VICARAGE AND LIFE AT ST. CHARLES, RIVIERRE BOYER.
On the 24th September, 1833, 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:
“ORDO DUCIT AD DEUM.”
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 8.30 to 10 a.
the saints 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 answered, “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 in 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 right hand 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!”