I then resumed: “Do you remember how you were enticed into the ‘Three Masses Society?’ Who among us had the idea that the new obligations we were then assuming were such that the greatest part of the year would be spent in saying masses for the priests, and that it would thus become impossible to satisfy the pious demands of the people who support us? We already belonged to the societies of the Blessed Virgin Mary and of St. Michael, which raised to five the number of masses we had to celebrate for the dead priests. Dazzled by the idea that we would have two thousand masses said for us at our death, we bit at the bait presented to us by the bishop as hungry fishes, without suspecting the hook. The result is that we have had to say 165 masses for the 33 priests who died during the past year, which means that each of us has to pay $41.00 to the bishop for masses which he has had said in Paris for $8.00. Each mass which we celebrate for a dead priest here, is a mass which the bishop sends to Paris, on which he gains twenty cents. Then the more priests he enrolls in his society of ‘Three Masses,’ the more twenty cents he pockets from us and from our pious people. Hence his admirable zeal to enroll every one of us. It is not the value of the money which our bishop so skilfully got from our hands which I consider, but I feel desolate when I see that by these societies we become the accomplices of his simonical trade. For, being forced the greatest part of the year to celebrate the holy sacrifice for the benefit of the dead priests, we cannot celebrate the masses for which we are daily paid by the people, and are therefore forced to transfer them into the hands of the bishop, who sends them to Paris, after spiriting away twenty cents from each of them. However, why should we lament over the past? It is no more within our reach. There is no remedy for it. Let us then learn from the past errors how to be wise in the future.”
Mr. Tetu answered: “You have shown us our error. Now, can you indicate any remedy?”
“I cannot say that the remedy we have in hand is one of those patented medicines which will cure all the diseases of our sickly church in Canada, but I hope it will help to bring a speedy convalescence. That remedy is to abolish the society of ‘Three Masses,’ and to establish another of ‘One Mass,’ which will be said at the death of every priest. In that way it is true that instead of 2,000 masses, we shall have only 1,200 at our death. But if 1,200 masses do not open to us the gates of heaven, it is because we shall be in hell. By that reduction we shall be enabled to say more masses at the request of our people, and shall diminish the number of five-cent masses said by the priests of Paris at the request of our bishop. If you take my advice, we will immediately name the Rev. Mr. Tetu president of the new society, Mr. Parent will be its treasurer, and I consent to act as your secretary, if you like it. When our society is organized, we will send our resignations to the president of the other society, and we shall immediately address a circular to all the priests, to give them the reason for the change, and respectfully ask them to unite with us in this new society, in order to diminish the number of masses which are celebrated by the five-cent priests of Paris.”
Within two hours the new society was fully organized, the reasons of its formation written in a book, and our names were sent to the bishop, with a respectful letter informing him that we were no more members of the ‘Three Masses Society.’ That letter was signed, “C. Chiniquy, Secretary.” Three hours later, I received the following note from the bishop’s palace:
“My Lord Bishop of Quebec wants to see you immediately upon important affairs. Do not fail to come without delay. Truly yours,
“Charles F. Cazeault, Sec’y.”
I showed the missive to the curate and the vicars, and told them: “A big storm is raging on the mountain; this is the first peal of thunder—the atmosphere looks dark and heavy. Pray for me that I may speak and act as an honest and fearless priest, when in the presence of the bishop.”
In the first parlor of the bishop’s palace I met my personal friend, Secretary Cazeault. He said to me: “My dear Chiniquy, you are sailing on a rough sea—you must be a lucky mariner if you escape the wreck. The bishop is very angry at you; but be not discouraged, for the right is on your side.” He then kindly opened the door of the bishop’s parlor, and said: “My lord, Mr. Chiniquy is here, waiting for your orders.”
“Let him come, sir,” answered the bishop.
I entered and threw myself at his feet, as it is the usage of the priests. But, stepping backward, he told me in a most excited manner: “I have no benediction for you till you give me a satisfactory explanation of your strange conduct.”