen; do not touch it. You know, Mr. Curate, how
30,000 priests and monks were slaughtered in France, in the
bloody days of 1792. It was for such iniquities as this that
God Almighty visited the church in France. The same future
awaits us here in Canada, the very day that people will awaken
from their slumber and see that, instead of being ministers of
Christ, we are vile traders of souls, under the mask of
religion."

The poor curate, stunned by the solemnity of my words, as
well as by the consciousness of his guilt, lisped some excuse.
The sucking pig remained untouched; and the rest of the dinner
had more the appearance of a burial ceremony than of a convivial
repast.

By the mercy of God, I had redeemed my cowardice of the
day before. But I had mortally wounded the feelings of that
curate and his friends, and forever lost their good-will.

It is in such ways that God was directing the steps of his
unprofitable servant through ways unknown to him. Furious
storms were constantly blowing around my fragile bark, and
tearing my sails into fragments. But, every storm was pushing
me, in spite of myself, towards the shores of eternal life, where
I was to land safely a few years later.