Fifty Years in the Church of Rome

by Charles Paschal Telesphore Chiniquy

Besides that, my constant intercourse with those criminals, these last few days, their unbounded confidence in me, their gratitude for my devotedness to them, their desolation and their cries when speaking of their fathers or mothers, wives or children, had filled my heart with a measure of sympathy which I would vainly try to express. They were no more thieves and murderers, to me, whose bloody deeds had at first chilled the blood in my veins; they were the friends of my bosom—the beloved children whom cruel beasts had wounded. They were dearer to me than my own life—not only I felt happy to mix my tears with theirs, and unite my ardent prayers to God for mercy with them, but I would have felt happy to shed my blood in order to save their lives. As several of them belonged to the most reputable families of Quebec and vicinity, I thought I could easily interest the clergy and the most respectable citizens to sign a petition to the governor, Lord Gosford, asking him to change their sentence of death into one of perpetual exile to the distant penal colony of Botany Bay, in Australia. The governor was my friend. Colonel Vassal, who was my uncle, and the adjutant-general of the militia of the whole country, had introduced me to his Excellency, who many times had overloaded me with the marks of his interest and kindness, and my hope was that he would not refuse me the favor I was to ask him, when the petition would be signed by the Bishop, the Catholic priests, the ministers of the different Protestant denominations of the city, and hundreds of the principal citizens of Quebec. I presented the petition myself, accompanied by the secretary of the Archbishop. But to my great distress, the governor answered me that those men had committed so many murders, and kept the country in terror for so many years, that it was absolutely necessary they should be punished according to the sentence of the court. Who can tell the desolation of those unfortunate men, when, with a voice choked by my sobs and my tears, I told them that the governor had refused to grant the favor I had asked him for them. They fell on the ground and filled their cells with cries which would have broken the hardest heart. From those very cells we were hearing the noise of the men who were preparing the scaffold where they were to be hanged the next day. I tried to pray and read, but was unable to do so. My desolation was too great to utter a single word. I felt as if I were to be hanged with them—and to say the whole truth, I think I would have been glad to hear that I was to be hanged the next day to save their lives. For there was a fear in me, which was haunting me as a phantom from hell, the last three days. It seemed that, in spite of all my efforts, prayers, confessions, absolutions and sacraments, these men were not converted, and that they were to be launched into eternity with all their sins.

When I was comparing the calm and true repentance of the two thieves, with whom I spent the night a few weeks before in the carriage, with the noisy expressions of sorrow of these newly converted sinners, I could not help finding an immeasurable distance between the first and the second of those penitents. No doubt had remained in my mind about the first, but I had serious apprehensions about the last. Several circumstances, which it would be too long and useless to mention here, were depressing me by the fear that all my chaplets, indulgences, medals, scapulars, holy waters, signs of the cross, prayers to the Virgin, auricular confessions, absolutions, used in the conversion of these sinners, had not the divine and perfect power of a simple look to the dying Saviour on the cross. I was saying to myself, with anxiety: “Would it be possible that those Protestants, who were with me in the carriage, had the true ways of repentance, pardon, peace and life eternal in that simple look to the great victim, and that we Roman Catholics, with our signs of the cross and holy waters, our crucifixes and prayers to the saints, our scapulars and medals, our so humiliating auricular confession, were only distracting the mind, the soul and the heart of the sinner from the true and only source of salvation, Christ!” In the midst of those distressing thoughts, I almost regretted having helped Chambers in giving up his Protestantism for my Romanism.

At about 4 P. M. I made a supreme effort to shake off my desolation, and nerve myself for the solemn duties God had intrusted to me. I put a few questions to those desolated men, to see if they were really repentant and converted. Their answers added to my fears that I had spoken too much of the virgins and the saints, the indulgences, medals and scapulars, integrity of confession, and not enough of Christ dying on the cross for them. It is true, I had spoken of Christ and his death to them, but this had been so much mixed up with exhortation to trust in Mary, put their confidence in their medals, scapulars, confessions, etc., that it became almost evident to me that, in our religion, Christ was like a precious pearl lost in a mountain of sand and dust. This fear soon caused my distress to be unbearable.

I then went to the private, neat little room, which the gaoler had kindly allotted to me, and I fell on my knees to pray God for myself and for my poor convicts. Though this prayer brought some calm to my mind, my distress was still very great. It was then that the thought came again to my mind to go to the governor and make a new and supreme effort to have the sentence of death changed into that of perpetual exile to Botany Bay: and without a moment of delay, I went to his palace.

It was about 7 P. M. when he reluctantly admitted me to his presence, telling me, when shaking hands, “I hope, Mr. Chiniquy, you are not coming to renew your request of the morning, for I cannot grant it.”

Without a word of answer, I fell on my knees, and for more than ten minutes I spoke as I had never spoken before. I spoke as we speak when we are the ambassadors of God in a message of mercy. I spoke with my lips. I spoke with my tears. I spoke with my sobs and cries. I spoke with my supplicating hands lifted to heaven. For some time, the governor was mute, and as if stunned. He was not only a noble-minded man, but he had a most tender, affectionate and kind heart. His tears soon began to flow with mine, and his sobs mixed with my sobs; with a voice, half suffocated by his emotion, he extended his friendly hand, and said:

“Father Chiniquy, you ask me a favor which I ought not to give, but I cannot resist your arguments, when your tears, your sobs, and your cries are like arrows which pierce and break my heart. I will give you the favor you ask.”

It was nearly 10 P. M. when I knocked at the door of the gaoler, asking his permission to see my dear friends in their cells, to tell them that I had obtained their pardon, that they would not die. That gentleman could hardly believe me. It was only after reading twice the document I had in my hands that he saw that I told him the truth.

Looking at the parchment again, he said: “Have you noticed that it is covered and almost spoiled by the spots evidently made with the tears of the governor. You must be a kind of a sorcerer to have melted the heart of such a man, and have wrenched from his hands the pardon of such convicts; for I know he was absolutely unwilling to grant the pardon.”

“I am not a sorcerer,” I answered. “But you remember that our Saviour Jesus Christ had said, somewhere, that he had brought a fire from heaven—well, it is evident that he has thrown some sparks of that fire into my poor heart, for it was so fiercely burning when I was at the feet of the governor, that I think I would have died at his feet, had he not granted me that favor. No doubt that some sparks of that fire have also fallen on his soul and in his heart when I was speaking, for his cries, his tears and his sobs were filling his room, and showing that he was suffering as well as myself. It was that he might not be consumed by that fire that he granted my request. I am now the most happy man under heaven. Please, make haste. Come with me and open the cells of those unfortunate men that I may tell what our merciful God has done for them.” When entering their desolated cells I was unable to contain myself. I cried out: “Rejoice, and bless the Lord, my dear friends! You will not die to-morrow! I bring you your pardon with me!”