I then rejoined and said: “Mr. Grand Vicar, I am only a child before you, when comparing my age with yours; however, I have the honor to be the curate of Beauport. It is in that capacity that I respectfully ask you by what right you oppose my plans for educating our children?”
“I hope, Mr. Chiniquy,” he answered, “that you do not mean to say that I am the enemy of education; for I would answer you that this is the first house of education on this continent, and that I was at its head before you were born. I hope that I have the right to believe and say that the old Superior of the Seminary of Quebec understands as well as the young curate of Beauport the advantage of a good education. But I will repeat to you what I said to Mr. Des Roussell, that it is a great mistake to introduce such a general system of education as you want to do in Beauport. Let every parish have its well educated notary, doctor, merchants, and a few others to do the public business; that is enough. Our parishes of Canada are models of peace and harmony under the direction of their good curates, but they will become unmanageable the very day your system of education spreads abroad; for then all the bad propensities of the heart will be developed with an irresistible force. Besides, you know that since the conquest of Canada by Protestant England, the Protestants are waiting for their opportunity to spread the Bible among our people. The only barrier we can oppose to that danger is to have in the future, as in the past, only a very limited number of our people who can read or write. For as soon as the common people are able to read, they will, like Adam and Eve, taste the forbidden fruit; they will read the Bible, turn Protestant, and be lost for time and eternity.”
In my answer, among other things, I said: “Go into the country, look at the farm which is well cultivated, ploughed with attention and skill, richly manured, and sown with good seed, is it not infinitely more pleasant and beautiful to live on such a farm than on one which is neglected, unskilfully managed and covered with noxious weeds? Well, the difference between a well-educated and an uneducated people is still greater in my mind.
“I know that the priests of Canada, in general, have your views, and it is for that reason that the parish of Beauport, with its immense revenues, has been left without a school worthy the name, from its foundation till my going there. But my views are absolutely different; and as for your fear of the Bible, I confess we are antipodes to each other. I consider that one of the greatest blessings God has bestowed upon me, is that I have read the Bible when I was on my mother’s knees. I do not even conceal from you that one of my objects in giving a good education to every boy and girl of Beauport, is to put the gospel of Christ in their hands as soon as they are able to read it.”
At the end of our conversation, which was very excited on both sides, though kept in the bounds of politeness during nearly two hours, I said: “Mr. Grand Vicar, I did not come here to convert you to my views—this would have been impertinence on my part; nor can you convert me to yours, if you are trying it, for you know I have the bad reputation of being a hard case. I came to ask you, as a favor, to let me work according to my conscience in a parish which is mine and not yours. Do not interfere any more in my affairs between me and my parishioners than you would like me to interfere in the management of your seminary. As you would not like me to criticize you before your pupils and turn you into ridicule, please cease adding to my difficulties among my people, by continuing in the future what you have done in the past.
“You know, Mr. Grand Vicar, that I have always respected you as my father; you have many times been my adviser, my confessor and my friend; I hope you will grant me the favor I ask from you in the name of our common Saviour. It is for the spiritual and temporal good of the people and pastor of Beauport that I make this prayer.”
The old priest was a kind-hearted man. These last words melted his heart. He promised what I wanted, and we parted from each other on better terms than I had expected at first.
When crossing the courtyard of the seminary, I saw the Archbishop Signaie, who, coming from taking a ride, had stopped to look at my horse and admire it. When near him, I said: “My lord, this is a bishop’s horse, and ought to be in your hands.”
“It is what I was saying to my secretary,” replied the bishop. “How long is it since you got it?”
“Only a few days ago, my lord.”