CHAPTER 46
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 or that; that
they have lately changed their minds; that they now hold for saving truth what
they formerly condemned as a damning 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 my church, without 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 those 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 those apostolical 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
that my church 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, ect. 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
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 ii. 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 colours, the dark clouds, the flashing
lights and destructive storms which, during the long and silent hours of 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 oppositions 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 the supremacy and universality of the power of the Pope
of Rome as taught today, the following extracts from his writings will show:
"I say confidently, Whosoever calls himself Universal Priest, or desires
so to be called, is in his pride the forerunner of Antichrist, because, in his
pride, he sets himself before the rest."
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 beginning of
Christianity?"
"My dear Chiniquy," answered 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 singularizes 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 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 to 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 of 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
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 teaching, is to be found nowhere in them? Is it my fault
if Origen never believed in the eternal punishment of the damned; if St.
Cyprian 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 obligation 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 the
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 of His inspired writers: Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Peter, James,
and Paul. It is Jesus, and not Origen, who will now guide me; for the second
was a sinner, like myself, and the first is for ever my Saviour and my God. I
know enough of the Holy Fathers to assure your lordship that the oath we take
of 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 a 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 a 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 Vareness. 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 know 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 this hard rebuke, was to put my
hand in my pocket and take out 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 you 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
neighbour, 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 today? Dear and 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 during the long hours of that night! And I repaired my
cowardice by giving five dollars 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 honour.
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 favourite
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 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 the 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 for ever lost their goodwill.
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.
.
CHAPTER 47
On
the 15th of December, 1850, I received the following letter:
"Chicago, Ill., December 1st, 1850.
"Rev. Father Chiniquy:
"Apostle of Temperance of Canada.
"Dear Sir: When I was in Canada, last fall, I intended to confer with you
on a very important subject, but you were then working in the diocese of
Boston, and my limited time prevented me from going so far to meet you. You are
aware that the lands of the State of Illinois and the whole valley of the
Mississippi are among the richest and most fertile of the world. In a near future,
those regions, which are now a comparative wilderness, will be the granary, not
only of the United States, but of the whole world; and those who will possess
them will not only possess the very heart and arteries of this young and
already so great republic, but will become its rulers.
"It is our intention, without noise, to take possession of those vast and
magnificent regions of the west in the name and for the benefit of our holy
Church. Our plan to attain that object, is as sure as easy. There is, every
year, an increasing tide of emigration from the Roman Catholic regions of
Europe and Canada towards the United States. Unfortunately, till now, our
emigrants have blindly scattered themselves among the Protestant populations,
which too often absorb them and destroy their faith.
"Why should we not direct their steps to the same spot? Why should we not,
for instance, induce them to come and take possession of these fertile states
of Illinois, Missouri, Iowa, Kansas, ect. They can get those lands now, at a
nominal price. If we succeed, as I hope we will, our holy Church will soon
count her children here by ten and twenty millions, and through their numbers,
their wealth and unity, they will have such a weight in the balance of power
that they will rule everything.
"The Protestants, always divided among themselves, will never form any
strong party without the help of the united vote of our Catholic people; and
that party alone, which will ask and get our help by yielding to our just
demands, will rule the country. Then, in reality, though not in appearance, our
holy Church will rule the United States, as she is called by our Saviour
Himself to rule the whole world. There is, today, a wave of emigrants from
Canada towards the United States, which, if not stopped or well directed, is
threatening to throw the good French Canadian people into the mire of
Protestantism. Your countrymen, when once mixed with the numberless sects which
try to attract them, are soon shaken in their faith. Their children sent to Protestant
schools, will be unable to defend themselves against the wily and united
efforts made to pervert them.
"But put yourself at the head of the emigrants from Canada, France and
Belgium; prevent them from settling any longer among the Protestants, by
inducing them to follow you to Illinois, and with them, you will soon see here,
a Roman Catholic people, whose number, wealth and influence will amaze the
world. God Almighty has wonderfully blessed your labours in Canada in that holy
cause of temperance. But now the work is done, the same Great God presents to
your Christian ambition a not less great and noble work for the rest of your
life. Make use of your great influence over your countrymen to prevent them
from scattering any longer among Protestants, by inducing them to come here, in
Illinois. You will then lay the foundation of a Roman Catholic French people,
whose piety, unity, wealth and number will soon renew and revive, on this
continent, the past and fading glories of the Church of France.
"We have already, at Bourbonnais, a fine colony of French Canadians. They
long to see and hear you. Come and help me to make that comparatively small,
though thriving people, grow with the immigrants from the French-speaking
countries of Europe and America, till it covers the whole territory of Illinois
with its sturdy sons and pious daughters. I will ask the Pope to make you my
coadjutor, and you will soon become my successor, for I already feel too weak
and unhealthy to bear alone the burden of my too large diocese.
"Please consider what I propose to you before God, and answer me. But be
kind enough to consider this overture as strictly confidential between you and
me, till we have brought our plans into execution.
"Truly yours, Olvi Vandeveld,
"Bishop of Chicago."
I
answered him that the Bishops of Boston, Buffalo and Detroit, had already
advised me to put myself at the head of the French Canadian immigration, in
order to direct its tide towards the vast and rich regions of the west. I wrote
him that I felt as he did, that it was the best way to prevent my countrymen
from falling into the snares laid before them by Protestants, among whom they
were scattering themselves. I told him that I would consider it a great honour
and privilege to spend the last part of my life in extending the power and
influence of our holy Church over the Untied States, and that I would, in June
next, pay my respects to him in Chicago, when on my way towards the colony of
my countrymen at Bourbonnais Grove. I added that after I should have seen those
territories of Illinois and the Mississippi valley, with my own eyes, it would
be more easy to give him a definite answer. I ended my letter by saying:
"But I respectfully request your lordship to give up the idea of selecting
me for your coadjutor, or successor. I have already twice refused to become a
bishop. That high dignity is too much above my merits and capacities to be ever
accepted by me. I am happy and proud to fight the battles of our holy Church;
but let my superiors allow me to continue to remain in her ranks as a simple
soldier, to defend her honour and extend her power. I may, then, with the help
of God, do some good. But I feel, and know that I would spoil everything, if
raised to an elevated position, for which I am not fit."
Without speaking to anybody of the proposition of the Bishop of Chicago, I was
preparing to go and see the new field where he wanted me to work, when, in the
beginning of May, 1851, I received a very pressing invitation from my Lord
Lefebre, Bishop of Detroit, to lecture on temperance to the French Canadians
who were, then, forming the majority of the Roman Catholics of that city.
That bishop had taken the place of Bishop Rese, whose public scandals and
infamies had covered the whole Catholic Church of America with shame. During
the last years he had spent in his diocese, very few weeks had past without his
being picked up beastly drunk in the lowest taverns, and even in the streets of
Detroit, and dragged, unconscious to his place.
After long and vain efforts to reform him, the Pope and bishops of America had
happily succeeded in persuading him to go to Rome, and pay his respects to the
so-called vicar of Jesus Christ. This was a snare too skillfully laid to be
suspected by the drunken bishop. He had hardly set his feet in Rome when the
inquisitors threw him into one of their dungeons, where he remained till the
republicans set him at liberty, in 1848, after Pope Pius IX. had fled to Civita
Vecchia. In order to blot out from the face of his Church the black spots with
which his predecessor had covered it, Bishop Lefebre made the greatest display
of zeal for the cause of temperance. As soon as he was inducted, he invited his
people to follow his example and enroll themselves under its banners, in a very
powerful address on the evils caused by the use of intoxicating drinks. At the
end of his eloquent sermon, laying his right hand on the altar, he made a
solemn promise never to drink any alcoholic liquors.
His telling sermon on temperance, with his solemn and public promise, were
published through almost all the papers of that time, and I read it many times
to the people with good effect. When, on my way to Illinois, I reached the city
of Detroit to give the course of lectures demanded by the bishop, in the first
week of June. Though the bishop was absent, I immediately began to preach to an
immense audience in the Cathedral. I had agreed to give five lectures, and it
was only during the third one that Bishop Lefebre arrived. After paying me
great compliments for my zeal and success in the temperance cause, he took me
by the hand to his dining-room, and said: "Let us go and refresh
ourselves."
I shall never forget my surprise and dismay when I perceived the long dining
table, covered with bottles of brandy, wine, beer, ect., prepared for himself
and his six or seven priests, who were already around it, joyfully emptying
their glasses. My first thought was to express my surprise and indignation, and
leave the room in disgust, but by a second and better thought I waited a little
to see more of that unexpected spectacle. I accepted the seat offered me by the
bishop at his right hand.
"Father Chiniquy," he said, "this is the sweetest claret you
ever drank." And before I could utter a word, he had filled my large glass
with the wine, and drank his own to my health.
Looking at the bishop in amazement, I said, "What does this mean, my
lord?"
"It means that I want to drink with you the best claret you ever
tasted."
"Do you take me for a comedian?" I replied, with lips trembling with
indignation.
"I did not invite you to play a comedy," he answered. "I invited
you to lecture on temperance to my people, and you have done it in a most
admirable way, these last three days. Though you did not see me, I was present
at this evening's address. I never heard anything so eloquent on that subject
as what you said. But now that you have fulfilled your duty, I must do mine,
which is to treat you as a gentleman, and drink that bottle of wine with
you."
"But, my lord, allow me to tell you that I would not deserve to be called
or treated as a gentleman, were I vile enough to drink wine after the address I
gave this evening."
"I beg your pardon for differing from you," answered the bishop.
"Those drunken people to whom you spoke so well against the evils on
intemperance, are in need of the stringent and bitter remedies you offer them
in your teetotalism. But here we are sober men and gentlemen, we do not want
such remedies. I never thought that the physicians were absolutely bound to
take the pills they administered to their patients."
"I hope your lordship will not deny me the right you claim for yourself,
to differ with me in this matter. I entirely differ from you, when you say that
men who drink as you do with your priests, have a right to be called sober
men."
"I fear, Mr. Chiniquy, that you forget where you are, and to whom you
speak just now," replied the bishop.
"It may be that I have made a blunder, and that I am guilty of some grave
error in coming here, and speaking to you as I am doing, my lord. In that case,
I am ready to ask your pardon. But before I retract what I have said, please
allow me to respectfully ask you a very simple question."
Then taking from my pocket-book his printed address, and his public and solemn
promise never to drink, neither to offer any intoxicating drinks to others, I
read it aloud, and said: "Are you the same Bishop of Detroit, called
Lefebre, who has made this solemn promise? If you are not the same man, I will
retract and beg your pardon, but if you are the same, I have nothing to
retract."
My answer fell upon the poor bishop as a thunderbolt.
He lisped some unintelligible and insignificant explanation, which, however, he
ended by a coup d'etat, in saying:
"My dear Mr. Chiniquy, I did not invite you to preach to the bishop, but
only to the people of Detroit."
"You are right, my lord, I was not called to preach to the bishop, but
allow me to tell you that if I had known sooner, that when the Bishop of
Detroit, with his priests, solemnly, publicly, and with their right hand on the
altar, promised that they would never drink any intoxicating drinks, it means
that they will drink and fill themselves with those detestable liquors, till
their brains shiver with their poisonous fumes, I would not have troubled you
with my presence or my remarks here. However, allow me to tell your lordship to
be kind enough to find another lecturer for your temperance meetings. For I am
determined to take the train to-morrow morning for Chicago."
There is no need to say that, during that painful conversation, the priests
(with only one exception) were as full of indignation against me as they were
full of wine. I left the table and went to my sleeping apartment, overwhelmed
with sadness and shame.
Half an hour later, the bishop was with me, conjuring me to continue my
lectures, on account of the fearful scandals which would result from my sudden
and unexpected exit from Detroit, when the whole people had the assurance from
me, that very night, that I would continue to lecture the two following
evenings. I acknowledged that there would be a great scandal, but I told him
that he was the only one responsible for it by his want of faith and
consistency.
He, at first, tried to persuade me that he was ordered to drink, by his own
physicians, for his health; but I showed him that this was a miserable
illusion. He then said that he regretted what had occurred, and confessed that
it would be better if the priests practiced what they preached to the people.
After which, he asked me, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, to forget the
errors of the bishops and priests of Detroit, in order to think only of the
good which the conversion of the numberless drunkards of that city would do to
the people.
He spoke to me with such earnestness of the souls saved, the tears dried, the
happiness restored to hundreds of families, by temperance, that he touched the
most sensitive chords of my heart, and got from me the promise that I would
deliver the other two expected lectures. He was so glad, that he pressed me on
his bosom, and gave me, what we call in France, Le baiser de paix (kiss of
peace), to show me his esteem and gratitude.
When alone, I tried to drown in a sound sleep the sad emotions of that evening;
but it was impossible. That night was to be again a sleepless one to me. The
intemperance of that high dignitary and his priests filled me with an
unspeakable horror and disgust. Many times, during the dark hours of that
night, I head as if it were a voice saying to me, "Do you not see that the
bishops and priests of your church do not believe a word of their religion?
Their only object is to throw dust in the eyes of the people, and live a jolly
life. Do you not see that you do not follow the Word of God, but only the vain
and lying traditions of men in the Church of Rome? Come out of it. Break the
heavy yoke which is upon you, and follow the simple, pure religion of Jesus
Christ."
I tried to silence that voice by saying to myself: "These sins are not the
sins of my holy church; they are the sins of individuals. It was not the fault
of Christ if Judas was a thief! It is not more the fault of my holy church if
this bishop and his priests are drunkards and worldly men. Where will I go if I
leave my church? Will I not find drunkards and infidels everywhere I may go in
search of a better religion?"
The dawn of the next day found me feverish, and unable to get any rest in my
bed. Hoping that the first fresh air of the morning would do me good, I went to
the beautiful garden, covered with fruit trees of all kinds, which was, then,
around the episcopal residence. But what was my surprise to see the bishop
leaning on a tree, with his handkerchief over his face, and bathed in tears. I
approached him with the least noise possible. I saw that he did not perceive
me. By the motion of his head and shoulders, it became evident to me that he
was in anguish of soul. I said to him: "My dear bishop, what is the
matter? Why do you weep and cry at such an earl hour?"
Pressing my hand convulsively in his, he answered:
"Dear Father Chiniquy, you do not yet know the awful calamity which has
befallen me this night?"
"What calamity?" I asked.
"Do you not remember," he answered, "that young priest who was
sitting at your right hand last evening? Well! he went away, during the night,
with the wife of a young man, whom he had seduced, and stole four thousand
dollars from me before he left."
"I am not at all surprised at that, when I remember how that priest
emptied his glasses of beer and wine last night," I answered. "When
the blood of a man is heated by those fiery liquors, it is sheer absurdity to
think that he will keep his vow of chastity."
"You are right! You are right! God Almighty has punished me for breaking
the public pledge I had taken never to drink any intoxicating drinks. We want a
reform in our midst, and we will have it,'" he answered. "But what
horrible scandal! One of my young priests gone with that young wife, after
stealing four thousand dollars from me! Great God! Must we not hide our face
now, in this city?"
I could say nothing to alleviate the sorrow of the poor bishop, but to mingle
my tears of shame and sorrow with his. I went back to my room, where I wept a
part of the day, to my heart's content, on the unspeakable degradations of that
priesthood of which I had been so proud, and about which I had such exalted
views when I entered its ranks, before I had an inside view of its dark
mysteries.
Of course, the next two days that I was the guest of Bishop Lefebre, not a
single drop of intoxicating drink was seen on the table. But I know that not
long after, that representative of the Pope forgot again his solemn vows, and
continued with his priests, drinking, till he died a most miserable death in
1875.
.
CHAPTER 48
The
journey from Detroit to Chicago, in the month of June, 1851, was not so
pleasant as it is today. The Michigan Central Railroad was completed, then,
only to New Buffalo. We took the steamer there and crossed Lake Michigan to
Chicago, where we arrived the next morning, after nearly perishing in a
terrible storm. On the 15th of June, I first landed, with the greatest
difficulty, on a badly wrecked wharf, at the mouth of the river. Some of the
streets I had to cross in order to reach the bishop's place were almost
impassable. In many places loose planks had been thrown across them to prevent
people from sinking in the mud and quicksands.
The first sight of Chicago, was then far from giving an idea of what that city
has become in 1884. Though it had rapidly increased the last ten years, its
population was then not much more than 30,000. The only line of railroad
finished was from Chicago to Aurora, about forty miles. The whole population of
the State of Illinois was then not much beyond 200,000. today, Chicago alone
numbers more than 500,000 souls within her limits. Probably more grain, lumber,
beef and pork, are now bought and sold in a single day in Chicago than were
then in a whole year.
When I entered the miserable house called the "bishop's palace," I
could hardly believe my eyes. The planks of the lower floor, in the diningroom,
were floating, and it required a great deal of ingenuity to keep my feet dry
while dining with him for the first time. But the Christian kindness and
courtesy of the bishop, made me more happy in his poor house, than I felt,
later, in the white marble palace built by his haughty successor, C. Regan.
There were, then, in Chicago about 200 French Canadian families, under the
pastorate of the Rev. M. A. Lebel, who, like myself, was born in Kamouraska. The
drunkenness and other immoralities of the clergy, pictured to me by that
priest, surpassed all I had ever heard known.
After getting my promise that I would never reveal the fact before his death,
he assured me that the last bishop had been poisoned by one of his grand vicars
in the following way. He said, the grand vicar, being father confessor of the
nuns of Loretto, had fallen in love with one of the so-called virgins, who died
a few days after becoming the mother of a still-born child.
This fact having transpired, and threatening to give a great deal of scandal,
the bishop thought it was his duty to make an inquest, and punish his priest,
if he should be found guilty. But the grand vicar, seeing that his crime was to
be easily detected, found that the shortest way to escape exposure was to put
an end to the inquest by murdering the poor bishop. A poison very difficult to
detect, was administered, and the death of the prelate soon followed, without
exciting any surprise in the community.
Horrified by the long and minute details of that mystery of iniquity, I came
very near returning to Canada, immediately, without going any further. But
after more mature consideration, it seemed to me that these awful iniquities on
the part of the priests of Illinois was just the reason why I should not shut
my eyes to the voice of God, if it were His will that I should come to take
care of the precious souls He would trust to me. I spent a week in Chicago
lecturing on temperance every evening, and listening during the days to the
grand plans the bishop was maturing, in order to make our Church of Rome the
mistress and ruler of the magnificent valley of the Mississippi, which included
the States of Minnesota, Iowa, Missouri, Kansas, Mississippi, ect. He clearly
demonstrated to me, that once mistress of the incalculable treasures of those
rich lands, through the millions of her obedient children, our church would
easily command the respect and the submission of the less favoured States of
the east. My zeal for my church was so sincere that I would have given, with
pleasure, every drop of my blood, in order to secure to her such a future of
power and greatness. I felt really happy and thankful to God that He should
have chosen me to help the Pope and the bishops realize such a noble and
magnificent project. Leaving Chicago, it took me nearly three days to cross
that vast prairies, which were then a perfect wilderness, between Chicago and
Bourbonnais, where I spent three weeks in preaching and exploring the country,
extending from Kankakee river to the south-west, towards the Mississippi. It
was only then that I plainly understood the greatness of the plans of the
bishop, and that I determined to sacrifice the exalted position God had given
me in Canada to guide the steps of the Roman Catholic emigrants from France,
Belgium and Canada, towards the regions of the west, in order to extend the
power and influence of my church all over the United States. On my return to
Chicago, in the second week of July, all was arranged with the bishop of my
coming back in the autumn, to help him to accomplish his gigantic plans.
However, it was understood between us that my leaving Canada for the United
States, would be kept a secret till the last hour, on account of the stern
opposition I expected from my bishop. The last thing to be done, on my return
to Canada, in order to prepare the emigrants to go to Illinois, rather than any
other part of the United States, was to tell them through the press the
unrivaled advantages which God had prepared for them in the west. I did so by a
letter, which was published not only by the press of Canada, but also in many
papers of France and Belgium. The importance of that letter is such, that I
hope my readers will bear with me in reproducing the following extracts from
it.
Montreal, Canada East.
August 13th, 1851.
It is impossible to give our friends, by narration, an idea of what we feel,
when we cross, for the first time, the immense prairies of Illinois. It is a
spectacle which must be seen to be well understood. As you advance in the midst
of these boundless deserts, where your eyes perceive nothing but lands of
inexhaustible richness, remaining in the most desolating solitude, you feel
something which you cannot express by any words. Is your soul filled with joy,
or your heart broken by sadness? You cannot say; you lift up your eyes to
heaven, and the voice of your soul is chanting a hymn of gratitude. Tears of
joy are trickling down your cheeks, and you bless God, whose curse seems not to
have fallen on the land where you stand: "Cursed is the ground for thy
sake;" "thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee"
(Gen. iii. 17, 18).
You see around you the most luxuriant verdure; flowers of every kind, and
magnificent above description. But, if in the silence of meditation, you look
with new attention on those prairies, so rich, so magnificent, you feel an
inexpressible sentiment of sadness, and addressing yourself to the blessed
land, you say, "Why art thou so solitary? Why is the wild game alone here
to glorify my God?" And if you continue to advance through those immense
prairies, which, like a boundless ocean, are spreading their rolling waves
before you, and seem to long after the presence of man, to cover themselves
with incalculable treasures, you remember your friends in Canada, and more
particularly those among them who, crushed down by misery, are watering with
the sweat of their brow a sterile and desolated soil, you say: "Ah! if
such and such of my friends were here, how soon they would see their hard and
ungrateful labours changed into the most smiling and happy position.
Perhaps I will be accused then of trying to depopulate my country, and drive my
countrymen from Canada to the United States. No! no. I never had so perverse a
design. Here is my mind about the subject of emigration, and I see no reason to
be ashamed of it, or to conceal it. It is a fact that a great number (and much
greater than generally believed) of French Canadians are yearly emigrating from
Canada, and nobody regrets it more than I do; but as long as those who govern
Canada will not pay more attention to that evil, it will be an incurable one,
and every year Canada will lose thousands and thousands of its strongest arms
and noblest hearts, to benefit our happy neighbours. With many others, I had
the hope that the eloquent voice of the poor settlers of our eastern townships
would be heard, and that the government would help them; but that hope is gone
like a dream, and we have now every reason to fear that our unfortunate
settlers of the east will be left to themselves. The greatest part of them, for
the want of roads to the markets of Quebec and Montreal, and still more by the
tyranny of their cruel landlords, will soon be obliged to bid an eternal adieu
to their country, and with an enraged heart against their haughty oppressors,
they will seek, in exile to a strange land, the protection they could not find
in their own country. Yes! If our Canadian government continues a little longer
to show the same incomprehensible and stupid apathy for the welfare of its own
subjects, emigration will increase every year from Canada, to swell the ranks
of the American people.
Since we cannot stop that emigration, is it not our first duty to direct it in
such a way that it will be, to the poor emigrants, as beneficial as possible?
Let us do everything to hinder them from going to the large cities of the
United States. Drowned in the mixed population of American cities, our
unfortunate emigrating countrymen would be too much exposed to losing their
morality and their faith. Surely there is not another country under the heavens
where space, bread, and liberty are so universally assured to every member of
the community, as the United States. But it is not in the great cities of the
United States that our poor countrymen will sooner find these three gifts. The
French Canadian who will stop in the large cities, will not, with a very few
exceptions, raise himself above the unenviable position of a poor journeyman.
But those among them who will direct their steps toward the rich and extensive
prairies of Bourbonnais, will certainly find a better lot. Many in Canada would
believe that I am exaggerating, were I to publish how happy, prosperous, and
respectable is the French Canadian population of Bourbonnais. The French
Canadians of Bourbonnais have had the intelligence to follow the good example
of the industrious American farmers, in the manner of cultivating the lands. On
their farms as well as on those of their neighbours, you will find the best
machinery to cut their crops, to thresh their grain. They enjoy the just
reputation of having the best horses of the country, and very few can beat them
for the number and quality of their cattle.
Now, what can be the prospect of a young man in Canada, if he has not more than
two hundred dollars? A whole life of hard labour and continued privation is his
too certain lot. But, let that young man go directly to Bourbonnais, and if he
is industrious, sober, and religious, before a couple of years he will see
nothing to envy in the most happy farmer of Canada.
As the land he will take in Illinois is entirely prepared for the plough, he
has no trees to cut or eradicate, no stones to move, no ditch to dig; his only
work is to fence and break his land and sow it, and the very first year the
value of the crop will be sufficient to pay for his farm. Holy Providence has
prepared everything for the benefit of the happy farmers of Illinois. That
fertile country is well watered by a multitude of rivers and large creeks,
whose borders are generally covered with the most rich and extensive groves of
timber of the best quality, as black oak, maple, white oak, burr oak, ash, ect.
The seeds of the beautiful acacia (locust), after five or six years, will give
you a splendid tree. The greatest variety of fruits are growing naturally in
almost every part of Illinois; coal mines have been discovered in the very
heart of the country, more than sufficient for the wants of the people. Before
long, a railroad from Chicago to Bourbonnais will bring our happy countrymen to
the most extensive market, the Queen city of the west Chicago.
I will then say to my young countrymen who intend emigrating from Canada:
"My friend, exile is one of the greatest calamities that can befall a man.
Young Canadian, remain in the country, keep thy heart to love it, thy
intelligence to adorn it, and thine arms to protect it. Young and dear
countrymen, remain in thy beautiful country; there is nothing more grand and
sublime in the world than the waters of the St. Lawrence. It is on its deep and
majestic waters that, before long, Europe and America will meet and bind
themselves to each other by the blessed bonds of an eternal peace; it is on its
shores that they will exchange their incalculable treasures. Remain in the
country of thy birth, my dear son. Let the sweat of thy brow continue to
fertilize it, and let the perfume of thy virtues bring the blessing of God upon
it. But, my dear son, if thou has no more room in the valley of the St.
Lawrence, and if, by the want of protection from the Government, thou canst not
go to the forest without running the danger of losing thy life in a pond, or
being crushed under the feet of an English or Scotch tyrant, I am not the man
to invite thee to exhaust thy best days for the benefit of the insolent
strangers, who are the lords of the eastern lands. I will sooner tell thee, 'go
my child,' there are many extensive places still vacant on the earth, and God
is everywhere. That great God calleth thee to another land, submit thyself to
His Divine will. But, before you bid a final adieu to thy country, engrave on
thy heart and keep as a holy deposit, the love of thy holy religion, of thy
beautiful language, and of the dear and unfortunate country of thy birth. On
thy way to the land of exile, stop as little as possible in the great cities,
for fear of the many snares thy eternal enemy has prepared for thy perdition.
But go straight to Bourbonnais. There you will find many of thy brothers who
have erected the cross of Christ; join thyself to them, thou shalt be strong of
their strength; go and help them to conquer to the Gospel of Jesus those rich
countries, which shall, very soon, weigh more than is generally believed, in
the balance of the nations.
"Yes, go straight to Illinois. Thou shalt not be entirely in a strange and
alien country. Holy Providence has chosen thy fathers to find that rich
country, and to reveal to the world its admirable resources. More than once
that land of Illinois has been sanctified by the blood of thy ancestors. In
Illinois thou shalt not make a step without finding indestructible proof of the
perseverance, genius, bravery, and piety of the French forefathers. Go to
Illinois, and the many names of Bourbonnais, Joliet, Dubuque, Le Salle, St.
Charles, St. Mary, ect., that you will meet everywhere, will tell you more than
my words, that that country is nothing but the rich inheritance which your
fathers have found for the benefit of their grandchildren.
"C. Chiniquy."
I
would never have published this letter, if I had foreseen its effects on the
farmers of Canada. In a few days after its appearance, their farms fell to half
their value. Every one, in some parishes, wanted to sell their lands and
emigrate to the west. It was only for want of purchasers that we did not see an
emigration which would have surely ruined Canada. I was frightened by its
immediate effect on the public mind. However, while some were praising me to
the skies for having published it, others were cursing me and calling me a
traitor. The very day after its publication, I was in Quebec, where the Bishops
of Canada were met in council. The first one I met was my Lord De Charbonel,
Bishop of Toronto. After having blessed me, he pressed my hand in his, and
said:
"I have just read your admirable letter. It is one of the most beautiful
and eloquently written articles I ever read. The Spirit of God has surely
inspired every one of its sentences. I have, just now, forwarded six copies of
it to different journals of France and Belgium, where they will be republished,
and do an incalculable amount of good, by directing the French-speaking
Catholic emigrants towards a country where they will run no risk of losing
their faith, with the assurance of securing a future of unbounded prosperity
for their families. Your name will be put among the names of the greatest
benefactors of humanity."
Though these compliments seemed to me much exaggerated and unmerited, I cannot
deny that they pleased me, by adding to my hopes and convictions that great
good would surely come from the plan I had of gathering all the Roman Catholic
emigrants on the same spot, to form such large and strong congregations; that
they would have nothing to fear from heretics. I thanked the bishop for his
kind and friendly words, and left him to go and present my respectful
salutations to Bishop Bourget, of Montreal, and give him a short sketch of my
voyage to the far west. I found him alone in his room, in the very act of
reading my letter. A lioness, who had just lost her whelps, would not have
broken upon me with more angry and threatening eyes than that bishop did.
"Is it possible," he said, "Mr. Chiniquy, that your hand has
written and signed such a perfidious document? How could you so cruelly pierce
the bosom of your own country, after her dealing so nobly with you? Do you not
see that your treasonable letter will give such an impetus to emigration that
our most thriving parishes will soon be turned into solitude? Though you do not
say it, we feel at every line of that letter that you will leave your country,
to give help and comfort to our natural enemies."
Surprised by this unexpected burst of bad feeling, I kept my sang froid, and
answered: "My lord, your lordship has surely misunderstood me, if you have
found in my letter my treasonable plan to ruin our country. Please read it
again, and you will see that every line has been inspired by the purest motives
of patriotism, and the highest views of religion. How is it possible that the
worthy Bishop of Toronto should have told me that the Spirit of God Himself had
directed every line of that letter, when my good bishop's opinion is so
completely opposite?" The abrupt answer the bishop gave to these remarks,
clearly indicated that my absence would be more welcome than my presence. I
left him, after asking his blessing, which he gave me in the coldest manner
possible.
On the 25th of August, I was back at Longueuil, from my voyage to Quebec, which
I had extended as far as Kamouraska, to see again the noblehearted
parishioners, whose unanimity in taking the pledge of temperance, and admirable
fidelity in keeping it then, had filled my heart with such joy.
I related my last interview with Bishop Bourget to my faithful friend Mr.
Brassard. He answered me: "The present bad feelings of the Bishop of
Montreal against you are not a secret to me. Unfortunately the lowminded men
who surround and counsel him are as unable as the bishop himself to understand
your exalted views in directing the steps of the Roman Catholics towards the
splendid valley of the Mississippi. They are besides themselves, because they
see that you will easily succeed in forming a grand colony of French-speaking
people in Illinois. Now, I am sure of what I say, though I am not free to tell
you how it came to my knowledge, there is a plot somewhere to dishonour and
destroy you at once. Those who are at the head of that plot hope that if they
can succeed in destroying your popularity, nobody will be tempted to follow you
to Illinois. For, though you have concealed it as well as you could, it is
evident to everyone now, that you are the man selected by the bishops of the
west to direct the uncertain steps of the poor emigrants towards those rich
lands."
"Do you mean, my dear Mr. Brassard," I replied, "that there are
priests around the Bishop of Montreal, cruel and vile enough to forge calumnies
against me, and spread them before the country in such a way that I shall be
unable to refute them?"
"It is just what I mean," answered Mr. Brassard; "mind what I
tell you; the bishop has made use of you to reform his diocese. He likes you
for that work. But your popularity is too great today for your enemies; they
want to get rid of you, and no means will be too vile or criminal to accomplish
your destruction, if they can attain their object."
"But, my dear Mr. Brassard, can you give me any details of the plots which
are in store against me?" I asked.
"No! I cannot, for I know them not. But be on your guard; for your few,
but powerful enemies, are jubilant. They speak of the absolute impotency to
which you will soon be reduced, if you accomplish what they so maliciously and
falsely call your treacherous objects."
I answered: "Our Saviour has said to all His disciples: 'In the world ye
shall have tribulation. But be of good cheer, I have overcome the world' (John
xvi. 33). I am more determined than ever to put my trust in God, and to fear no
man."
Two hours after this conversation, I received the following from the Rev. M.
Pare, secretary to the bishop:
To the Rev. Mr. Chiniquy,
Apostle of Temperance.
My Dear Sir, My Lord Bishop of Montreal would like to see you upon some
important business. Please come at your earliest convenience.
Yours truly,
Jos. Pare, Secretary.
The
next morning I was alone with Monseigneur Bourget, who received me very kindly.
He seemed at first to have entirely banished the bad feelings he had shown in
our last interview at Quebec. After making some friendly remarks on my
continual labours and success in the cause of temperance, he stopped for a
moment, and seemed embarrassed how to resume the conversation. At last he said:
"Are you not the father confessor of Mrs. Chenier?"
"Yes, my lord. I have been her confessor since I lived in Longueuil."
"Very well, very well," he rejoined, "I suppose that you know
that her only child is a nun, in the Congregation Convent?"
"Yes! my lord, I know it," I replied.
"Could you not induce Mrs. Chenier to become a nun also?" asked the
bishop.
"I never thought of that, my lord," I answered, "and I do not
see why I should advise her to exchange her beautiful cottage, washed by the
fresh and pure waters of the St. Lawrence, where she looks so happy and
cheerful, for the gloomy walls of the nunnery."
"But she is still young and beautiful; she may be deceived by temptations
when she is there, in that beautiful house, surrounded by all the enjoyments of
her fortune," replied the bishop.
"I understand your lordship. Yes, Mrs. Chenier has the reputation of being
rich; though I know nothing of her fortune; she has kept well the charms and
freshness of her youth. However, I think that the best remedy against the
temptations you seem to dread so much for her, is to advise her to marry. A
good Christian husband seems to me a much better remedy against the dangers to
which your lordship alludes, than the cheerless walls of a nunnery."
"You speak just as a Protestant," rejoined the bishop, with an
evident nervous irritation. "We remark that, though you hear the
confessions of a great number of young ladies, there is not a single one of
them who has ever become a nun. You seem to ignore that the vow of chastity is
the shortest way to a life of holiness in this world and happiness in the
next."
"I am sorry to differ from your lordship, in that matter," I replied.
"But I cannot help it, the remedy you have found against sin is quite
modern. The old remedy offered by our God Himself, is very different and much
better, I think."
"'It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make an help meet
for him' (Gen. ii. 18)., said our Creator in the earthly paradise.
'Nevertheless, to avoid fornication, let every man have his own wife, and let
every woman have her own husband' (1 Cor. vii. 2), said the same God, through
His Apostle Paul."
"I know too well how the great majority of nuns keep their vows of
chastity, to believe that the modern remedy against the temptations you
mention, is an improvement on the old one found and given by our God!" I
answered.
With an angry look, the bishop replies: "This is Protestantism, Mr.
Chiniquy. This is sheer Protestantism."
"I respectfully ask your pardon for differing from your lordship. This is
not Protestantism. It is simply and absolutely the 'pure Word of God.' But, my
lord, God knows that it is my sincere desire, as it is my interest and my duty,
to do all in my power to deserve your esteem. I do not want to vex nor disobey
you. Please give me a good reason why I should advise Mrs. Chenier to enter a
monastery, and I will comply with you request the very first time she comes to
confess."
Resuming his most amiable manner, the bishop answered me, "My first reason
is, the spiritual good which she would receive from her vows of perpetual
chastity and poverty in a nunnery. The second reason is, that the lady is rich,
and we are in need of money. We would soon possess her whole fortune; for her
only child is already in the Congregation Convent."
"My dear bishop," I replied, "you already know what I think of
your first reason. After having investigated that fact, not in the Protestant
books, but from the lips of the nuns themselves, as well as from their father
confessors, I am fully convinced that the real virtue of purity is much better
kept in the homes of our Christian mothers, married sisters, and female friends
than in the secret rooms, not to say prisons, where the poor nuns are enchained
by the heavy fetters assumed by their vows, which the great majority curse when
they cannot break them. And for the second reason, your lordship gives me to
induce Mrs. Chenier becoming a nun, I am again sorry to say that I cannot
conscientiously accept it. I have not consecrated myself to the priesthood to
deprive respectable families of their legal inheritance in order to enrich
myself, or anybody else. I know she has poor relations who need her fortune
after her death."
"Do you pretend to say that your bishop is a thief?" angrily rejoined
the bishop.
"No, my lord! By no means. No doubt, for your high standpoint of view,
your lordship may see things in a very different aspect, from what I see them,
in the low position I occupy in the church. But, as your lordship is bound to
follow the dictates of his conscience in everything, I also feel obligated to
give heed to the voice of mine."
This painful conversation had already lasted too long. I was anxious to see the
end of it; for I could easily read in the face of my superior, that every word
I uttered was sealing my doom. I rose up to take leave of him, and said:
"My lord, I beg your pardon for disappointing your lordship."
He coldly answered me: "It is not the first time; though I would it were
the last, that you show such a want of respect and submission to the will of
your superiors. But, as I feel it is a conscientious affair on your part, I
have no ill-will against you, and I am happy to tell you that I entertain for
you all my past esteem. The only favour I ask from you just now is, that this
conversation may be kept secret."
I answered: "It is still more to my interest than your to keep this
unfortunate affair a secret between us. I hope that neither your lordship nor the
great God, who alone has heard us, will ever make it an imperious duty for me
to mention it."
"What good news do you bring me from the bishop's palace?" asked my
venerable friend, Mr. Brassard, when I returned, late in the afternoon.
"I would have very spicy, though unpalatable news to give you, had not the
bishop asked me to keep what has been said between us a secret."
Mr. Brassard laughed outright at my answer, and replied: "A secret! a
secret! Ah! but it is a gazette secret; for the bishop has bothered me, as well
as many others, with that matter, frequently, since your return from Illinois.
Several times he has asked us to persuade you to advise your devoted penitent,
Mrs. Chenier, to become a nun. I knew he invited you to his palace yesterday for
that object. The eyes and heart of our poor bishop," continued Mr.
Brassard, "are too firmly fixed on the fortune of that lady. Hence, his
zeal about the salvation of her soul through the monastic life. In vain I tried
to dissuade the bishop from speaking to you on that subject, on account of your
prejudices against our good nuns. He would not listen to me. No doubt you have
realized my worst anticipations; you have, with your usual stubbornness,
refused to yield to his demands. I fear you have added to his bad feelings, and
consummated your disgrace."
"What a deceitful man that bishop is!" I answered, indignantly.
"He has given me to understand that this was a most sacred secret between
him and me, when I see, by what you say, that it is nothing else than a
farcical secret, known by the hundreds who have heard of it. But, please, my
dear Mr. Brassard, tell me, is it not a burning shame that our nunneries are
changed into real traps, to steal, cheat, and ruin so many unsuspecting
families? I have no words to express my disgust and indignation, when I see
that all those great demonstrations and eloquent tirades about the perfection
and holiness of the nuns, on the part of our spiritual rulers, are nothing
else, in reality, than a veil to conceal their stealing operations. Do you not
feel, that those poor nuns are the victims of the most stupendous system of
swindling the world has ever seen? I know that there are some honourable
exceptions. For instance, the nunnery you have founded here is an exception.
You have not built it to enrich yourself, as you have spent your last cent in
its erection. But you and I are only simpletons, who have, till now, ignored
the terrible secrets which put that machine of the nunneries and monkeries in
motion. I am more than ever disgusted and terrified, not only by the
unspeakable corruptions, but also by the stupendous system of swindling, which
is their foundation stone. If the cities of Quebec and Montreal could know what
I know of the incalculable sums of money secretly stolen through the
confessional, to aid our bishops in building the famous cathedrals and splendid
palaces; or to cover themselves with robes of silk, satin, silver, and gold: to
live more luxurious than the Pashas of Turkey; they would set fire to all those
palatial buildings; they would hang the confessors, who have thrown the poor
nuns into these dungeons under the pretext of saving their souls, when the real
motive was to lay hands on their inheritance, and raise their colossal
fortunes. The bishop has opened before me a most deplorable and shameful page
of the history of our church. It makes me understand many facts which were a
mystery to me till today. Now I understand the terrible wrath of the English
people in the days of old, and of the French people more recently, when they so
violently wrenched from the hands of the clergy the enormous wealth they had
accumulated during the dark ages. I have condemned those great nations till
now. But, today, I absolve them. I am sure that those men, though blind and cruel
in their vengeance, were the ministers of the justice of God. The God of Heaven
could not, for ever, tolerate a sacrilegious system of swindling, as I know,
now, to be in operation from one end to the other, not only of Canada, but of
the whole world, under the mask of religion. I know that the bishop and his
flatterers will hate and persecute me for my stern opposition to his rapacity.
But I do feel happy and proud of his hatred. The God of truth and justice, the
God of the gospel, will be on my side when they attack me. I do not fear them;
let them come. That bishop surely did not know me, when he thought that I would
consent to be the instrument of his hypocrisy, and that, under the false
pretext of a delusive perfection, I would throw that lady into a dungeon for
her life, that he might become rich with her inheritance."
Mr. Brassard answered me: "I cannot blame you for your disobeying the
bishop, in this instance. I foretold him what has occurred; for I knew what you
think of the nuns. Though I do not go so far as you in that, I cannot
absolutely shut my eyes to the facts which stare us in the face. Those monkish
communities have, in every age, been the principal cause of the calamities
which have befallen the church. For their love of riches, their pride and
laziness, with their other scandals, have always been the same. Had I been able
to foresee what has occurred inside the walls of the nunnery I built up here, I
never would have erected it. However, now that I have built it, it is as the
child of my old age, I feel bound to support it to the end. This does not
prevent me from being afflicted when I see the facility with which our poor
nuns yield to the criminal desires of their too weak confessors. Who could have
thought, for instance, that that lean and ugly superior of the Oblates, Father
Allard, could have fallen in love with his young nuns, and that so many would
have lost their hearts on his account. Have you heard how the young men of our
village, indignant at his spending the greater part of the night with the nuns,
have whipped him, when he was crossing the bridge, not long before his leaving
Longueuil for Africa? It is evident that our bishop multiplies too fast those
religious houses. My fear is that they will, sooner than we expect, bring upon
our Church of Canada the same cataclysms which have so often desolated her in
England, France, Germany, and even in Italy."
The clock struck twelve just when this last sentence fell from the lips of Mr.
Brassard. It was quite time to take some rest. When leaving me for his sleeping
room he said:
"My dear Chiniquy, gird your loins well, sharpen your sword for the
impending conflict. My fear is that the bishop and his advisers will never
forget your wrenching from their hands the booty they were coveting so long.
They will never forgive the spirit of independence with which you have rebuked
them. In fact, the conflict is already begun, may God protect you against the
open blows, and the secret machinations they have in store for you."
I answered him: "I do not fear them. I put my trust in God. It is for His
honour I am fighting and suffering. He will surely protect me from those
sacrilegious traders in souls."
.
CHAPTER 49
The
first week of September, 1851, I was hearing confessions in one of the churches
of Montreal, when a fine-looking girl came to confess sins, whose depravity
surpassed anything I had ever heard. Though I forbade her twice to do it, she
gave me the names of several priests who were the accomplices of her orgies.
The details of her iniquities were told with such cynical impudence, that the
idea struck me at once, that she was sent by some one to ruin me. I abruptly
stopped her disgusting stories by saying: "The way you confess your sins
is a sure indication that you do not come here to reconcile yourself to God,
but to ruin me. By the grace of God, you will fail. I forbid you to come any
more to my confessional. If I see you again among my penitents, I will order
the beadle to turn you out of the church."
I instantly shut the door of the small aperture through which she was speaking
to me. She answered something which I could not understand. But the tone of her
voice, the shaking of her hands and head, with her manner of walking, when she
left the confessional, indicated that she was beside herself with rage, as she
went to speak a few words to a carter who was in the church, preparing himself
to confess.
The next evening, I said to Rev. Mr. Brassard that I suspected that a girl was
sent to my confessional to ruin me.
He answered: "Did I not warn you, some time ago, that there was a plot to
destroy you? I have not the least doubt but that that girl was hired to begin
that diabolical work. You have no idea of my anxiety about you. For I know your
enemies will not shrink from any iniquity to destroy your good name, and
prevent you from directing the tide of emigration from Canada to the valley of
Mississippi."
I replied, "That I could not partake of his fears; that God knew my
innocence and the purity of my motives; He would defend and protect me."
"My dear Chiniquy," replied Mr. Brassard, "I know your enemies.
They are not numerous, but they are implacable, and their power for mischief
knows no limits. Surely, God can save you from their hands; but I cannot share
your security for the future. Your answer to the bishop, in reference to Mrs.
Chenier, when you refused to send her to the nunnery, that he might inherit her
fortune, has for ever alienated him from you. Bishop Bourget has the merited
reputation of being the most revengeful man in Canada. He will avail himself of
the least opportunity to strike you without mercy."
I answered, "Though there should be a thousand Bishops Bourget to plot
against me, I will not fear them, so long as I am in the right, as I am
today." As the clock struck twelve, I bade him good-night, and ten minutes
later, I was sound asleep.
The following days, I went to deliver a course of lectures on temperance to
several parishes south of Laprairie, till the 28th of September, after which I
came back from St. Constant to rest for a few days, and prepare to start for
Chicago. On my arrival, I found, on my table, a short letter from Bishop
Bourget telling me, that, for a criminal action, which he did not want to
mention, committed with a person he would not name, he had withdrawn all my
priestly powers and interdicted me. I handed the letter to Mr. Brassard and
said: "Is not this the fulfillment of your prophecies? What do you think
of a bishop who interdicts a priest without giving him a single fact, and without
even allowing him to know his accusers?"
"It is just what I expected from the implacable vengeance of the Bishop of
Montreal. He will never give you the reasons of your interdict, for he knows
well you are innocent, and he will never confront you with your accusers; for
it would be too easy for you to confound them."
"But is not this against all the laws of God and man? Is it not against
the laws of the church?" I replied.
"Of course it is," answered he, "but do you not know that, on
this continent of America, the bishops have, long ago, thrown overboard all the
laws of God and man, and all the laws of the church, to rule and enslave the
priests?"
I replied: "If it be so, are not Protestants correct, when they say that
our church has rejected the Word of God to follow the traditions of man? What
can we answer them when they tell us that our church has no right to be called
the church of God? Would the Son of God have given up His life on the cross to
save men, that they might be the property of a few lawless tyrants, who should
have the right to take away their honour and life?"
"I am not ready to answer those puzzling questions," he answered,
"but this is the fact. Though it is absolutely against all the laws of the
church to condemn a priest without showing him his guilt, and confronting him
with his accusers, our modern bishops, every week, condemn some of their
priests without specifying any fact, or even giving them the names of their
accusers."
"Mind what I tell you," I replied. "I will not allow the bishop
to deal with me in that way. If he dares to trample the laws of the Gospel
under his feet, to accomplish my ruin, and satisfy his vengeance, I will teach
him a lesson that he will never forget. Thanks be to God, it is not the gory
cross of the bloody Inquisition, but the emblem of the British Lion, which I
see there floating on the tower, to protect our honour and life, in Canada. I
am innocent; God knows it. My trust is in Him; He will not forsake me. I will
go immediately to the bishop. If he never knew what power there is in an honest
priest, he will learn it today."
Two hours later, I was knocking at the bishop's door. He received me with icy
politeness. "My lord," I said, "you already know why I am in
your presence. Here is a letter from you, accusing me of a crime which is not
specified, under the testimony of accusers whom you refuse to name! And before
hearing me, and confronting me with my accusers, you punish me as guilty! You
not only take away my honour with that unjust sentence, but my life! I come in
the name of God, and of His Son, Jesus Christ, to respectfully ask you to tell
me the crime of which I am accused, that I may show you my innocence. I want to
be confronted with my accusers, that I may confound them."
The bishop was, at first, evidently embarrassed by my presence; his lips were
pale and trembling, but his eyes were dry and red, like the tiger's eyes, in
the presence of his prey. He answered: "I cannot grant your request,
sir."
Opening then my New Testament, I read: "Receive no accusation against a
priest, except under two or three witnesses" (1st Tim. v. 19). I added:
"It was after I had heard this voice of God, and of His holy church, that
I consented to be a priest. I hope it is not the intention of your lordship to
put aside this Word of God and of His church. It is not your intention to break
that solemn covenant made by Christ with His priests, and sealed with His
blood?"
With an air of contempt and tyrannical authority, which I had never suspected
to be possible in a bishop, he answered: "I have no lesson of Scripture or
canonical law to receive from you, sir, and no answer to give to your
impertinent questions; you are interdicted! I have nothing to do with
you."
These words, uttered by the man whom I was accustomed to consider as my
superior, had a strange effect upon me. I felt as if awakening from a long and
painful dream. For the first time, I understood the sad prophecies of the Rev.
Mr. Brassard, and I realized the honour of my position. My ruin was
accomplished. Though I knew that that high dignitary was a monster of
hypocrisy, injustice and tyranny, he had, among the masses, the reputation of a
saint. His unjust sentence would be considered as just and equitable by the
multitude over whom he was reigning supremely; at a nod of his head the people
would fall at his feet, and obey his commands to crush me. All ears would be
shut, and all hearts hardened against me. In that fatal hour, for the first
time in my life, my moral strength and courage failed me. I felt as if I had
just fallen into a bottomless abyss, out of which it was impossible to escape.
What would my innocence, known only to God, avail me, when the whole world
would believe me guilty? No words can give an idea of the mental torture of
that horrible hour.
For more than a quarter of an hour, not a word was exchanged between the bishop
and me. He seemed very busy writing letters, while I was resting my head
between my hands, and shedding torrents of tears. At last I fell on my knees,
took the hands of the bishop in mine, and, with a voice half-choked with sighs,
I said: "My lord, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, and in the
presence of God, I swear that I have done nothing which could bring such a
sentence against me. I again implore your lordship to confront me with my
accusers, that I may show you my innocence."
With a savage insolence, the bishop withdrew his hands, as if I had
contaminated them, and said, after rising from his chair: "You are guilty;
go out of my presence."
A thousand times since I have thanked my God that I had no dagger with me, for
I would have plunged it into his heart. But, strange to say, the diabolical
malice and dishonesty of that depraved man suddenly brought back my former
self-respect and courage. I, at once took the stern resolution to face the
storm. I felt, in my soul, that giant strength which often God Himself implants
in the breast of the oppressed, when he is in the presence of his merciless
tyrants. It seemed that a flash of lightning had passed through my soul, after
having written in letters of fire, on the walls of the palace: "Mystery of
iniquity."
Relying entirely on the God of truth and justice, who knew my innocence and the
great perversity of my oppressor, I left the room, without saying a word, and
hastened back to Longueuil, to acquaint the Rev. Mr. Brassard with my firm
resolution to fight the bishop to the end. He burst into tears when I told him
what had occurred in the bishop's palace.
"Though innocent, you are condemned," he said. "The infallible
proof of your innocence is the cruel refusal of allowing you to be confronted
with your accusers. Were you guilty, they would be too glad to show it, by
confounding you before those witnesses. But the perversity of your accusers is
so well known, that they are ashamed of giving their names. The bishop prefers
to crush you under the weight of his unmerited reputation for justice and
holiness; for very few know him as we do. My fear is that he will succeed in
destroying you. Though innocent, you are condemned and lost; you will never be
able to contend against such a mighty adversary."
"My dear Mr. Brassard, you are mistaken," I replied. "I never
was so sure of coming out victorious from a conflict as today. The monstrous
iniquity of the bishop carries its antidote with itself. It was not a dream I
saw when he so ignominiously turned me out of his room. A flash of lightning
passed before my eyes, and wrote, as if on the walls of the palace: 'Mystery of
iniquity!' When Canada, the whole of Christendom, shall know the infamous
conduct of that dignitary; when they shall see the 'mystery of iniquity,' which
I shall stamp upon his forehead, there will be only one cry of indignation
against him! Oh! If I can only find out the names of my accusers! How I will
force that mighty tyrant to withdraw that sentence, at double quick. I am
determined to show, not only to Canada, but to the whole world, that this
infamous plot is but the work of the vile male and female slaves by whom the
bishop is surrounded. My first thought was to start immediately for Chicago,
where Bishop Vandeveld expected me. But I am resolved not to go until I have
forced my merciless oppressor to withdraw his unjust sentence. I will
immediately go to the Jesuit College, where I purpose spending the next eight
days in prayer and retreat. The Jesuits are the ablest men under heaven to
detect the most hidden things. I hope they will help me to unearth that dark
mystery of iniquity, and expose it to the world."
I am glad to see that you do not fear that terrible storm which is upon you,
and that your sails are so well trimmed," answered Mr. Brassard. "You
do well in putting your trust in God first, and in the Jesuits afterwards. The
fearless way in which you intend to meet the attacks of your merciless enemies,
will give you an easy victory. My hope is that the Jesuits will help you to
find out the names of your false accusers, and that you will make use of them
to hurl back in the face of the bishop the shame and dishonour he had prepared
for you."
At six p.m., in a modest, well-lighted and ventilated room of the Jesuit
College, I was alone with the venerable Mr. Schneider, its director. I told him
how the Bishop of Montreal, four years before, after giving up his prejudices
against me when I had left the Oblates, had earnestly supported me in my
labours. I acquainted him also with the sudden change of those good feelings
into the most uncontrollable hatred, from the day I had refused to force Mrs.
Chenier to become a nun, that he might secure her fortune. I told him also how
those bad feelings had found new food in my plan to consecrating the rest of my
life to direct the tide of the French Catholic emigration towards the
Mississippi Valley. I exposed to him my suspicions about that miserable girl I
had turned out from my confessional. "I have a double object in
view," I added. "The first is to spend the last eight days of my
residence in Canada in prayer. But my second is to ask the help of your
charity, wisdom, and experience in forcing the bishop to withdraw his unjust
sentence against me. I am determined, if he does not withdraw it, to denounce
him before the whole country, and to challenge him, publicly, to confront me
with my accusers."
"If you do that," answered Mr. Schneider, "I fear lest you not
only do an irreparable damage to the Bishop of Montreal, but to our holy church
also."
I replied: "Our holy church would indeed suffer an irreparable damage, if
she sanctioned the infamous conduct of the bishop; but this is
impossible."
"You are correct," rejoined the Jesuit. "Our holy church cannot
sanction such criminal conduct. She has, hundreds of times, condemned those
tyrannical and unjust actions in other bishops. Such want of common honesty and
justice will be condemned everywhere, as soon as it is known. The first thing
we have to do it to find out the names of your accusers. I have not the least
doubt that they are the blind instruments of Machiavelist plots against you.
But those plots have only to be brought to light, to vanish away. My impression
is, that the miserable girl you have so abruptly and so wisely turned out of
your confessional, knows more than the bishop wants us to find out, about the
plots. It is a pity you did not ask her name and residence. At all events, you
may rely on my efforts to persuade our bishop that his personal interest, as
well as the interest of our holy religion, is, that he should speedily withdraw
that sentence, which is a nullity by itself. It will not be difficult for me to
show him that he is fallen into the very pit he has dug under your feet. He has
taken a position against you which is absolutely untenable. Before your retreat
is at an end, no doubt he will be too happy to make his peace with you. Only
trust in God, and in the blessed Virgin Mary, and you have nothing to fear from
your conflict. Our bishop has put himself above all the laws of man and God, to
condemn the priest he had himself officially named 'the Apostle of Temperance
of Canada.' There is not a single man in the Church, who will allow him to
stand on that ground. The 200,000 soldiers you have enrolled under the holy
banners of temperance, will force him to retreat his too hasty and unjust
sentence."
It would be too long to repeat here all the encouraging words which that wise
Jesuit uttered. Father Schneider was a European priest, who was in Montreal
only since 1849. He had won my confidence the very first time I met him, and I
had chosen him, at once, for my confessor and adviser. The third day of my
retreat, Father Schneider came to my room earlier than usual, and said:
"I have worked hard the last two days, to find out the name and residence
of the carter to whom that miserable girl spoke in the church, after you had
turned her out of your confessional, and I have it. If you have no objection I
will send for him. He may know that girl and induce her to come here."
"By all means, dear father," I answered, "do it without losing a
moment."
Two hours later, the carter was with me. I recognized him as one of those dear
countrymen whom our society of temperance had transformed into a new man. I
asked him if he remembered the name of the girl who, a few days before, had
spoken to him in the church, after going out of my confessional.
"Yes sir! I know her well. She has a very bad name, though she belongs to
a respectable family."
I added: "Do you think you can induce her to come here, by telling her
that a priest, in the Jesuit College, wants to see her? But do not give her my
name."
He answered: "Nothing is more easy. She will be here in a couple of hours,
if I find her at home."
At three p.m., the carter was again knocking at my door, and said, with a low
voice: "The girl you want is in the parlour; she has no idea you are here,
for she told me that you were now preaching in St. Constant, she seems to be
very angry against you, and bitterly complains against your want of courtesy,
the very first time she went to confess to you."
"Is it possible that she told you that?" I replied.
"Yes sir! She told me that to explain her terrible excitement when coming
out of your confessional, the other day; she then requested me to drive her
home. She was really beside herself, and swore that she would make you pay for
your harsh words and rude manners towards her. You will do well to be on your
guard with her. She is one of the most depraved girls of Montreal, and has a
most dangerous tongue, though to the shame of our holy religion, she is daily
seen in the bishop's palace."
I immediately went to Father Schneider, and said: "My dear father, by the
mercy of God, the girl we want to see is in the parlour. But what I have just
heard from the carter who drove her, I have not the least doubt but that she is
the one employed by the bishop to slander me, and get a pretext for what he has
done. Please come with me to witness my innocence. But, take your Gospel, ink,
paper and pen with you."
"All right," answered the wise Jesuit.
Two minutes later we were in her presence. It is impossible to describe her
dismay when she saw me. She came near fainting. I feared she would not be able
to utter a word. I spoke to her very kindly, and ran to get a glass of cold
water, which did her good. When she recovered, I said to her, with a tone of
mixed authority and kind firmness: "You are here in the presence of God
and of two of His priests. That great God will hear every word which will fall
from your lips. You must speak the truth. You have denounced me to the bishop
as guilty of some great iniquity. You are the cause of my being interdicted.
You, alone, can repair the iniquity you have done me. That injury is very
great; but it can be easily repaired by you. In the presence of that venerable
priest, say whether or not, I am guilty of the crime you have brought to my
charge!"
At these words, the unfortunate girl burst into tears. She hid her face in her
handkerchief, and with a voice half-suffocated with sighs, she said: "No
sir! You are not guilty."
I added: "Confess another thing. Is it not a fact that you had come to my
confessional more with the intention of tempting me to sin, than to reconcile
yourself to God?"
"Yes sir!" she added, "this was my wicked intention."
"Continue to tell the truth, and our great and merciful God will forgive
you. Is it not to revenge yourself for my rebuking you, that you have brought
the false accusations to the bishop in order that he might interdict me?"
"Yes sir! that is the only reason I had for accusing you."
After Father Schneider had made four copies of those declarations, signed by
him as witness, and after she had sworn on the Gospel, I forgave her the injury
she had done me, I gave her some good advice and dismissed her.
"Is it not evident," I said to Father Schneider, "that our
merciful God never forsakes those who trust in Him?"
"Yes, I never saw the interposition of God so marvelously manifested as in
this perfect deliverance from the hands of your enemies. But, please, tell me
why you requested me to make four copies of her sworn declaration of your
innocence; was not one sufficient?" asked Mr. Schneider.
I answered: "One of those copies was for the bishop; another will remain
in your hands, Mr. Brassard will have one, and I need one for myself. For the
dishonesty of the bishop is so evident to me, now, that I think him able to
destroy the copy I will send him, with the hope, after its destruction, of
keeping me at his feet. If he does that new act of iniquity, I will confound
him with the three other authentic copies which will remain. Besides, this
unfortunate girl may die sooner than we expect. In that case, I would find
myself again with the bishop's knife on my throat, if I had no other
retractation to the perjured declaration which he has persuaded her to give
him."
"You are right," replied Father Schneider; "now the only thing
for you to do is to send that retractation to the bishop, with a firm and
polite request to retract his unjust sentence against you. Let me do the rest
with him. The battle is over. It has been fierce, but short. However, thanks be
to God, you have a most complete victory over your unjust aggressors. The bishop
will do all in his power, no doubt, to make you forget the darkest page of his
life."
The shrewd Jesuit was correct in his previsions. Never did any bishop receive
me with so many marks, not only of kindness, but I dare say of respect, than
Bishop Bourget, when, after my retreat, I went to take leave of him, before my
departure from Canada for the United States.
"I trust, my lord," I said, "that, today, I can hope to possess
the confidence and friendly feelings of your lordship?"
"Certainly, my dear Mr. Chiniquy, certainly; you possess my full
confidence and friendship. I dare say more; you possess my most sincere
gratitude, for what you have done in my diocese."
I answered: "I am much obliged to your lordship for this expression of
your kind feelings. But, now, I have two new favours to ask from your lordship.
The first, is a written document expressive of those kind feelings. The second,
is a chalice from your hands to offer the holy sacrifice of mass the rest of my
life."
"I will grant you your request with the utmost pleasure," answered
the bishop; and without losing a moment, he wrote the following letter, which I
reproduce here, on account of its importance:
Translation.
Montreal, Oct. 13th. 1851.
Sir, You request me to give you permission to leave my diocese, in order to go
and offer your service to the Bishop of Chicago. As you still belong to the
diocese of Quebec, I think you ought to address yourself to my lord of Quebec,
to get the extract you want. As for me, I cannot but thank you for what you
have done in our midst; and in my gratitude towards you, I wish you the most
abundant blessing from heaven. Every day of my life I will remember you. You
will always be in my heart, and I hope that on some future day the providence
of God will give me some opportunity of showing you all the feelings of
gratitude I feel towards you.
I remain, your most obedient servant, Ignace,
Rev. C. Chiniquy.
Bishop of Montreal.
Though
that letter was a most perfect recantation of all he had said and done against
me, and was of immense value to me in such circumstances, the bishop added to
its importance by the exceedingly kind manner in which he handed it to me.
As he was going into another room he said: "I will give you the silver
chalice you want, to offer the holy sacrifice of mass the rest of your
days." But he came back and said: "My secretary is absent, and has
the key of the trunk which contains those vases."
"It makes no difference, my lord," I replied, "please order your
secretary to put that chalice in the hands of Rev. Mr. Brassard, who will
forward it, with a box of books which he has to send me to Chicago next
week."
The bishop very kindly promised to do so; and he fulfilled his promise. The
next day, that precious gift was put in the hands of Mr. Brassard, in presence
of several priests. It was sent, the following week, to Chicago, where I got
it, and that fine silver chalice is still in my possession.
I then fell on my knees, and said: "My lord, I am just leaving Canada for
the Far West, please give me your benediction." He blessed me and pressed
me to his heart with the tenderness of a father, saying, "May God Almighty
bless you, wherever you go and in everything you do, till the end of your
life."
.
CHAPTER 50
Though
I had kept my departure from Canada as secret as possible, it had been
suspected by many; and Mr. Brassard, unable to resist the desire that his
people should give me the expression of their kind feelings, had let the secret
slip from his lips two days before I left. I was not a little surprised a few
hours before my taking leave of him, to see his whole parish gathered at the
door of his parsonage, to present me the following address:
To the Rev. Father Chiniquy.
Venerable Sir, It is only three years since we presented you with your
portrait, not only as an expression of our gratitude for your labours and
success in the cause of temperance in our midst, but also as a memorial, which
would tell our grandchildren the good you have done to our country. We were,
then, far from thinking that we were so near the day when we would have the
sorrow to see you separating yourself from us.
Your unforeseen exit from Canada fills us with a regret and sadness, which is
increased by the fear we have, that the reform you have started, and so gloriously
established everywhere, will suffer from your absence. May our merciful God
grant that your faithful co-labourers may continue it, and walk in your
footsteps.
While we submit to the decrees of Providence, we promise that we will never
forget the great things you have done for the prosperity of our country. Your
likeness, which is in every Canadian family, will tell to the future
generations what Father Chiniquy has done for Canada.
We console ourselves by the assurance that, wherever you go, you will rise the
glorious banners of temperance among those of our countrymen who are scattered
in the land of exile. May these brethren put on your forehead the crown of
immortality, which you have so well deserved for your noble work in our midst.
Signed,
L. M. Brassard, Priest and Curate.
H. Hicks, Vicar, and 300 others.
I
answered:
Gentlemen, I thank you for the honour you do me by your address. But allow me
to tell you, that the more I look upon the incalculable good resulting from the
Temperance Reform I have established, nearly from one end of Canada to the
other, the more I would deceive myself, were I to attribute to myself the whole
merit of that blessed work.
If our God has chosen me, His so feeble servant, as the instrument of His
infinite mercies towards our dear country, it is because He wanted us to
understand that He alone could make the marvelous change we see everywhere, and
that we shall give all the glory to Him.
It is more to the fervent prayers, and to the good examples of our venerable bishops
and curates, than to my feeble efforts, that we owe the triumph of temperance
in Canada; and it is my firm conviction that that holy cause will lose nothing
by my absence.
Our merciful God has called me to another field. I have heard His voice. Though
it is a great sacrifice for me to leave my own beloved country, I must go to
work in the midst of a new people, in the distant lands of Illinois.
From many parts of Europe and Canada multitudes are rushing towards the western
territories of the United States, to secure to their families the incalculable
treasures which the good providence of God has scattered over those broad
prairies.
Those emigrants are in need of priests. They are like those little ones of whom
God speaks in His Word, who wanted bread and had nobody to give them any:
"I have heard their cries, I have seen their wants." And in spite of
the great sacrifice I am called upon to make, I must bless the Good Master who
calls me to work in that vineyard, planted by His own hands in those distant
lands.
If anything can diminish the sadness of my feelings, when I bid adieu to my
countrymen, it is the assurance given me by the noble people of Longueuil, that
I have in Canada many friends whose fervent prayers will constantly ascend to
the throne of grace, to bring the benedictions of heaven upon me wherever I go.
C. Chiniquy.
I
arrived at Chicago on the 29th of October, 1851, and spent six days with Bishop
Vandeveld, in maturing the plans of our Catholic colonization. He gave me the
wisest advices, with the most extensive powers which a bishop can give a
priest, and urged me to begin at once the work, by selecting the most suitable
spot for such an important and vast prospect. May heart was filled with
uncontrollable emotions when the hour came to leave my superior and go to the
conquest of the magnificent State of Illinois, for the benefit of my church. I
fell at his knees to ask his benediction, and requested him never to forget me
in his prayers. He was not less affected than I was, and pressing me to his
bosom, bathed my face with his tears, and blessed me.
It took me three days to cross the prairies from Chicago to Bourbonnais. Those
prairies were then a vast solitude, with almost impassable roads. At the
invitation of their priest, Mr. Courjeault, several people had come long
distances to receive and overwhelm me with the public expressions of their joy
and respect.
After a few days of rest, in the midst of their interesting young colony, I
explained to Mr. Courjeault that, having been sent by the bishop to found a
settlement for Roman Catholic immigrants, on a sufficiently grand scale to rule
the government of Illinois, it was my duty to go further south, in order to
find the most suitable place for the first village I intended to raise. But to
my unspeakable regret, I saw that my proposition filled the heart of that
unfortunate priest with the most bitter feelings of jealousy and hatred. It had
been just the same thing with Rev. Lebel, at Chicago.
The very moment I told him the object of my coming to Illinois, I felt the same
spirit of jealousy had turned him into an implacable enemy. I had expected very
different things from these two priests, for whom I had entertained, till then,
most sincere sentiments of esteem. So long as they were under the impression
that I had left Canada to help them increase their small congregations, by
including the immigrants to settle among them, they loaded me, both in public
and in private, with marks of their esteem. But the moment they saw that I was
going to found, in the very heart of Illinois, settlements of such a large
scale, they banded together to paralyze and ruin my efforts. Had I suspected
such opposition from the very men on whose moral help I had relied for the
success of my colonizing schemes, I would have never left Canada, for Illinois.
But it was now too late to stop my onward march. Trusting in God alone for
success, I felt that those two men were to be put among those unforeseen
obstacles which Heaven wanted me to overcome, if I could not avoid them. I
persuaded six of the most respectable citizens of Bourbonnais to accompany me,
in three wagons, in search of the best site for the centre of my future colony.
I had a compass, to guide me through those vast prairies, which were spread
before me like a boundless ocean. I wanted to select the highest point in
Illinois for my first town, in order to secure the purest air and water for the
new immigrants. I was fortunate enough, under the guidance of God, to succeed
better than I expected, for the government surveyors have lately acknowledged
that the village of St. Anne occupies the very highest point of that splendid
state. To my great surprise, ten days after I had selected that spot, fifty
families from Canada had planted their tents around mine, on the beautiful site
which forms today the town of St. Anne. We were at the end of November, and
though the weather was still mild, I felt I had not an hour to lose in order to
secure shelters for every one of those families, before the cold winds and chilly
rains of winter should spread sickness and death among them. The greater part
were illiterate and poor people, without any idea of the dangers and incredible
difficulties of establishing a new settlement, where everything had to be
created. There were, at first, only two small houses, one 25 by 30, and the
other 16 by 20 feet, to lodge us. With the rest of my dear immigrants, wrapped
in buffalo robes, with my overcoat for my pillow, I slept soundly, many nights
on the bare floor, during the three months which it took to get my first house
erected.
Having taken the census of the people on the first of December, I found two
hundred souls, one hundred of whom were adults. I said to them: "There are
not three of you, if left alone, able to prepare a shelter for your families,
this winter; but if, forgetting yourselves, you work for each other, as true
friends and brethren, you will increase your strength tenfold, and in a few
weeks, there will be a sufficient number of small, but solid buildings, to protect
you against the storms and snow of the winter which is fast coming upon us. Let
us go to the forest together and cut the wood, today; and to-morrow we will
draw that timber to one of the lots you have selected, and you will see with
what marvelous speed the house will be raised, if your hands and hearts are
perfectly united to work for each other, under the eyes and for the love of the
merciful God who gives us this splendid country for our inheritance. But before
going to the forest, let us kneel down to ask our Heavenly Father to bless the
work of our hands, and grant us to be of one mind and one heart, and to protect
us against the too common accidents of those forest and building works."
We all knelt on the grass, and, as much with our tears as with our lips, we
sent to the mercy seat a prayer, which was surely heard by the One who said
"Ask and it shall be given you" (Matt. vii. 7), and we started for
the forest.
The readers would scarcely believe me, were I to tell them with what marvelous
rapidity the first forty small, but neat houses were put up on our beautiful
prairies. Whilst the men were cutting timber, and raising one another's houses,
with a unity, a joy, a good-will and rapidity, which many times drew from me
tears of admiration, the women would prepare the common meals. We obtained our
flour and pork from Bourbonnais and Momence, at a very low price; and, as I was
a good shot, one or two friends and I used to kill, every day, enough prairie
chickens, quails, ducks, wild geese, brants and deer, to feed more people than
there were in our young colony.
Those delicious viands, which would have been welcomed on the table of the
king, and which would have satisfied the most fastidious gourmand, caused many
of my poor, dear immigrants to say: "Our daily and most common meals here
are more sumptuous and delicate than the richest ones in Canada, and they cost
almost nothing."
When I saw that a sufficient number of houses had been built to give shelter to
every one of the first immigrants, I called a meeting, and said:
"My dear friends, by the great mercy of God, and in almost a miraculous
way (thanks to the unity and charity which have bound you to each other till
now, as members of the same family) you are in your little, but happy homes,
and you have nothing to fear from the winds and snow of the winter. I think
that my duty now is to direct your attention to the necessity of building a
two-story house. The upper part will be used as the schoolhouse for your
children on week days, and for a chapel on Sundays, and the lower part will be
my parsonage. I will furnish the money for the flooring, shingles, and nails,
and the windows, and you will give your work gratis to cut and draw the timber
and put it up. I will also pay the architect, without asking a cent from you.
It is quite time to provide a school for your children; for in this country, as
in any other place, there is no possible prosperity or happiness for a people,
if they neglect the education of their children. Now, we are too numerous to continue
having our Sabbath worship in any private house, as we have done till now. What
do you think of this?"
They unanimously answered: "Yes! after you have worked so hard to give a
home to every one of us, it is just that we should help you to make one for
yourself. We are happy to hear that it is your intention to secure a good
education for our children. Let us begin the work at once." This was the
16th of January, 1852. The sun was as warm as on a beautiful day of May in
Canada. We again fell upon our knees to implore the help of God, and sang a
beautiful French hymn.
The next day, we were seventy-two men in a neighbouring forest, felling the
great oaks; and on the 17th of April, only three months later, that fine
two-story building, nearly forty feet square, was blessed by Bishop Vandeveld.
It was surmounted by a nice steeple, thirty feet high, in which we had put a
bell, weighing 250 pounds, whose solemn sound was to tell our joys and sorrows
over the boundless prairies. On that day, instead of being only fifty families,
as at the last census, we numbered more than one hundred, among whom more than
five hundred persons were adults. The chapel which we thought at first would be
too large, was filled to its utmost capacity on the day of its consecration to
God.
Not a month later, we had to speak of making an addition of forty feet more,
which, when finished, six months later, was found to be still insufficient for
the accommodation of the constantly increasing flood of immigration, which
came, not only from Canada, but from Belgium and France. It soon became
necessary to make a new centre, and expand the limits of my first colony; which
I did by planting a cross at l'Erable, about fifteen miles south-west of St.
Anne, and another at a place we call St. Mary, twelve miles south-east, in the
country of Iroquois. These settlements were soon filled; for that very spring
more than one thousand new families came from Canada to join us.
No words can express the joy of my heart, when I saw with what rapidity my
(then) so dear Church of Rome was taking possession of those magnificent lands,
and how soon she would be unrivaled mistress, not only of the State of
Illinois, but of the whole valley of the Mississippi. But the ways of men are
not the ways of God. I had been called by the Bishops of Rome to Illinois, to
extend the power of that church. But my God had called me there, that I might
give to that church the most deadly blow she has ever received on this
Continent.
My task is now to tell my readers, how the God of Truth, and Light, and Life,
broke, one after another, all the charmed bonds by which I was kept a slave at
the feet of the Pope; and how He opened my eyes, and those of my people, to the
unsuspected and untold abominations of Romanism.
.
CHAPTER 51
"Please
accompany me to Bourbonnais; I have to confer with you and the Rev. Mr.
Courjeault, on important matters," said the bishop, half an hour before
leaving St. Anne, after having blessed the chapel.
"I intended, my lord, to ask your lordship to grant me that honour, before
you offered it," I answered.
Two hours of good driving took us to the parsonage of the Rev. Mr. Courjeault,
who had prepared a sumptuous dinner, to which several of the principal citizens
of Bourbonnais had been invited.
When all the guests had departed, and the bishop, Mr. Courjeault, and I, were
alone, he drew from his trunk a bundle of weekly papers of Montreal, Canada, in
which several letters, very insulting and compromising for the bishop, were
published, signed R. L. C. Showing them to me, he said:
"Mr. Chiniquy, can I know the reasons you had for writing such insulting
things against your bishop?"
"My lord," I answered, "I have no words to express my surprise
and indignation, when I read those letters. But, thanks be to God, I am not the
author of those infamous writings. I would rather have my right hand cut off,
than allow it to pen such false and perfidious things against you or any one
else."
"Do you assure me that you are not the writer of those letters? Are you
positive in that denial; and do you know the contents of these lying
communications?" replied the bishop.
"Yes, my lord, I know the contents of these communications. I have read
them, several times, with supreme disgust and indignation; and I positively
assert that I never wrote a single line of them."
"Then, can you tell me who did write them?" said the bishop.
I answered: "Please, my lord, put that question to the Rev. Mr.
Courjeault; he is more able than anyone to satisfy your lordship on that
matter."
I looked at Mr. Courjeault with an indignant air, which told him that he could
not any longer wear the mask behind which he had concealed himself for the last
three or four months. The eyes of the bishop were also turned, and firmly fixed
on the wretched priest.
No! Never had I seen anything so strange as the countenance of that guilty man.
His face, though usually ugly, suddenly took a cadaverous appearance; his eyes
were fixed on the floor, as if unable to move.
The only signs of life left in him were given by his knees, which were shaking
convulsively; and by the big drops of sweat rolling down his unwashed face;
for, I must say here, en passant, that, with very few exceptions, that priest
was the dirtiest man I ever saw.
The bishop, with unutterable expressions of indignation, exclaimed: "Mr.
Courjeault; you are the writer of those infamous and slanderous letters! Three
times you have written, and twice, you told me, verbally, that there were
coming from Mr. Chiniquy! I do not ask you if you are the author of these
slanders against me, I see it written in your face. Your malice against Mr.
Chiniquy is really diabolical. You wanted to ruin him in my estimation, as well
as in that of his countrymen. And to succeed the better in that plot, you
publish the most egregious falsehoods against me in the Canadian press, to
induce me to denounce Mr. Chiniquy as an impostor. How is it possible that a
priest can so completely give himself to the Devil?"
Addressing me, the bishop said: "Mr. Chiniquy, I beg your pardon for
having believed and repeated, that you were depraved enough to write those
calumnies against your bishop: I was deceived by that deceitful man. I will
immediately retract what I have written and said against you."
Then, addressing Mr. Courjeault he again said: "The least punishment I can
give you is to turn you out of my diocese, and write to all the Bishops of
America, that you are the vilest priest I ever saw, that they never give you
any position on this Continent."
These last words had hardly fallen from the lips of the bishop, when Mr.
Courjeault fell on his knees before me, and bathing with his tears my hands,
which he was convulsively pressing in his, said: "Dear Mr. Chiniquy, I see
the greatness of my iniquity against you and against our common bishop. For the
dear Saviour, Jesus' sake, forgive me. I take God to witness that you will
never have a more devoted friend than I will be. And you, my lord, allow me to
tell you, that I thank God that my malice and my great sin against both you and
Mr. Chiniquy is known and punished at once. However, in the name of our
crucified Saviour, I ask you to forgive me. God knows that, hereafter, you will
not have a more obedient and devoted priest than I."
It was a most touching spectacle to see the tears, and hear the sobs of that
repentant sinner. I could not contain myself, nor refrain my tears. They were
mingled with those of the returning penitent. I answered: "Yes, Mr.
Courjeault, I forgive you with all my heart, as I wish my merciful God to
forgive me my sins. May the God who sees your repentance forgive you
also!"
Bishop Vandeveld, who was gifted with a most sensitive and kind nature, was
also shedding tears, when I lifted up Mr. Courjeault to press him to my heart,
and to tell him again, with my voice choked by sobs, "I forgive you most
sincerely, as I want to be forgiven."
He asked me: "What do you advise me to do? Must I forgive also? and can I
continue to keep him at the head of this important mission?"
"Yes, my lord. Please forgive and forget the errors of that dear brother,
he has already done so much good to my countrymen of Bourbonnais. I pledge
myself that he will hereafter be one of your best priests."
And the bishop forgave him, after some very appropriate and paternal advice,
admirably mixed with mercy and firmness.
It was then about three o'clock in the afternoon. We separated to say our
vespers and matins (prayers which took nearly an hour). I had just finished
reciting them in the garden, when I saw the Rev. Mr. Courjeault walking from the
church towards me, but his steps were uncertain as one distracted or
half-drunk. I was puzzled at the sight, for he was a strong teetotaler, and I
knew he had no strong drink in the church. He advanced three or four steps,
then retreated. At last he came very near, but his face had such an expression
of terror and sadness, that he was hardly recognizable. He muttered something
that I could not understand. "Please repeat your sentence," I said to
him, "I did not understand you." He, then, put his hands on his face,
and again muttered something; his voice was drowned in his tears and sobs.
Supposing that he was coming to ask me, again, to pardon his past malice and
calumnies against me, I felt an unspeakable compassion for him. As there were a
couple of seats near by, I said to him: "My dear Mr. Courjeault, come and
sit here with me; and do not think any more of the past. I will never think any
more of your momentary errors, you may look upon me as your most devoted
friend."
"Dear Mr. Chiniquy," he answered, "I have to reveal to you
another dark mystery of my miserable life. Since more than a year, I have lived
with the beadle's daughter as if she were my wife!
"She has just told me, that she is to become a mother in a few days, and
that I have to see to that, and give her five hundred dollars. She threatens to
denounce me publicly to the bishop and people, if I do not support her and her
offspring. Would it not be better for me to flee away, this night, and go back
to France to live in my own family, and conceal my shame? Sometimes, I am even
tempted to throw myself in the river, to put an end to my miserable and
dishonoured existence. Do you think that the bishop would forgive this new
crime, if I threw myself at his feet and asked pardon? Would he give me some
other place in his vast diocese, where my misfortunes and my sins are not
known? Please tell me what to do?"
I remained absolutely stupefied, and did not know what to answer. Though I had
compassion for the unfortunate man, I must confess that this new development of
his hypocrisy and rascality, filled me with an unspeakable horror and disgust.
He had, till then, wrapped himself in such a thick mantle of deception, that
many of his people looked upon him as an angel of purity. His infamies were so
well concealed under an exterior of extreme moral rigidity, that several of his
parishioners looked upon him as a saint, whose relics could perform miracles.
Not long before, two young couples, of the best families of Bourbonnais, having
danced in a respectable social gathering, had been condemned by him, and
compelled to ask pardon, publicly in the church. This pharisaical rigidity
caused the secret vices of that priest to be still more conspicuous and
scandalous. I felt that the scandal which would follow the publication of this
mystery of iniquity would be awful; that it would even cause many for ever to
lose faith in our church. So many sad thoughts filled my mind, that I was
confused and unable to give him any advice. I answered:
"Your misfortune is really great. If the bishop were not here, I might,
perhaps, tell you my mind about the best thing to do, just now. But the bishop
is here; he is the only man to whom you have to go to know how to come out of
the bottomless abyss into which you have fallen. He is your proper counselor;
go and tell him, frankly, everything, and follow his advice."
With staggering step, and in such deep emotions that his sobs and cries could
be heard for quite a distance, he went to the bishop. I remained alone,
half-petrified at what I had heard.
Half an hour later, the bishop came to me. He was pale and his eyes reddened
with his tears: he said to me:
"Mr. Chiniquy, what an awful scandal! What a new disgrace for our holy
church! That Mr. Courjeault, whom I thought, till today, to be one of my best
priests, is an incarnate devil; what shall I do with him? Please help me by
your advice; tell me what you consider the best way of preventing the scandal,
and protecting the faith of the good people against the destructive storm which
is coming upon them."
"My dear bishop," I answered, "the more I consider these
scandals here, the less I see how we can save the church from becoming a
dreadful wreck. I feel too much the responsibility of my advice to give it. Let
your lordship, guided by the Spirit of God, do what you consider best for the
honour of the church and the salvation of so many souls, which are in danger of
perishing when this scandal becomes known. For me, the only thing I can do, is
to conceal my face with shame, go back to my young colony, to pray, and weep
and work."
The bishop replied: "Here is what I intend to do: Mr. Courjeault tells me
that there is not the least suspicion, among the people, of his sin, and that
it is an easy thing to send that girl to the house provided in Canada for
priests' offenses, without awakening any suspicion. He seems so penitent, that
I hope, hereafter, we have nothing to fear from him. He will now live the life
of a good priest here, without giving any scandal. But if I remove him, then there
will be some suspicious of his fall, and the awful scandal we want to avoid
will come. Please lend me on hundred dollars, which will give to Mr.
Courjeault, to send that girl to Canada as soon as possible; and he will
continue here, to work with wisdom, after this terrible trial. What do you
think of that plan?"
"If our lordship is sure of the conversion of Mr. Courjeault, and that
there is no danger of his great iniquity being known by the people, evidently,
the wisest thing you can do is to send that girl to Canada, and keep Mr.
Courjeault here. Though I see great dangers even in that way of dealing in this
sad affair. But, unfortunately, I have not a cent in hand today, and I cannot
lend you the one hundred dollars you want."
"Then," said the bishop, "I will give a draft on a bank of
Chicago, but you must endorse it."
"I have no objection, my lord, to endorse any draft signed by your
lordship," I replied.
Though it was late in the day, and that I had, at first, proposed to spend the
night, I came back to my dear colony of St. Anne. Bourbonnais appeared to me
like a burning house, in the cellar of which there was a barrel of powder, from
which one could not keep himself too far away.
Five days later, four of the principal citizens of that interesting, but sorely
tried place, knocked at my door. They were sent as a deputation from the whole
village, to ask me what to do about their curate, Mr. Courjeault. They told me
that several of them had, long since, suspected what was going on between that
priest and the beadle's daughter, but they had kept that secret. However,
yesterday, they said the eyes of the parish had been opened to the awful
scandal.
The disgusting demonstrations and attention of the curate, when the victim of
his lust took the diligence, left no doubt in the minds of any one, that she is
to have a child in Montreal.
"Now, Mr. Chiniquy, we are sent here to ask your advice. Please tell us
what to do?"
"My dear friends," I answered, "it is not from me, but from our
common bishop, that you must ask what is to be done, in such deplorable
affairs."
But they replied, "Would you not be kind enough to come to Bourbonnais
with us, and go to our unfortunate priest to tell him that his criminal conduct
is known by the whole people, and that we cannot decently keep him a day longer
as our Christian teacher. He has rendered us great services in the past, which
we will never forget. We do not want to abuse or insult him in any way. Though
guilty, he is still a priest. The only favour we ask from him now, is, that he
quits the place without noise and scandal, in the night, to avoid any
disagreeable demonstrations which might come from his personal enemies, whom
his pharisaical rigidity has made pretty numerous and bitter."
"I do not see any reason to refuse you that favour," I answered.
Three hours later, in the presence of those four gentlemen, I was delivering my
sad message to the unfortunate curate. He received it as his death warrant. But
he was humble and submitted to his fate.
After spending four hours with us in setting his affairs, he fell on his knees,
with torrents of tears, he asked pardon for the scandal he had given, and
requested us to ask pardon from the whole parish, and at twelve o'clock at
night he left for Chicago. That hour was a sad one, indeed, for us all. But my
God had a still sadder hour in store for me. The people of Bourbonnais had
requested me to give them some religious evening services the next week, and I
was just at the end of one of them, the 7th of May, when, suddenly, the Rev.
Mr. Courjeault entered the church, walked through the crowd, saluting this one,
smiling on that one, and pressing the hands of many. His face bore the marks of
impudence and debauchery.
From one end of the church to the other, a whisper of amazement and indignation
was heard.
"Mr. Courjeault! Mr. Courjeault!! Great God! what does this mean?"
I observed that he was advancing towards me, probably with the intention of
shaking hands, before the people, but I did not give him time to do it, I left by
the back door, and went to the parsonage, which was only a few steps distant.
He then went back to the door to have a talk with the people, but very few gave
him that chance. Though he affected to be exceedingly gay, jocose, and
talkative, he could not get many people to stop and hear him. Every one,
particularly the women, were filled with disgust at his impudence. Seeing
himself nearly deserted at the church door, he turned his steps towards the
parsonage, which he entered, whistling. When he beheld me, he laughed, and
said:
"Oh oh! our dear little Father Chiniquy here? How do you do?"
"I am quite unwell," I answered, "since I see that you are so
miserably destroying yourself."
"I do not want to destroy myself," he answered; "but it is you
who want to turn me out of my beautiful parish of Bourbonnais, to take my
place. With the four blockheads who accompanied you, the other day, you have
frightened and persuaded me that my misfortune with Mary was known by all the
people: but our good bishop has understood that this was a trick of yours, and
that it was one of your lying stories; I came back to take possession of my
parish, and turn you out."
"If the bishop has sent you back here to turn me out, that I may go back
to my dear colony, he has just done what I asked him to do; for he knows better
than any man, for what great purpose I came to this country, and that I cannot
do my work as long as he asks me to take care of Bourbonnais. I go, at once,
and leave you in full possession of your parsonage. But I pity you, when I see
the dark cloud which is on your horizon. Good-bye!"
"You are the only dark cloud on my horizon," he answered. "When
you are begone, I will be in as perfect peace as I was before you set your feet
in Illinois. Good-bye; and, please, never come back here, except I invite
you."
I left, and ordered my servant man to drive me back to St. Anne. But when
crossing the village, I saw that there was a terrible excitement among the
people. Several times they stopped me, and requested me to remain in their
midst to advise them what to do. But I refused, saying to them: "It would
be an insult on my part to advise you anything, in a matter where your duty as
men and Catholics is so clear. Consult the respect you owe to yourselves, to
your families, and to your church, and you will know what to do."
It took me all night, which was very dark, to come back to St. Anne, where I
arrived at dawn, the 9th of May, 1852. The next Sabbath day, I held a public
service in my chapel, which was crowded, without making any allusion to that
deplorable affair. On the Monday following, four citizens of Bourbonnais were
deputed to tell me what they had done, and asked me not to desert them in that
hour of trial, but to remember that I was their countryman, and that they had
nobody else to whom they could look, to help to fulfill their religious duties.
Here is the substance of their message:
"As soon as we saw that you had left our village, without telling us what
to do, we called a public meeting, where we passed the following resolutions:
"1st. No personal insult shall be given to Mr. Courjeault.
"2d. We cannot consent to keep him a single hour as our pastor.
"3d. When, next Sabbath, he will begin his sermon, we will instantly leave
the church, and go to the door, that he may remain absolutely alone, and
understand our stern determination not to have him any more for our spiritual
teacher.
"4th. We will send these resolutions to the bishop, and ask him to allow
Mr. Chiniquy to divide his time and attention between his new colony and us,
till we have a pastor able to instruct and edify us."
Strange to say, poor Mr. Courjeault shut up in his parsonage, during that
night, knew nothing of that meeting. He had not found a single friend to warn
him of what was to happen the next Sunday. That Sunday the weather was
magnificent, and there never had been such a multitude of people at the church.
The miserable priest, thinking by that unusual crowd, that everything was to be
right with him that day, began his mass, and went to the pulpit to deliver his
sermon. But he had hardly pronounced the first words, when, at a signal given
by some one, the whole people, without a single exception, ran out of the
church as if it had been on fire, and he remained alone. Of course, this fell
upon him as a thunderbolt, and he came very near fainting. However, recovering
himself, he went to the door, and having, with his tears and sobs, as with his
words, persuaded the people to listen to what he had to tell them, he said:
"I see that the hand of God is upon me, and I deserve it. I have sinned,
and made a mistake by coming back. You do not want me any more to be your
pastor. I cannot complain of that; this is your right, you will be satisfied. I
will leave the place for ever to-night. I only ask you to forgive my past
errors and pray for me."
This short address was followed by the most deadly silence; not a voice was
heard to insult him. Many, on the contrary, were so much impressed with the sad
solemnity of this occurrence that they could not refrain their tears. The whole
people went back to their homes with broken hearts. Mr. Courjeault left
Bourbonnais that very night, never to return again. But the awful scandal he
had given did not disappear with him.
Our Great and Merciful God, who, many times, has made the very sins and errors
of His people to work for good, caused that public iniquity of the priest to
remove the scales from many eyes, and prepare them to receive the light, which
was already dawning at the horizon. A voice from heaven was as if heard by many
of us. "Do you not see that in your Church of Rome, you do not follow the
Word of God, but the lying traditions of men? Is it not evident that your
priests' celibacy is a snare and an institution of Satan?"
Many asked me to show them in the Gospel where Christ had established the law
of celibacy. "I will do better," I added, "I will put the Gospel
in your hands, and you will look for yourselves in that holy book, what is said
on that matter." The very same day I ordered a merchant, from Montreal, to
send me a large box filled with New Testaments, printed by the order of the
Archbishop of Quebec; and on the 25th as many from New York. Very soon it was
known by every one of my immigrants that not only had Jesus never forbidden His
apostles and priests to marry, but he had left them free to have their wives,
and live with them, according to the very testimony of Paul. "Have we not
power to lead about a sister, a wife, as well as other apostles, and as the
brethren of the Lord, and Cephas? (1 Cor. ix. 5); they saw, by their Gospel,
that the doctrine of celibacy of the priests was not brought from heaven by
Christ, but had been forged in darkness, to add to the miseries of man. They
read and read over again these words of Christ: "If ye continue in My
word, then are ye My disciples indeed. And ye shall know the truth, and the
truth shall make you free.... If the Son, therefore, shall make you free, ye
shall be free indeed." (John viii. 31, 32, 36).
And those promises of liberty, which Christ gave to those who read and followed
His Word, made their hearts leap with joy. They fell upon their minds as music
from heaven. They also soon found, by themselves, that every time the disciples
of Christ had asked Him who would be the first ruler, or the Pope, in His
church, He had always solemnly and positively said that, in His church, no body
would ever become the first, the ruler or the Pope. And they began, seriously,
to suspect that the great powers of the Pope and his bishops were nothing but a
sacrilegious usurpation. I was not long without seeing that the reading of the
Holy Scriptures by my dear countrymen was changing them into other men. Their
minds were evidently enlarged and raised to higher spheres of thought. They
were beginning to suspect that the heavy chains which were woulding their
shoulders were preventing them from making progress in wealth, intelligence,
and liberty, as their more fortunate fellow-men, called Protestants.
This was not yet the bright light of the day, but it was the blessed dawn.
.
CHAPTER 52
On
the 20th of May, 1852, I received the following letter from Bishop Vandeveld:-
"Rev. Mr. Chiniquy.
"My Dear Mr. Chiniquy, The Rev. Courjeault is just returned from
Bourbonnais, where he ought never to have gone back; he has told me of his
complete failure, and ignominious exit. I bitterly regret having allowed him to
go there again. But he had so persuaded me that his criminal conduct with his
servant girl was ignored by the people, that I had yielded to his request.
"I feel that this new attempt, on his part, to impose himself on that
honest people, has added to the enormity of his first scandal. I advise him now
to go back to France, where he can more easily conceal his shame than in
America. But one of the darkest features of that disgusting affair is, that I
am obliged to pay the five hundred dollars which the girl asked, in order to
prevent Mr. Courjeault from being dragged before the civil tribunal, and sent
to gaol.
"The malice of that priest against you has received its just reward. Buy
my fear is that you have another implacable enemy here in Mr. Lebel, whose
power to do evil is greater than Mr. Courjeault's.
"Before you began your great work of directing the flood of Roman Catholic
immigration towards this country, to secure it to our holy church, he was in
favour of that glorious scheme, but his jealousy against you has suddenly
changed his mind.
"He has lately addressed a letter to the Canadian press, every word of
which is an unmitigated falsehood. Of course, the Bishop of Montreal, who is
more than ever opposed to our colonization plan, has published that lying
letter in his journal; more than that, he has reproduced the testimony of a
perjured man, who swears that many of the people of Illinois are bitten and killed
by the rattlesnakes, and those who escape are taxed six cents for each pane of
glass of their windows.
"Will you be discouraged by this opposition? I hope not. This opposition
is the greatest evidence we could have that our scheme is from God, and that He
will support you. I am tempted to interdict Mr. Lebel, and send him back to
Canada, for writing things which he so well knows to be false. The want of a
French-speaking priest for your countrymen of Chicago is the only thing which
has prevented me from withdrawing his faculties. But I have warned him that, if
he writes any more against the truth, I will punish him as he deserves.
"For you, my dear Sir, I will address to you the very words which God
Himself addressed to His servant Joshua: 'Be strong, and of good courage; for
unto this people shalt thou divide, for an inheritance, the land which I swear
unto their fathers to give them' (Joshua i. 6).
"I agree with what you wrote in your last letter, that the charge I have
given you of Bourbonnais, pro tempore, will seriously interfere with your other
numberless duties towards your dear immigrants. But there is no help; the only
thing I can promise is to relieve you as soon as possible. I have on other
priest to whom I can trust the interesting mission of Bourbonnais. For Father
Huick is too old and infirm for such a work; it is evidently the will of God
that you should extend your labours over the first limits you had fixed. Be
faithful to the end, and the Lord will be with you, and support you throughout
all your labours and tribulations.
"Truly yours,
"Oliv Vandeveld,
"Bishop of Chicago."
During
the next six months, more than 500 families from France, Belgium, and Canada,
came and gave to our colony a life, power, and prosperity, impossible for me to
depict; the joy I felt at this unforeseen success was much diminished, however,
by the sudden news that Mr. Courjeault had come back from France, where he
spent only one month. Not daring to visit Bourbonnais again, he was lurking on
the frontiers of Indiana, only a few miles distant, evidently with some
sinister intention. Driven to a state of madness by his jealousy and hatred,
that unfortunate man addressed to me, on the 23rd of January, 1853, the most
abusive letter I ever received, and ended it by telling me that the fine
(though unfinished) church of Bourbonnais, which he had built, was to be
burned, and that my life would be in danger if I remained at the head of that
mission.
I immediately sent that letter to the bishop, asking his advice. In his answer,
he told me that he thought that Mr. Courjeault was wicked enough to fulfill his
threats. He added: "Though I have not yet clear evidence of it, it is my
fear that Mr. Lebel is united with Mr. Courjeault, in the diabolical plot of
burning your church of Bourbonnais. Several people have reported to me that he
says that your presence there will be the ruin of that people, and the
destruction of their church. Oh! to what extremities bad priests can go, when
once they have given themselves to their unbridled passions! The first thing I
would advise you, my dear Mr. Chiniquy, in the presence of such a terrible
calamity, is to insure that church without delay. I have tried to do it here,
but they have refused, under the pretext that it is an unfinished, frame
building, and that there are too many dangers of fire when people are still
working at it. My impression is, that Mr. Lebel is on intimate terms with some
insurance gentlemen, and has frightened them by speaking of that rumour of
danger, of which he is probably the father, with that miserable Courjeault.
Perhaps you may have a better chance, by addressing yourself to some insurance
company which you might find at Joliet, or at Springfield."
After vain efforts to insure the church, I wrote to the bishop, "The only
way to escape the impending danger, is to finish the church at once, and insure
it after. I have just made a collection of four hundred dollars among the
people of Bourbonnais, to which I added three hundred dollars from my own
private resources and will go to work immediately if your lordship has no
objections."
Having got the approbation of my superior, on the 1st of March, I began, to put
the last hand to that building. We worked almost day and night, till the 1st of
May, when it was all finished. I dare affirm, that for a country place, that
church was unsurpassed in beauty. The inside framework was all made of the
splendid black oak of Bourbonnais, polished and varnished by most skillful men,
and they looked like a mirror. Very seldom have I seen anything more grand and
beautiful than the altar, made also of that precious black oak. It was late as
night, when, with my fellow-labourers, covered with dust and sweat, we could
say with joy the solemn words, "It is finished!" Afterwards we sung
the Te Deum. Had I had an opportunity, at that late hour, it was my thought and
desire to insure it. But I was forced to postpone this till the next Monday.
The next day (the first Sabbath of May, 1853), the sun seemed to come out from
the horizon and rise above our heads with more than usual magnificence. The air
was calm and pure, and the numberless spring flowers of our gardens mingling
their perfumes with the fragrant leaves of the splendid forest at the front of
the village, the balmy atmosphere, the song of the birds, seemed to tell us
that this Sabbath day was to be the most happy one for me and my dear people of
Bourbonnais. The church had never been so crowded. The hymns we sung had never
been so melodious, and the words of gratitude which I addressed to my God, when
I thanked Him for the church He had given us, in which to adore and bless Him,
had never been so sincere and earnest; never had our tears of joy flowed so
profusely as on that splendid and never-to-be-forgotten Sabbath. Alas! who
would suspect that, six hours later, that same people, gathered around the
smoking ruins of their church, would rend the air with their cries of
desolation! Such, however, was the case.
While taking my dinner, after the public service, two little boys, who had remained
in the church to wait for the hour of the Catechism, ran to the parsonage,
crying: "Fire! Fire!! Fire!!!" Bare headed, and halfparalyzed with
the idea that my church was on fire, I went out to see the awful reality. A
girdle of smoke and fire was already issuing from almost every part, between
the top of the wooden walls and the roof. I had rushed to the church with a
pail of water in my hand. But it was too late to make any use of it; the flames
were already running and leaping with a fearful rapidity over the fresh
varnish, like a long train of powder. In less than two hours all was finished
again. No doubt could remain in our minds. This was the work of an incendiary,
for there was no fire in the church after the service. Many strangers who had
come from a distance had gone through the whole nave and the upper galleries,
to have a better sight of the whole building, and two of them had been seen by
the little boys, remaining ten or fifteen minutes alone; they had gone back to
some of the houses of the village without being remarked by anybody, for it was
dinner time, and there was nobody to watch them.
Though stunned by that awful calamity, the noble-hearted people of Bourbonnais
did not lose their minds. Seeing that they were all gathered around the smoking
ruins, at about six p.m. I addressed to them a few words to support their
courage. I told them that it was only in the midst of great trials and
difficulties that men could show their noblest qualities and their true
manhood; that if we were true men, instead of losing our time in shedding tears
and rending the air with our cries of desolation, we would immediately put our
hands to the work, and begin the very next day, to raise up, not a frame
building, which the flames could turn into ashes in a few minutes, and which
the storm could blow down over our heads, but a stone church, which would stand
before God and man as an imperishable monument of their faith, indomitable
courage and liberality. We immediately started a subscription, to erect, without
a delay, a stone church. In less than one hour, four thousand dollars in money,
and more than five thousand dollars in time, timber and stone and other
material, were subscribed, every cent of which has been faithfully given for
the erection of that fine stone church of Bourbonnais.
The next Thursday, Bishop Vandeveld came from Chicago to confer with me about
what could be done to repair that terrible loss, and to inquire confidentially
of me as to the author of the fire. All the facts we gathered pointed to the
same direction. It was evident that the miserable Courjeault, with Lebel, the
French-Canadian priest of Chicago, had done that evil work through their
emissaries. No doubt of this remained in my mind when I learned that soon
after, Mr. Courjeault had thrown himself into one of those dark dungeons called
a monastery of La Trappe, which Satan has built on earth as a preparation for
the dark hereafter of the wicked.
The unexpected visit of my bishop had at first rejoiced me by the hope that he
would bring me words of encouragement. But what was my disappointment when he
said to me: "Mr. dear Mr. Chiniquy, I must reveal to you a thing that I
have not yet made known to anyone. It is confidential, and I request you not to
say a word before it is accomplished. I cannot remain any longer Bishop of
Illinois! No! I cannot any longer resume the responsibilities of such a high
position, because it is beyond my power to fulfill my duties and do what the
church requires of me. The conduct of the priests of this diocese is such,
that, should I follow the regulations of the canon, I would be forced to
interdict all my priests with the exception of you and two or three others.
They are all either notorious drunkards, or given to public or secret
concubinage; several of them have children by their own nieces, and two by
their own sisters. I do not think that ten of them believe in God. Religion is
nothing to them but a well paying comedy. Where can I find a remedy to such a
general evil? Can I punish one of them and leave the others free in their
abominable doings, when they are almost all equally guilty? Would not the
general interdiction of these priests be the death blow of our church in
Illinois? Besides, how can I punish them, when I know that many of them are ready
to poison me the very moment I raise a finger against them. I suppose that you
do not ignore the fact that my poor predecessor was poisoned, by one of those
priests who had seduced several nuns, when he was in the very act of
investigating the matter. I intend to go to Rome, as soon as I receive my
permit from the Pope, to renounce at his feet the Bishopric of Chicago, which I
will not keep on any consideration. If the Pope does not give me another
diocese, with a better set of priests, I prefer to spend the rest of my life at
the head of a small congregation, where I shall not have, on my shoulders, the
awful responsibility which is killing me here. The last horrible deeds of
Courjeault and Lebel, of which you are the victim today, has filled the bitter
cup which God has put to my lips to drink. It is overflowing. I cannot any
longer endure it."
When speaking so, the bishop's face was bathed with tears. It was very late;
too late, indeed, to make the remonstrances which came to my mind, in order to
change his resolutions.
I determined to wait till the next morning, when I should have plenty of time,
I hoped, to expel his dark thoughts, and give him more courage. Besides, I was
myself so discouraged by those awful disclosures, that I was in need of mental as
well as bodily rest. But, alas! the next day was to be one of the darkest of my
priestly life! When the hour for breakfast came the next morning, I went to
awaken the bishop. What was my dismay when I found him drunk? Before going to
bed, he had secretly asked my housekeeper to give him the bottle of wine which
I used to celebrate mass. It was a large bottle, containing nearly a quart of
wine, which would last me, at least, six mouths the whole of which he had drunk
during the night!
I had been told that Bishop Vandeveld was a drunkard, as well as the greater
part of the bishops of the United States, but I had never believed it. He
always drank very moderately before me, any time I sat at his table or he at
mine. It appears that it was at night, when nobody could see him, that he gave
himself up to that detestable habit. His room was filled with the odour of what
he had vomited, after drinking such an enormous quantity of wine. He left the
room, only at noon, after the fumes of the wine had almost entirely
disappeared, and requested the housekeeper to cleanse it herself, without
letting the servants know anything of the occurrence of the night. But words
would fail to express my consternation, and the discouragement I felt. I had
formed such a good and exalted opinion of that man! I had found in him such
noble qualities! His intelligence was so bright, his learning so extensive, his
heart so large, his plans so grand, his piety so sincere, his charity so worthy
of a bishop of Christ! It was so pleasant for me to know, till then, that I was
honoured with the full confidence of a bishop who, it seemed to me, had not a
superior in our church!
The destruction of my dear church by the hands of incendiaries, was surely a
great calamity for me; but the fall of my bishop, from the high position he had
in my heart and mind, was still greater. I had the means, in hand, to rebuild
that Church; but my confidence in my bishop was irremediably and for ever lost!
Never had a son loved his father more sincerely than I had loved him; and never
had any priest felt a more sincere respect for his bishop than I for him! Oh!
what a terrible wound was made in my heart that day! what tortures I felt! But
how many times since I have blessed my God for these wounds! Without them, I should
never have known that instead of being in the bosom of the Immaculate Church of
Christ, I was slave of that great Babylon which poisons the nations with the
wine of her abominations. My love and respect for Bishop Vandeveld were very
strong chains, by which I was bound to the feet of the idols of Rome. I will
eternally bless God for having Himself broken these chains, on that day of
supreme desolation. The remaining part of the day, as well as the hour of the
next morning which the bishop spent in my house, I remained almost mute in his
presence. He was not less embarrassed when he asked me my views about his
project of leaving the diocese. I answered him, in a few words, that I could
not disapprove the purpose; for I would myself prefer to live in a dark forest,
in the midst of wild animals, than among drunken, atheist priests and bishops.
Some months later I learned, without regret, that the Pope had accepted his
resignation of the Bishopric of Chicago, and appointed him Bishop of Natchez,
in Louisiana. His successor to the Bishopric of Chicago, was Rev. O'Regan. One
of the very first things which this new bishop did, was to bring Bishop
Vandeveld before the criminal tribunals as a thief, accusing him of having
stolen one hundred thousand dollars from the Bishopric of Chicago, and carrying
them away with him. There is no need to say that this action caused a terrible
scandal. Not only in Illinois, but through all the United States, both priests
and laymen had to blush and cast down their eyes before the world. The two
bishops, employing the best lawyers to fight each other, came very near proving
to the world that both of them were equally swindlers and thieves; when the
Pope forced them both to stop their contestation, and bring the affair before
his tribunal at Rome. There it was decided that the one hundred thousand
dollars which had really been taken from Chicago to the Natchez diocese, should
be equally divided between the two bishops.
How many times did I feel my soul brought to the dust, in the midst of those
horrible scandals! How many sleepless nights have I spent, when a voice, which
I could not silence, seemed crying to me, louder than thunder: "What are
you doing here, extending the power of a church which is a den of thieves,
drunkards, and impure atheists? A church, governed by men whom you know to be
godless, swindlers, and vile comedians? Do you not see that you do not follow
the Word of God, but the lying traditions of men, when you consent to bow your
knees before such men? Is it not blasphemy to call such men the ambassadors,
and the disciples of the humble, pure, holy, peaceful, and divine Jesus? Come
out of that Church! Break the fetters, by which you are bound as a vile slave
to the feet of such men! Take the Gospel for thine only guide and Christ for
thine only Ruler!"
I was in desolation at finding that my faith in my Church was, in spite of
myself, shaken by these scandals. With burning tears rolling down my cheeks,
and with a broken and humiliated heart, I fell, one night, on my knees, and
asked my God to have mercy upon me, by strengthening my faith and preserving it
from ruin. But it seemed that neither my tears nor my cries were of any avail,
and I remained the whole night, as a ship stuck by a hurricane, drifting on an
unknown sea, without a compass or a rudder. I was not aware of it then, but I
learned it after, that the divine and sure Pilot was directing my course
towards the port of salvation! The next day, I had a happy diversion, in the
arrival of fifty new immigrants, who knocked at my door, asking my advice about
the best place to select for their future home. It seemed to me, though pretty
long after that, that my duty was to go and pay my respects to my new bishop,
and open to Him my heart as to my best friend, and the guide whom God Himself
had chosen to heal the wounds of my soul, by pouring the oil and wine of
charity into them.
I will never forget the day (the 11th of December, 1854), when I saw Bishop
O'Regan, for the first time, nor the painful impressions I received from that
first interview. He was of medium stature, with a repugnant face, and his head
always in motion: all its motions seemed the expression of insolence, contempt,
tyranny, and pride; there was absolutely nothing pleasant, either in his words
or in his manners. I fell on my knees to ask his benediction, when I had given
him my name and kissed his hand, which seemed as cold as that of a corpse.
"Ah! ah! you are Father Chiniquy," he said. "I am glad to see
you, though you have deferred your visit a long time; please sit down. I want
some explanation from you about a certain very strange document, which I have
just read today;" and he went, at the double quick, to his room to get the
document. There were two Irish priests in the room, who came a few minutes
before me. When we were alone, one of them said: "We had hoped that we
would gain by changing Bishop Vandeveld for this one. But my fear is that we
have only passed from Charybdis into Scylla," and they laughed outright.
But I could not laugh. I was more inclined to weep. After less than ten minutes
of absence, the bishop returned, holding in his hand a paper, which I
understood, at once, to be the deed of the eleven acres of land, which I had
bought, and on which I had built my chapel of St. Anne.
"Do you know this paper?" he asked me in an angry manner.
"Yes, my lord, I know it," I answered.
"But, then," he quickly replied, "you must know that that title
is a nullity a fraud, which you ought never to have signed."
"Your venerable and worthy predecessor has accepted it," I answered,
"and what might have been incorrect has been made valid, I hope, by his
acceptation."
"I do not care a straw about what my predecessor has done," he
abruptly answered, "he is not here to defend himself; neither are we here
to discuss his merits or demerits. We have not to deal with my lord Vandeveld,
but with a document which is a nullity, a deception, which must be thrown into
the fire; you must give me another title of that property!"
And saying this, he flung my deed on the floor. I calmly picked it up and said:
"I exceedingly regret, my lord, that my first interview with your lordship
should be the occasion of such an unexpected act. But I hope that this will not
destroy the paternal sentiments which God must have put into the heart of my
bishop, for the last and least of his priests. I see that your lordship is very
busy; I do not want to trespass on your valuable time; I take this rejected
document with me; to make another one, which I hope will be more agreeable to
your views;" and then I took my departure.
I leave the reader to imagine the sentiments which filled my mind when coming
back to my colony. I did not dare say a word to my people about our bishop.
When questioned by them, I gave the most evasive answers I could. But I felt as
the mariner feels when he hears the rumbling thunder approaching. Though the
sea is calm as the oil of a lamp, he knows the storm is coming, he trims his
sails, and prepares for the impending hurricane. It seemed that my most pressing
duty, after my first interview, was to bring my heart nearer to my God than
ever; to read and study my Bible with more attention, and to get my people to
take more than ever the Word of God as their daily bread. I began, also, to
speak more openly of our Christian rights, as well as of our duties, as these
are set forth in the Gospel of Christ.
Some time, before this, feeling more than ever that I could not do justice to
my colony, by keeping any longer the charge of Bourbonnais, I had respectfully
sent my resignation to the bishop, which had been accepted. A priest had been
called by him to take my place there. But he too, was, ere long, guilty of a
public scandal with his servant girl. The principal citizens of Bourbonnais
protested against his presence in their midst, and soon forced the bishop to
dismiss him. His successor was the miserable priest, Lebel, who had been turned
out of Chicago for a criminal offense with his own niece, and was now to be the
curate of Bourbonnais. But his drunkenness and other public vices caused him to
be interdicted, and expelled from that place in the month of September, 1855.
About the same time, a priest who had been expelled from Belgium for a great
scandal, was sent to Kankakee, as the curate of the French Canadians of that
interesting young city. After his expulsion from Belgium he had come to
Chicago, where, under another name, he had made a fortune, and for five or six
years kept a house of prostitution. Becoming tired of that occupation, he
offered five thousand dollars to the bishop, if he would accept him as one of
his priests, and give him a parish. Bishop O'Regan being in need of money,
accepted the gift, and fulfilled the condition by sending him as missionary to
Kankakee.
As soon as he had taken possession of that interesting mission, he came with
Mr. Lebel to pay me a visit. I received them as politely as possible, thought
they were both half drunk when they arrived. After dinner, they went to shoot
prairie chickens, and got so drunk that one of them, Mr. Lebel, lost his boots
in a slough, and came back to my house barefooted, without noticing his loss. I
had to help them get their carriage and the next day I wrote them, forbidding
them to ever set foot in my house again. But what was my surprise and sadness, not
long before those two infamous priests were ignominiously turned out by their
people, to receive a letter from my bishop, which ended in these words: "I
am sorry to hear that you refuse to live on good terms with your two
neighbouring brother priests. This ought not to be, and I hope to hear soon,
that you have reconciled yourself with them, in a friendly way, as you ought to
have done long ago."
I answered him: "It is my interest, as well as my duty, to obey my bishop.
I know it. But as long as my bishop gives me for neighbours, priests, one of
whom has lived publicly with his own niece, as his wife, and the other who has
kept a house of prostitution in Chicago, I respectfully ask my bishop to be
excused for not visiting them."
The bishop felt insulted by my letter, and was furious against me. It came to
be a public fact that he had said before many people: "I would give
anything to the one who would help me to get rid of that unmanageable
Chiniquy." Among those who heard the bishop, was a land speculator, a real
land-shark, against whom a bill for perjury had been found by the jury of
Iroquois county, the 27th of April, 1854. That man was very angry against me
for protecting my poor countrymen against his too sharp peculations. He said to
the bishop, "If you pay the expense of the suit, I pledge myself to have
Chiniquy put in gaol." The bishop had publicly answered him: "No sum
of money will be too great to be delivered from a priest who alone gives me
more trouble than the rest of my clergy." To comply with the desires of
the bishop, this peculator dragged me before the criminal court of Kankakee, on
the 16th day of May, 1855, but he lost his action, and was condemned to pay the
cost.
It was my impression that the bishop, having so often expressed in public his
bad feelings against me, would not visit my colony. But I was mistaken. On the
11th of June, taking the Rev. Mr. Lebel and Carthuval for his companions, he
came to St. Anne to administer the sacrament of confirmation. As the infamous
conduct of those two priests was known to every one of my people, I felt a
supreme disgust at their arrival, and came very near forbidding them to sit at
my table. Having, however, asked the bishop to give me half-an-hour of private
interview, I respectfully, but energetically protested against the presence of
these two degraded men in my house.
He coldly answered me: "Mr. Chiniquy, you forget that I am the Bishop of
Illinois, and that you are a simple priest, whom I can interdict and remove
from here when I like. I do not come here to receive your lessons, but to
intimate to you my orders. You seem to forget that charity is above all others
the virtue which must adorn the soul of a good priest. Your great zeal is
nothing before God, and it is less than nothing before me, so long as you have
not charity. It is my business, and not yours, to know what priests I must
employ, or reject. Your business is to respect them, and forget their past
errors, the very day I see fit to receive them among my priests."
"My lord," I answered "allow me respectfully to tell you, that
though you are a bishop, and I am a simple priest, the Gospel of Christ, which
we have to preach, tells us to avoid the company of publicly vicious and
profligate men. My conscience tells me that through respect for myself and my
people, and through respect for the Gospel I preach, I must avoid the company
of men, one of whom has lived with his niece as his wife, and the other has,
till very lately, been guilty of keeping a house of prostitution in Chicago. Your
lordship may ignore these things, and, in consequence of that, may give your
confidence to these men; but nothing is more apt to destroy the faith of our
French Canadian people, than to see such men in your company when you come to
administer the sacrament of confirmation. It is through respect for your
lordship that I take the liberty of speaking thus."
He angrily answered me: "I see, now, the truthfulness of what people say
about you. It is to the Gospel you constantly appeal on everything. The Gospel!
The Gospel! is surely a holy book; but remember that it is the Church which
must guide you. Christ has said, 'Hear My Church.' I am here the interpreter,
ambassador the representative of the Church when you disobey me, it is the
Church you disobey."
"Now, my lord, that I have fulfilled what I consider a conscientious duty,
I promise, that through respect for your lordship, and to keep myself in the
bonds of peace with my bishop, I, today, will deal with these two priests, as
if they were worthy of the honourable position you give them."
"All right! all right!" replied the bishop. "But it must be near
the hour for dinner."
"Yes, my lord, I have just heard the bell calling us to the
diningroom."
After the blessing of the table by the bishop, he looked at the Rev. Carthuval,
who was sitting just before him, and said:
"What is the matter with you, Mr. Carthuval, you do not look well?"
"No, my lord," he answered, "I am not well; I want to go to
bed."
He was correct, he was not well, for he was drunk.
During the public services, he had left the chapel to come down and ask for a
bottle of wine I kept to celebrate mass. The housekeeper, thinking he wanted
the wine in the chapel, handed him the bottle, which he drank in her presence
in less than five minutes. After which he went up to the chapel to help the
bishop in administering the confirmation to the 150 people whom I had prepared
for the reception of that rite.
As soon as dinner was finished, the bishop requested me to go and take a walk
with him. After giving me some compliments on the beauty of the site I had
chosen from my first village and chapel, he saw at a short distance a stone
building, which was raised only a little above the windows, and directing his
steps towards it, he stopped only twenty or thirty feet distant, and asked me:
"Whose house is this?"
"It is mine, my lord."
"It is yours!" he replied; "and to whom does that fine garden
belong?"
"It is mine also, my lord."
"Well! well!" he rejoined; "where did you get the money to
purchase that fine piece of land and build that house?"
"I got the money where every honest man gets what he possesses, in my hard
labour, and in the sweat of my brow," I replied.
"I want that house and that piece of land!" rejoined the bishop, with
an imperative voice. "So do I," I replied.
"You must give me that house, with the land on which it is built,"
said the bishop.
"I cannot give them as long as I am in need of them, my lord," I
replied.
"I see that you are a bad priest, as I have often been told, since you
disobey your bishop," he rejoined with an angry manner.
I replied: "I do not see why I am a bad priest, because I keep what my God
has given me."
"Are you ignorant of the fact that you have no right to possess any
property?" he answered.
"Yes! my lord, I am ignorant of any law in our holy church that deprives
me of any such rights. If, however, your lordship can show me any such law, I
will give you the title of that property just now."
"If there is not such a law," he replied, stamping on the ground with
his feet, "I will get one passed."
"My lord," I replied, "you are a great bishop. You have great
power in the church, but allow me to tell you that you are not great enough to
have such a law passed in our holy church!"
"You are an insolent priest," he answered with an accent of terrible
anger, "and I will make you repent for your insolence."
He then turned his face towards the chapel, without waiting for my answer, and
ordered the horses to be put in the carriage, that he might leave in the shortest
possible time. A quarter of an hour later he had left St. Anne, where he was
never to come again. The visit of that mitred thief, with his two profligate
priests, though very short, did much by the mercy of God, to prepare our minds
to understand that Rome is the great harlot of the Bible, which seduces and
intoxicates the nations with the wine of her prostitution. (Rev. xvii. 2.)
.
CHAPTER 53
The
8th December, 1854, Pope Pius IX. was sitting on his throne; a triple crown of gold
and diamonds was on his head; silk and damask- red and white vestments on his
shoulders; five hundred mitred prelates were surrounding him; and more than
fifty thousand people were at his feet, in the incomparable St. Peter's Church
of Rome. After a few minutes of most solemn silence, a cardinal, dressed with
his purple robe, left his seat, and gravely walked towards the Pope, kneeled
before him, and humbly prostrating himself at his feet, said:
"Holy Father, tell us if we can believe and teach that the Mother of God,
the Holy Virgin Mary, was immaculate in her conception."
The Supreme Pontiff answered: "I do not know; let us ask the light of the
Holy Ghost."
The cardinal withdrew; the Pope and the numberless multitude fell on their
knees; and the harmonious choir sang the "Veni Creator Spiritus."
The last note of the sacred hymn had hardly rolled under the vaults of the
temple, when the same cardinal left his place, and again advanced towards the
throne of the Pontiff, prostrated himself at his feet, and said:
"Holy Father, tell us if the Holy Mother of God, the blessed Virgin Mary,
was immaculate in her conception."
The Pope again answered: "I do not know; let us ask the light of the Holy
Ghost."
And again the "Veni Creator Spiritus" was sung.
The most solemn silence had a second time succeeded to the melodious sacred
song, when again the eyes of the multitude were following the grave steps of
the purple-robed cardinal, advancing, for the third time, to the throne of the
successor of St. Peter, to ask him:
"Holy Father, tell us if we can believe that the blessed Virgin Mary, the
Mother of God was immaculate."
The Pope, as if he had just received a direct communication from God, answered
with a solemn voice:
"Yes! we must believe that the Blessed Virgin Mary, the Mother of God, was
immaculate in her conception. There is no salvation to those who do not believe
this dogma!"
And, with a loud voice, the Pope intoned the Te Deum; the bells of the three
hundred churches of Rome rang; the cannons of the citadel were fired. The last
act of the most ridiculous and sacrilegious comedy the world has ever seen, was
over; the doors of heaven were for ever shut against those who would refuse to
believe the anti-scriptural doctrine that there is a daughter of Eve who has
not inherited the sinful nature of Adam, to whom the Lord said in His justice:
"Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return!" (Gen. iii. 19), and
of the children of whom the God of Truth has said, "There is none
righteous; no, not one: for all have sinned!" (Rom. iii. 10, 23).
We look in vain to the first centuries of the Church to find any traces of that
human aberration. The first dark clouds which Satan had brought to mar the
Gospel truth, on that subject, appeared only between the eighth and ninth
centuries. But, in the beginning, that error made very slow progress; those who
propagated it, at first, were a few ignorant fanatics, whose names are lost in
the night of the dark ages. It is only in the twelfth century that it began to
be openly preached by some brainless monks. But then it was opposed by the most
learned men of the time. We have a very remarkable letter of St. Bernard to
refute some monks of Lyons who were preaching this new doctrine. A little
later, Peter Lombard adopted the views of the monks of Lyons, and wrote a book
to support that opinion; but he was refuted by St. Thomas Aquinas, who is
justly considered by the Church of Rome, as the best theologian of that time.
After that, the celebrated order of the Franciscans used all their influence to
persuade the world that "Mary was immaculate in her conception;" but
they were vigorously opposed and refuted by the not less celebrated order of
the Dominicans. These two learned and powerful bodies, during more than a century,
attacked each other without mercy on that subject, and filled the world with
the noise of their angry disputes, both parties calling their adversaries
heretics. They succeeded in driving the Roman Catholics of Europe into two
camps of fierce enemies. The "Immaculate Conception" became the
subject of burning discussions, not only between the learned universities,
between the bishops and the priests and the nuns of those days; but it divided
the families into two fiercely contending parties. It was discussed, attacked
and defended, not only in the chairs of universities, and the pulpits of the
cathedrals, but also in the fields, and in the very streets of the cities. And
when the two parties had exhausted the reasons which their ingenuity, their
learning, or their ignorant fanaticism could suggest to prove or deny the
"Immaculate Conception," they often had recourse to the stick and to
the sword to sustain their arguments.
It will appear almost incredible today, but it is a fact, the greatest number
of the large cities of Europe, particularly in Spain, were then reddened with
the blood of the supporters and opponents of that doctrine. In order to put an
end to these contests, which were troubling the peace of their subjects, the
Kings of Europe sent deputation after deputation to the Popes to know, from
their infallible authority, what to believe on the subject. Philip III. and
Philip IV. made what we may call supreme efforts to force the Popes, Paul V.,
Gregory XV., and Alexander VII. to stop the shedding of blood, and disarm the
combatants, by raising the opinion in favour of the Immaculate Conception to
the dignity of a Catholic dogma. But they failed. The only answer they could
get from the infallible head of the Church of Rome was, that "that dogma
was not revealed in the Holy Scriptures, had never been taught by the Apostles,
nor by the Fathers, and had never been believed or preached by the Church of
Rome as an article of faith!"
The only thing the Popes could do to please the supplicant kings and bishops,
and nations of Europe in those days, was to forbid both parties to call the
other heretics; and to forbid to say that it was an article of faith which
ought to be believed to be saved. At the Council of Trent, the Franciscans, and
all the partisans of the "Immaculate Conception," gathered their
strength to have a decree in favour of the new dogma; but the majority of the
bishops were visibly against that sacrilegious innovation, and they failed. It
was reserved to the unfortunate Pius IX. to drag the Church of Rome to that
last limit of human folly. In the last century, a monk, called Father Leonard,
had a dream, in which he heard the Virgin Mary telling him: "That there
would be an end to the wars in the world, and to the heresies and schisms in
the church, only after a Pope should have obliged, by a decree, all the
faithful to believe that she was 'immaculate in her conception.'" That
dream, under the name of a "celestial vision," had been extensively
circulated by means of little tracts. Many believed it to be a genuine
revelation from heaven; and, unfortunately, the good natured but weak-minded
Pius IX. was among the number. When he was an exile in Gaeta, he had himself a
dream, which he took for a vision, on the same subject. He saw the Virgin, who
told him that he should come back to Rome, and get an eternal peace for the
church, only after he should have promised to declare that the "Immaculate
Conception" was a dogma, which every one had to believe to be saved. He
awoke from his dream much impressed by it; and the first thing he did when up,
was to make a vow to promulgate the new dogma as soon as he should be back to
Rome, and the world has seen how he has fulfilled that vow.
But, by the promulgation of this new dogma, Pius IX., far from securing an
eternal peace to his church, far from destroying what he is pleased to call the
heresies which are attacking Rome on every side, had done more to shake the
faith of the Roman Catholics than all their enemies.
By trying to force this new article of faith on the consciences of his people,
in a time that so many can judge for themselves, and read the records of past
generations, he has pulled down the strongest column which was supporting the
whole fabric of his church; he for ever destroyed the best arguments which the
priests had to offer to the ignorant, deluded multitudes which they keep so
abjectly tied to their feet.
No words can sufficiently express the dignified and supreme contempt with
which, before that epoch, the priests of Rome were speaking of the "new
articles of faith, the novelties of the arch-heretics, Luther, Calvin, Knox,
ect., ect!" How eloquent were the priests of Rome, before the 8th of
December, 1854, when saying to their poor ignorant dupes: "In our holy
Church of Rome there is no change, no innovations, no novelties, no new dogmas.
We believe today just what our fathers believed, and what they have taught us;
we belong to the apostolical church, which means we believe only what Apostles
have believed and preached." And the ignorant multitudes were saying:
"Amen!"
But, alas, for the poor priests of Rome today; those dignified nonsenses, those
precious and dear illusions, are impossible! they have to confess that those
high-sounding denunciations against what they call the new doctrines of the
heretics, were nothing but big guns loaded to the mouth to destroy the
Protestants, which are discharging their deadly missiles against the crumbling
walls of their Church of Rome. They have to confess that their pretensions to
an unchangeable creed is all mere humbug, shameful lies; they have to confess
that the Church of Rome is forging new dogmas, new articles of faith; they do
not any longer dare to say to the disciples of the Gospel: "Where was your
religion before the days of Luther and Calvin?" for the secret voice of
their conscience says today to the Roman Catholics: Where was your religion
before the 8th of December, 1854?" and they cannot answer.
There is an inexorable and irresistible logic in the minds even of the most
unlearned men, which defies, today, all the sophisms of the priests of Rome, if
they dare to speak again on their pet subjects: "The novelties and new
dogmas of the Protestants." There is a silent, but crushing voice, going
today from the crowds to the priest, telling him: "Now, be quiet and
silent on what you are used to call the novelties and new doctrines of the
Protestants! for, are you not preaching to us an awful novelty? As you not
damning us today for disbelieving a thing which the church, during eighteen
hundred years has, a hundred times, solemnly declared, by the mouth of the
Popes, had never been revealed in the Holy Scriptures, had never been taught by
the Fathers, had never been heard by the church herself?"
I will never forget the sadness which overcame me when I received the order
from Bishop O'Regan to proclaim that new dogma to my people (then all Roman
Catholics). It was as if an earthquake had shaken and destroyed the ground on
which my feet were resting. My most cherished illusions about the immutability
and the infallibility of my church were crumbling down, in my intelligence, in
spite of my efforts to keep them up. I have seen old priests, to whom I opened
my mind on that subject, shed tears of sorrow on the injury this new dogma
would do to their church.
The Archbishop of Paris, at the head of the most learned members of the clergy
of France, had sent his protest to the Pope against this dogma before it was
decreed; and he had eloquently foretold the deplorable consequences which would
follow that innovation; but their warning voice failed to make any impression
on the mind of the infatuated Pope.
And we, children of God, must we not acknowledge the hand of the Lord, in that
blindness of "the man of sin" (2 Thess. ii. 3). The days are not far
away that a cry of joy will be heard from one end of the world to the other:
"Fear God, and give glory to Him! Babylon is fallen! Babylon is fallen!
because she made all nations drink of the wine of the wrath of her
fornication" (Rev. xiv. 7; xviii. 2, 3). For, when we see that
"wicked one," "who exalteth himself above all that is called
God" (2 Thess. ii. 4), destroying himself by the excess of his own folly
and impurities, we must bless the Lord.
The proclamation of this new dogma is one of those great moral iniquities which
carry their punishment and their remedy in their own hands. When the Pope, in
the morning of the 8th of December, 1854, answered twice: "I do not
know," to the question put to him, "Is the Virgin Mary Immaculate in
her Conception?" and then, a minute after, to the same question, he
answered: "Yes! I know it: the Holy Virgin Mary was Immaculate in her
Conception," he proved to his most credulous dupes that he was nothing but
a sacrilegious comedian. How would a jury of honest men deal with a witness who,
being interrogated about what he knows of a certain fact, would answer, "I
know nothing about it," and a moment after would acknowledge that "he
knows everything about it?" Would not such a witness be justly punished as
a perjurer?
Such is the sad and unenviable position which the Pope made to himself and to
his church, on the 8th of December, 1854. Interrogated by the nations of Europe
about what was to be believed on the "Conception of the Virgin Mary,"
the Church of Rome, during ten centuries, had answered: "I do not
know." And let everyone remember that she wants to be believed infallible
when she says she "knows nothing about the Immaculate Conception."
But, today, that same church assures us, through the infallible decree of Pius
IX., that she knows, and that she has always known and believed the Virgin Mary
was Immaculate! Has the world ever seen such a want of self-respect, such an
unblushing impudence! What verdict will the Christian world give against that
great mother of lies? What punishment will the God of truth administer to that
great culprit who swears "yes" and "no" on the same
question? It is a fact, that by the promulgation of this decree, Pius IX. has
for ever destroyed his prestige in the minds of millions of his followers.
A few days after I had read to my congregation the decree of the Pope
proclaiming the new dogma, and damning all those who would not believe it, one
of my most intelligent and respectable farmers came to visit me, and put to me
the following questions on the new articles of faith: "Mr. Chiniquy,
please tell me, have I correctly understood the letter from the Pope you read
us last Sabbath? Does the Pope tell us in that letter that we can find this new
dogma of the 'Immaculate Conception' in the Holy Scriptures, that it has been
taught by the Fathers, and that the church has constantly believed it from the
days of the Apostles?"
I answered, "Yes, my friend, the Pope tells us all those things in his
letter which I read in the church last Sabbath."
"But, sir, will you be so kind as to read me the verses of the Holy
Scriptures which are in favour of the Immaculate Conception of the Holy Virgin
Mary?"
"My dear friend," I answered, "I am sorry to say that I have
never found in the Holy Scriptures a single word to tell us that Mary is
immaculate; but I have found many words, and very clear words, which says the
very contrary thing. For instance, the Holy Ghost, in the Epistle of St. Paul
to the Romans, v. 18. 'By the offense of one, judgment came upon all men to
condemnation.' This little, but inexorable 'all,' includes the Virgin Mary in
the condemnation and in the guilt. In the same Epistle to the Romans (ch. iii.
22, 23), the Holy Ghost, speaking of the children of Adam Israelites and
Gentiles says there is no difference, they have all sinned and come short of
the glory of God! and in the 10th verse of the same chapter, the Holy Ghost,
speaking of the Jews and Gentiles, says, 'There is none righteous no, not one!'
And the Lord has never repealed in any part that I know of the Holy Scriptures,
this awful 'no not one!'" "Now, please tell me the name of the Holy
Fathers who have preached that we must believe in the Immaculate Conception, or
be for ever damned, if we do not believe in it?"
I answered to my parishioner: "I would have preferred, my dear friend,
that you should never come to put to me these questions; but as you ask me the
truth, I must tell you the truth. I have studied the Fathers with a pretty good
attention, but I have not yet found a single one of them who was of that
opinion in any way."
"I hope," added the good farmer, "you will excuse me if I put to
you another question on this subject. Perhaps you do not know it, but there is
a great deal of feeling and talking about this new article of faith among us since
last Sabbath; I want to know a little more about it. The Pope says in his
letter that the Church of Rome has always believed and taught that dogma of
Immaculate Conception. Is that correct?"
"Yes, my friend, the Pope says that in his Encyclical; but these last nine
hundred years, more than one hundred Popes have declared that the church had
never believed it. Even several Popes have forbidden to say 'that the
Immaculate Conception was an article of faith' and they solemnly permitted us
to believe and say what we please on that matter."
"If it be so with this new dogma, how can we know it is not so with the
other dogmas of our church, as the confession, the purgatory, ect.?" added
the farmer.
"My dear friend, do not allow the devil to shake your faith. We are living
in bad days indeed. Let us pray God to enlighten us and save us. I would have
given much had you never put to me these questions!"
My honest parishioner had left me; but his awful questions (they were really
awful, as they are still awful for a priest of Rome), and the answers I had
been forced to give were sounding in my soul as thunderclaps. There was in my
poor trembling heart, as the awful noise of an irresistible storm, which was to
destroy all that I had so dearly cherished and respected in my then so dear and
venerated Church of Rome. My head was aching. I fell on my knees; but for a
time I could not utter a word of prayer; big tears were rolling on my burning
cheeks; ;new light was coming before the eyes of my soul; but I took it for the
deceitful temptation of Satan; a voice was speaking to me; it was the voice of
my God, telling me, "Come out from Babylon!" (Rev. xviii. 4). But I
took that voice for the voice of Satan; I was trying to silence it. The Lord
was then drawing me away from my perishing ways; but I did not know Him then; I
was struggling against Him to remain in the dark dungeons of error. But God was
to be the stronger. In His infinite mercy He was to overpower His unfaithful
servant. He was to conquer me, and with me many others.
.
CHAPTER 54
There
are two women who ought to be constant objects of the compassion of the
disciples of Christ, and for whom daily prayers ought to be offered at the
mercy-seat the Brahmin woman, who, deceived by her priests, burns herself on
the corpse of her husband to appease the wrath of her wooden gods; and the
Roman Catholic woman, who, not less deceived by her priests, suffers a torture
far more cruel and ignominious in the confessional-box, to appease the wrath of
her wafer-god.
For I do not exaggerate when I say, that for many noble-hearted, welleducated,
high-minded women, to be forced to unveil their hearts before the eyes of a
man, to open to him all the most secret recesses of their souls, all the most
sacred mysteries of their single or married life, to allow him to put to them
questions which the most depraved woman would never consent to hear from her
vilest seducer, is often more horrible and intolerable than to be tied on
burning coals.
More than once I have seen women fainting in the confessional-box, who told me
afterwards that the necessity of speaking to an unmarried man on certain
things, on which the most common laws of decency ought to have for ever sealed
their lips, had almost killed them! Not hundreds, but thousands of times, I
have heard from the lips of dying girls, as well as married women, the awful
words: "I am for ever lost! All my past confessions and communions have
been so many sacrileges! I have never dared to answer correctly the questions
of my confessors! Shame has sealed my lips an damned my soul!"
How many times I remained as one petrified, by the side of a corpse, when these
last words having hardly escaped the lips of one of my female penitents, who
had been snatched out of my reach by the merciless hand of death, before I
could give her pardon through the deceitful sacramental absolution? I then
believed, as the dead sinner herself had believed, that she should not be
forgiven except by that absolution.
For there are not only thousands, but millions of Roman Catholic girls and
women, whose keen sense of modest and womanly dignity, are above all the
sophisms and diabolical machinations of their priests. They can never be
persuaded to answer "Yes" to certain questions of their confessors.
They would prefer to be thrown into the flames, and burnt to ashes with the
Brahmin widows, rather than allow the eyes of a man to pry into the sacred
sanctuary of their souls. Though sometimes guilty before God, and under the
impression that their sins will never be forgiven if not confessed, the laws of
decency are stronger in their hearts than the laws of their perfidious Church.
No consideration not even the fear of eternal damnation, can persuade them to
declare to a sinful man, sins which God alone has the right to know, for He
alone can blot them out with the blood of His Son, shed on the cross.
But what a wretched life must that be of those exceptional noble souls, which
Rome keeps in the dark dungeons of her superstition? They read in all their
books, and hear from all their pulpits, that if they conceal a single sin from
their confessors, they are for ever lost! But, being absolutely able to trample
under their feet the laws of self-respect an decency, which God Himself has
impressed in their souls, they live in constant dread of eternal damnation. No
human words can tell their desolation and distress, when at the feet of their
confessors they find themselves under the horrible necessity of speaking of
things on which they would prefer to suffer the most cruel death rather than to
open their lips, or to be for ever damned if they do not degrade themselves for
ever in their own eyes, by speaking on matters which a respectable woman will
never reveal to her own mother much less t a man!
I have known only too many of these noble-hearted women, who, when alone with
God, in a real agony of desolation and with burning tears, had asked Him to
grant them what they considered the greatest favour, which was to lose so much
of their self-respect as to be enabled to speak of those unmentionable things
just as their confessors wanted them to speak; and, hoping that their petition
had been granted, they went again to the confessional-box, determined to unveil
their shame before the eyes of that inexorable man. But when the moment had
come for the self-immolation, their courage failed, their knees trembled, their
lips became pale as death, cold sweat poured from all their pores! The voice of
modesty and womanly self-respect was speaking louder than the voice of their
false religion. They had to go out of the confessional-box unpardoned nay, with
the burden of a new sacrilege on their conscience.
Oh! how heavy is the yoke of Rome how bitter is human life how cheerless is the
mystery of the cross to those deluded and perishing souls! How gladly they
would rush into the blazing piles with the Brahmin women, if they could hope to
see the end of their unspeakable miseries through the momentary tortures which
would open to them a better life!
I do here publicly challenge the whole Roman Catholic priesthood to deny that
the greater part of their female penitents remain a certain period of time some
longer, some shorter under that most distressing state of mind.
Yes, by far the greater majority of women, at first, find it impossible to pull
down the sacred barriers of self-respect, which God Himself has built around
their hearts, intelligences, and souls, as the best safeguard against the
snares of this polluted world. Those laws of self-respect, by which they cannot
consent to speak an impure word into the ears of a man, and which shut all the
avenues of the heart against his unchaste questions, even when speaking in the
name of God those laws of self-respect are so clearly written in their
conscience, and they are so well understood by them, to be a most Divine gift,
that, as I have already said, many prefer to run the risk of being for ever
lost by remaining silent.
It takes many years of the most ingenious (I do not hesitate to call it
diabolical) efforts on the part of the priests to persuade the majority of
their female penitents to speak on questions, which even pagan savages would
blush to mention among themselves. Some persist in remaining silent on those
matters during the greater part of their lives, and many of them prefer to
throw themselves into the hands of their merciful God, and die without
submitting to the defiling ordeal, even after they have felt the poisonous
stings of the enemy, rather than receive their pardon from a man, who, as they
feel, would surely have been scandalized by the recital of their human
frailties. All the priests of Rome are aware of this natural disposition of
their female penitents. There is not a single one no, not a single one of their
moral theologians, who does not warn the confessors against that stern and
general determination of the girls and married women never to speak in the
confessional matters which may, more or less, deal with sins against the
seventh commandment. Dens, Liguori, Debreyne, Baily, ect., in a word, all the
theologians of Rome own that this is one of the greatest difficulties which the
confessors have to contend with in the confessional-box.
Not a single Roman Catholic priest will dare to deny what I say on this matter;
for they know that it would be easy for me to overwhelm them with such a crowd
of testimonials that their grand imposture would for ever be unmasked.
I intend, at some future day, if God spares me and gives me time for it, to
make known some of the innumerable things which the Roman Catholic theologians
and moralists have written on this question. It will form one of the most
curious books ever written; and it will give unanswerable evidence of the fact
that, instinctively, without consulting each other, and with an unanimity which
is almost marvelous, the Roman Catholic women, guided by the honest instincts
which God has given them, shrink from the snares put before them in the
confessional-box; and that everywhere they struggle to nerve themselves with a
superhuman courage, against the torturer who is sent by the Pope, to finish
their ruin, and to make shipwrecks of their souls. Everywhere woman feels that
there are things which ought never to be told, as there are things which ought
never to be done, in the presence of the God of holiness. She understands that,
to recite the history of certain sins, even of thoughts, is not less shameful
and criminal than to do them; she hears the voice of God whispering into her
ears, "Is it not enough that thou hast been guilty once, when alone in My
presence, without adding to thine iniquity by allowing that man to know what
should never have been revealed to him? Do you not feel that you make that man
your accomplice, the very moment that you throw into his heart and soul the
mire of your iniquities? He is as weak as you are; he is not less a sinner than
yourself; what has tempted you will tempt him; what has made you weak will make
him weak; what has polluted you will pollute him; what has thrown you down into
the dust will throw him into the dust. Is it not enough that My eyes had to
look upon your iniquities? must My ears, today, listen to your impure
conversation with that man? Were that man as holy as My prophet David, may he
not fall before the unchaste unveiling of a new Bathsheba? Were he as strong as
Samson, may he not find in you his tempting Delilah? Were he as generous as
Peter, may he not become a traitor at the maid-servant's voice?"
Perhaps the world has never seen a more terrible, desperate, solemn struggle
than the one which is going on in the soul of a poor trembling young woman,
who, at the feet of that man, has to decide whether or not she will open her
lips on those things which the infallible voice of God, united to the no less
infallible voice of her womanly honour and self-respect, tell her never to
reveal to any man!
The history of that secret, fierce, desperate struggle has never yet, so far as
I know, been fully given. It would draw the tears of admiration and compassion
of the whole world, if it could be written with its simple, sublime, and
terrible realities.
How many times have I wept as a child when some noble-hearted and intelligent
young girl, or some respectable married woman, yielding to the sophisms with
which I, or some other confessor, had persuaded them to give up their
self-respect and their womanly dignity, to speak with me on matters on which a
decent woman should never say a word with a man. They have told me of their
invincible repugnance, their horror of such questions and answers, and they
have asked me to have pity on them. Yes! I have often wept bitterly on my
degradation, when a priest of Rome! I have realized all the strength, the
grandeur, and the holiness of their motives for being silent on these defiling
matters, and I could not but admire them. It seemed at times that they were speaking
the language of angels of light; that I ought to fall at their feet, and ask
their pardon for having spoken to them of questions, on which a man of honour
ought never to converse with a woman whom he respects.
But alas! I had soon to reproach myself, and regret those short instances of my
wavering faith in the infallible voice of my Church; I had soon to silence the
voice of my conscience, which was telling me, "Is it not a shame that you,
an unmarried man, dare to speak on these matters with a woman? Do you not blush
to put such questions to a young girl? Where is your self-respect? Where is
your fear of God? Do you not promote the ruin of that girl by forcing her to
speak on these matters?"
How many times my God has spoken to me as He speaks to all the priests of Rome,
and said with a thundering voice: "What would that young man do, could he
hear the questions you put to his wife? Would he not blow out your brains? And
that father, would he not thrust a dagger through your breast, if he could know
what you ask from his poor trembling daughter? Would not the brother of that
young girl put an end to your miserable life if he could hear the unmentionable
subjects on which you speak with her in the confessional?"
I was compelled by all the Popes, the moral theologians, and the Councils of
Rome, to believe that this warning voice of my merciful God was the voice of
Satan; I had to believe in spite of my own conscience and intelligence, that it
was good, nay, necessary, to put those polluting, damning questions. My
infallible Church was mercilessly forcing me to oblige those poor, trembling,
weeping, desolate girls and women, to swim with me and all her priests in those
waters of Sodom and Gomorrah, under the pretext that their self-will would be
broken down, their fear of sin and humility increased, and that they would be
purified by our absolutions.
With what supreme distress, disgust, and surprise, we see, today, a great part
of the noble Episcopal Church of England struck by a plague which seems incurable,
under the name of Puseyism, or Ritualism, bringing again more or less openly in
many places the diabolical and filthy auricular confession among the
Protestants of England, Australia and America. The Episcopal Church is doomed
to perish in that dark and stinking pool of Popery auricular confession, if she
does not find a prompt remedy to stop the plague brought by the disguised
Jesuits, who are at work everywhere, to poison and enslave her too unsuspecting
daughters and sons.
In the beginning of my priesthood, when I was in Quebec, I was not a little
surprised and embarrassed to see a very accomplished and beautiful young lady,
whom I used to meet almost every week at her father's house, entering the box
of my confessional. She had been used to confess to another young priest of my
acquaintance, and she was always looked upon as one of the most pious girls of
the city. Though she had disguised herself as much as possible, in order that I
might not know her, I felt sure that I was not mistaken she was the amiable
Mary.
Not being absolutely certain of the correctness of my impressions, I left her
entirely under the hope that she was a perfect stranger to me. At the beginning
she could hardly speak; her voice was suffocated by her sobs; and through the little
apertures of the thin partition between her and me, I saw two streams of big
tears trickling down her cheeks. After much effort, she said: "Dear
Father, I hope you do not know me, and that you will never try to know me. I am
a desperately great sinner. Oh! I fear that I am lost! But if there is still a
hope for me to be saved, for God's sake do not rebuke me. Before I begin my
confession, allow me to ask you not to pollute my ears by questions which our
confessors are in the habit of putting to their female penitents; I have
already been destroyed by those questions. Before I was seventeen years old,
God knows that His angels are not more pure than I was; but the chaplain of the
nunnery where my parents had sent me for my education, though approaching old
age, put to me, in the confessional, a question which, at first, I did not
understand, but, unfortunately, he had put the same question to one of my young
class-mates, who made fun of them in my presence, and explained them to me, for
she understood them too well. This first unchaste conversation of my life
plunged my thoughts into a sea of iniquity till then absolutely unknown to me;
temptations of the most humiliating character assailed me for a week, day and
night; after which, sins which I would blot out with my blood, if it were
possible, overwhelmed my soul as with a deluge. But the joys of the sinner are
short. Struck with terror at the thought of the judgments of God, after a few
weeks of the most deplorable life, I determined to give up my sins and
reconcile myself to God. Covered with shame, and trembling from head to foot, I
went to confess to my old confessor, whom I respected as a saint and cherished
as a father. It seems to me that, with sincere tears of repentance, I confessed
to him the greatest part of my sins, though I concealed one of them, through
shame and respect for my spiritual guide. But I did not conceal from him that
the strange questions he had put to me at my last confession, were, with the
natural corruption of my heart, the principal cause of my destruction.
"He spoke to me very kindly, encouraged me to fight against my bad
inclinations, and at first gave me very kind and good advice. But when I
thought he had finished speaking, and as I was preparing to leave the
confessional-box, he put to me two new questions of such a polluting character
that I fear neither the blood of Christ, nor all the fires of hell will ever be
able to blot them out from my memory. Those questions have achieved my ruin;
they have stuck to my mind like two deadly arrows; they are day and night
before my imagination; they fill my very arteries and veins with a deadly
poison.
"It is true that, at first, they filled me with horror and disgust; but
alas! I soon got so accustomed to them that they seemed to be incorporated with
me, and as if becoming a second nature. Those thoughts have become a new source
of innumerable criminal thoughts, desires, and actions.
"A month later, we were obliged by the rules of our convent to go and
confess; but by this time I was so completely lost that I no longer blushed at
the idea of confessing my shameful sins to a man; it was the very contrary. I
had a real, diabolical pleasure in the thought that I should have a long
conversation with my confessor on those matters, and that he would ask me more
of his strange questions. In face, when I had told him everything without a
blush, he began to interrogate me, and God knows what corrupting things fell
from his lips into my poor criminal heart! Every one of his questions was thrilling
my nerves and filling me with the most shameful sensations! After an hour of
this criminal tete-a-tete with my old confessor (for it was nothing else but a
criminal tete-a-tete), I perceived that he was as depraved as I was myself.
With some half-covered words he made a criminal proposition, which I accepted
with covered words also; and during more than a year we have lived together on
the most sinful intimacy. Though he was much older than I, I loved him in the
most foolish way. When the course of my convent instruction was finished, my
parents called me back to their home. I was really glad of that change of
residence, for I was beginning to be tired of my criminal life. My hope was
that, under the direction of a better confessor, I should reconcile myself to
God and begin a Christian life.
"Unfortunately for me, my new confessor, who was very young, began also
his interrogations. He soon fell in love with me, and I loved him in a most
criminal way. I have done with him things which I hope you will never request
me to reveal to you, for they are too monstrous to be repeated, even in the
confessional, by a woman to a man.
"I do not say these things to take away the responsibility of my
iniquities with this young confessor from my shoulders, for I think I have been
more criminal than he was. It is my firm conviction that he was a good and holy
priest before he knew me; but the questions he put to me, and the answers I had
to give him, melted his heart I know it just as boiling lead would melt the ice
on which it flows.
"I know this is not such a detailed confession as our holy Church requires
me to make, but I have thought it necessary for me to give you this short
history of the life of the greatest and most miserable sinner who ever asked
you to help her to come out from the tomb of her iniquities. This is the way I
have lived these last few years. But last Sabbath, God, in His infinite mercy,
looked down upon me. He inspired you to give us the Prodigal Son as a model of
true conversion, and as the most marvelous proof of the infinite compassion of
the dear Saviour for the sinner. I have wept day and night since that happy
day, when I threw myself into the arms of my loving, merciful Father. Even now
I can hardly speak, because my regret for my past iniquities, and my joy that I
am allowed to bathe the feet of the Saviour with tears, are so great that my
voice is as choked.
"You understand that I have for ever given up my last confessor I come to
ask you to do me the favour to receive me among your penitents. Oh! do not
reject nor rebuke me, for the dear Saviour's sake! Be not afraid to have at
your side such a monster of iniquity! But before going further, I have two
favours to ask from you. The first is, that you will never do anything to
ascertain my name; the second is, that you ill never put to me any of those
questions by which so many penitents are lost and so many priests for ever
destroyed. Twice I have been lost by those questions. We come to our confessors
that they may throw upon guilty souls the pure waters which flow from heaven to
purify us; but instead of that, with their unmentionable questions they pour
oil on the burning fires which are already raging in our poor sinful hearts.
Oh! dear father, let me become our penitent, that you may help me to go and
weep with Magdalene at the Saviour's feet! Do respect me, as He respected that
true model of all the sinful, but repenting women! Did our Saviour put to her
any questions? did He extort from her the history of things which a sinful
woman cannot say without forgetting the respect she owes to herself and to God!
No! you told us not long ago, that the only thing our Saviour did was to look
at her tears and her love. Well, please do that, and you will save me!"
I was then a very young priest, and never had any words so sublime come to my
ears in the confessional-box. Her tears and her sobs, mingled with the frank
declaration of the most humiliating actions, had made such a profound
impression upon me that I was, for some time, unable to speak. It had come to
my mind also that I might be mistaken about her identity, and that perhaps she
was not the young lady that I had imagined. I could, then, easily grant her
first request, which was to do nothing by which I could know her. The second
part of her prayer was more embarrassing; for the theologians are very positive
in ordering the confessors to question their penitents, particularly those of
the female sex, in many circumstances.
I encouraged her in the best way I could, to persevere in her good resolutions,
by invoking the blessed Virgin Mary and St. Philomene, who was then Sainte a la
mode, just as Marie Alacoque is today among the blind slaves of Rome. I told
her that I would pray and think over the subject of her second request; and I
asked her to come back in a week for my answer.
The very same day I went to my own confessor, the Rev. Mr. Ballargeon, then
curate of Quebec, and afterwards Archbishop of Canada. I told him the singular
and unusual request she had made, that I should never put to her any of those
questions suggested by the theologians, to ensure the integrity of the
confession. I did not conceal from him that I was much inclined to grant her
that favour; for I repeated what I have already several times told him, that I
was supremely disgusted with the infamous and polluting questions which the
theologians forced us to put to our female penitents. I told him frankly that
several old and young priests had already come to confess to me; and that, with
the exception of two, they had told me that they could not put those questions
and hear the answers they elicited without falling into the most damnable sins.
My confessor seemed to be much perplexed about what he should answer. He asked
me to come the next day, that he might review some theological books in the
interval. The next day I took down in writing his answer, which I find in my
old manuscripts, and I give it here in all its sad crudity:-
"Such cases of the destruction of female virtue by the questions of the
confessors is an unavoidable evil. It cannot be helped; for such questions are
absolutely necessary in the greater part of the cases with which we have to
deal. Men generally confess their sins with so much sincerity that there is
seldom any need for questioning them, except when they are very ignorant. But
St. Liguori, as well as our personal observation, tells us that the greatest
part of girls and women, through a false and criminal shame, very seldom
confess the sins they commit against purity. It requires the utmost charity in
the confessors to prevent those unfortunate slaves of their secret passions
from making sacrilegious confessions and communions. With the greatest prudence
and zeal he must question them on those matters, beginning with the smallest
sins, and going, little by little, as much as possible by imperceptible
degrees, to the most criminal actions. As it seems evident that the penitent
referred to in your questions of yesterday is willing to make a full and
detailed confession of all her iniquities, you cannot promise to absolve her
without assuring yourself by wise and prudent questions that she has confessed
everything.
"You must not be discouraged when, through the confessional or any other
way, you learn the fall of priests into the common frailties of human nature
with their penitents. Our Saviour knew very well that the occasions and the
temptations we have to encounter in the confessions of girls and women, are so
numerous and sometimes so irresistible, that many would fall. But He has given
them the Holy Virgin Mary, who constantly asks and obtains their pardon; He has
given them the sacrament of penance, where they can receive their pardon as
often as they ask for it. The vow of perfect chastity is a great honour and
privilege; but we cannot conceal from ourselves that it puts on our shoulders a
burden which many cannot carry for ever. St. Liguori says that we must not
rebuke the penitent priest who falls only once a month; and some other
trustworthy theologians are still more charitable."
This answer was far from satisfying me. It seemed to me composed of soft soap
principles. I went back with a heavy heart and an anxious mind; and God knows
that I made many fervent prayers that this girl should never come again to give
me her sad history. I was then hardly twenty-six years old, full of youth and
life. It seemed to me that the strings of a thousand wasps to my ears could not
do me so much harm as the words of that dear, beautiful, accomplished, but lost
girl.
I do not mean to say that the revelations which she made had, in any way,
diminished my esteem and my respect for her. It was just the contrary. Her
tears and her sobs at my feet; her agonizing expressions of shame and regret;
her noble words of protest against the disgusting and polluting interrogations
of the confessors, had raised her very high in my mind. My sincere hope was
that she would have a place in the kingdom of Christ with the Samaritan woman,
Mary Magdalene, and all the sinners who have washed their robes in the blood of
the Lamb.
At the appointed day, I was in my confessional listening to the confession of a
young man, when I saw Miss Mary entering the vestry, and coming directly to my
confessional-box, where she knelt by me. Though she had, still more than at the
first time, disguised herself behind a long, thick, black veil, I could not be
mistaken; she was the very same amiable young lady in whose father's house I
used to pass such pleasant and happy hours. I had often listened with
breathless attention to her melodious voice, when she was giving us,
accompanied by her piano, some of our beautiful church hymns. Who could then
see and hear her without almost worshiping her? The dignity of her steps, and
her whole mien, when she advanced towards my confessional, entirely betrayed her
and destroyed her incognito.
Oh! I would have given every drop of my blood in that solemn hour, that I might
have been free to deal with her just as she had so eloquently requested me to
do to let her weep and cry at the feet of Jesus to her heart's content. Oh! if
I had been free to take her by the hand and silently show her the dying
Saviour, that she might have bathed His feet with her tears, and spread the oil
of her love on His head, without my saying anything else but "Go in peace:
thy sins are forgiven."
But, there, in that confessional-box, I was not the servant of Christ, to
follow His Divine, saving words, and obey the dictates of my honest conscience.
I was the slave of the Pope! I had to stifle the cry of my conscience, to
ignore the inspirations of my God! There, my conscience had no right to speak;
my intelligence was a dead thing! The theologians of the Pope alone had a right
to be heard and obeyed! I was not there to save, but to destroy; for, under the
pretext of purifying, the real mission of the confessor, often, if not always,
in spite of himself, is to scandalize and damn the souls.
As soon as the young man who was making his confession at my left hand, had
finished, I, without noise, turned myself towards her, and said, through the little
aperture, "Are you ready to begin your confession?"
But she did not answer me. All that I could hear was: "Oh, my Jesus, have
mercy upon me! I come to wash my soul in Thy blood; wilt Thou rebuke me?"
During several minutes she raised her hands and eyes to heaven, and wept and
prayed. It was evident that she had not the least idea that I was observing
her; she thought the door of the little partition between her and me was shut.
But my eyes were fixed upon her; my tears were flowing with her tears, and my
ardent prayers were going to the feet of Jesus with her prayers. I would not
have interrupted her for any consideration, in this, her sublime communion with
her merciful Saviour.
But after a pretty long time, I made a little noise with my hand, and putting
my lips near the opening of the partition which was between us, I said in a low
voice, "Dear sister, are you ready to begin your confession?"
She turned her face a little towards me, and said, with trembling voice,
"Yes, dear father, I am ready."
But she then stopped again to weep and pray, though I could not hear what she
said.
After some time in silent prayer, I said, "My dear sister, if you are
ready, please begin your confession." She then said, "My dear father,
do you remember the prayers which I made to you the other day? Can you allow me
to confess my sins without forcing me to forget the respect that I owe myself,
to you, and to God, who hears us? And can you promise that you will not put to
me any of those questions which have already done me such irreparable injury? I
frankly declare to you that there are sins in me that I cannot reveal to
anyone, except to Christ, because He is my God, and that He already knows them
all. Let me weep and cry at His feet: can you not forgive me without adding to
my iniquities by forcing me to say things that the tongue of a Christian woman
cannot reveal to a man?"
"My dear sister," I answered, "were I free to follow the voice
of my own feelings I would be only too happy to grant your request; but I am
here only as the minister of our holy church, and bound to obey the laws.
Through her most holy Popes and theologians she tells me that I cannot forgive
your sins if you do not confess them all, just as you have committed them. The
church tells me also that you must give the details, which may add to the
malice or change the nature of your sins. I am sorry to tell you that our most
holy theologians make it a duty of the confessor to question the penitent on
the sins which he has good reason to suspect have been voluntarily
omitted."
With a piercing cry she exclaimed, "Then, O my God, I am lost for ever
lost!"
This cry fell upon me like a thunderbolt; but I was still more terrorstricken
when, looking through the aperture, I saw she was fainting; I heard the noise
of her body falling upon the floor, and of her head striking against the sides
of the confessional-box.
Quick as lightning I ran to help her, took her in my arms, and called a couple
of men, who were at a little distance, to assist me in laying her on a bench. I
washed her face with some cold water and vinegar. She was as pale as death, but
her lips were moving, and she was saying something which nobody but I could
understand -
"I am lost lost for ever!"
We took her home to her disconsolate family, where, during a month, she
lingered between life and death. Her two first confessors came to visit her;
but having asked every one to go out of the room, she politely, but absolutely,
requested them to go away, and never come again. She asked me to visit her every
day, "for," she said, "I have only a few more days to live. Help
me to prepare myself for the solemn hour which will open to me the gates of
eternity!"
Every day I visited her, and I prayed and I wept with her.
Many times, when alone, with tears I requested her to finish her confession;
but, with a firmness which then seemed to be mysterious and inexplicable, she
politely rebuked me.
One day, when alone with her, I was kneeling by the side of her bed to pray, I
was unable to articulate a single word because of the inexpressible anguish of
my soul on her account, she asked me, "Dear father, why do you weep?"
I answered, "How can you put such a question to your murderer! I weep
because I have killed you, dear friend."
This answer seemed to trouble her exceedingly. She was very weak that day.
After she had wept and prayed in silence, she said, "Do not weep for me,
but weep for so many priests who destroy their penitents in the confessional. I
believe in the holiness of the sacrament of penance, since our holy church has
established it. But there is, somewhere, something exceedingly wrong in the
confessional. Twice I have been destroyed, and I know many girls who have also
been destroyed by the confessional. This is a secret, but will that secret be kept
for ever? I pity the poor priests the day that our fathers will know what
becomes of the purity of their daughters in the hands of their confessors.
Father would surely kill my two last confessors, if he could only know they
have destroyed his poor child."
I could not answer except by weeping.
We remained silent for a long time; then she said, "It is true that I was
not prepared for the rebuke you have given me the other day in the
confessional; but you acted conscientiously as a good and honest priest. I know
you must be bound by certain laws."
She then pressed my hand with her cold hand and said, "Weep not, dear
father, because that sudden storm has wrecked my too fragile bark. This storm
was to take me out from the bottomless sea of my iniquities to the shore where
Jesus was waiting to receive and pardon me. The night after you brought me,
half dead, here to my father's house, I had a dream. Oh, no! it was not a
dream, it was a reality. My Jesus came to me, He was bleeding; His crown of
thorns was on His head, the heavy cross bruising His shoulders. He said to me,
with a voice so sweet that no human tongue can imitate it, 'I have seen thy
tears, I have heard thy cries, and I know thy love for Me: thy sins are
forgiven; take courage, in a few days thou shalt be with Me!'"
She had hardly finished her last word when she fainted, and I feared lest she
should die just then, when I was alone with her.
I called the family, who rushed into the room. The doctor was sent for. He
found her so weak that he thought proper to allow only one or two persons to
remain in the room with me. He requested us not to speak at all,
"For," said he, "the least emotion may kill her instantly; her
disease is, in all probability, an aneurism of the aorta, the big vein which
brings the blood to the heart: when it breaks, she will go as quick as
lightning."
It was nearly ten at night when I left the house to go and take some rest. But
it was not necessary to say that I passed a sleepless night. My dear Mary was
there, pale, dying from the deadly blow which I had given her in the
confessional. She was there, on her bed of death, her heart pierced with the
dagger which my church had put into my hands! and instead of rebuking, and
cursing me for my savage, merciless fanaticism, she was blessing me! She was
dying from a broken heart! and I was not allowed by my church to give her a
single word of consolation and hope, for had she not made her confession? I had
mercilessly bruised that tender plant, and there was nothing in my hands to heal
the wounds I had made!
It was very probable that she would die the next day, and I was forbidden to
show her the crown of glory which Jesus has prepared in His kingdom for the
repenting sinner?
My desolation was really unspeakable, and I think I would have been suffocated
and have died that night, if the stream of tears which constantly flowed from
my eyes had not been as a balm to my distressed heart.
How dark and long the hours of that night seemed to me!
Before the dawn of day, I arose to read my theologians again, and see if I
could not find someone who would allow me to forgive the sins of that dear
child, without forcing her to tell me anything she had done. But they seemed to
me, more than ever, unanimously inexorable, and I put them back on the shelves
of my library with a broken heart.
At nine a.m. the next day, I was by the bed of our dear sick Mary. I cannot
sufficiently tell the joy I felt, when the doctor and whole family said to me,
"She is much better; the rest of last night has wrought a marvelous
change, indeed."
With a really angelic smile she extended her hand towards me, and said, "I
thought, last evening, that the dear Saviour would take me to Him, but He wants
me, dear father, to give you a little more trouble; however, be patient, it
cannot be long before the solemn hour of the appeal will strike. Will you
please read me the history of the suffering and death of the beloved Saviour,
which you read me the other day? It does me so much good to see how He has
loved me, such a miserable sinner."
There was a calm and solemnity in her words which struck me singularly, as well
as all those who were there.
After I had finished reading, she exclaimed, "He has loved me so much that
He died for my sins!" And she shut her eyes as if to meditate in silence,
but there was a stream of big tears rolling down her cheeks.
I knelt down by her bed, with her family, to pray; but I could not utter a
single word. The idea that this dear child was there, dying from the cruel
fanaticism of my theologians and my own cowardice in obeying them, was a
millstone to my neck. It was killing me.
Oh! if by dying a thousand times, I could have added a single day to her life,
with what pleasure I would have accepted those thousand deaths!
After we had silently prayed and wept by her bedside, she requested her mother
to leave her alone with me.
When I saw myself alone, under the irresistible impression that this was her
last day, I fell on my knees again, and with tears of the most sincere
compassion for her soul, I requested her to shake off her shame and obey our
holy church, which requires every one to confess their sins if they want to be
forgiven.
She calmly, but with an air of dignity which no human words can express, said,
"Is it true that, after the sins of Adam and Eve, God Himself made coats
and skins and clothed them, that they might not see each other's
nakedness?"
"Yes," I said, "this is what the Holy Scriptures tell us."
"Well, then, how is it possible that our confessors dare to take away from
us that holy, divine coat of modesty and self-respect? Has not Almighty God
Himself made, with His own hands, that coat of womanly modesty and self-respect
that we might not be to you and to ourselves a cause of shame and sin?"
I was really stunned by the beauty, simplicity, and sublimity of that
comparison. I remained absolutely mute and confounded. Though it was
demolishing all the traditions and doctrines of my church, and pulverizing all
my holy doctors and theologians, that noble answer found such an echo in my
soul, that it seemed to me a sacrilege to try to touch it with my finger.
After a short time of silence, she continued, "Twice I have been destroyed
by priests in the confessional. They took away from me that divine coat of
modesty and self-respect which God gives to every human being who comes to this
world, and twice I have become for those very priests a deep pit of perdition,
into which they have fallen, and where I fear they are for ever lost! My
merciful heavenly Father has given me back that coat of skins, that nuptial
robe of modesty, self-respect, and holiness which had been taken away from me.
He cannot allow you or any other man to tear again and spoil that vestment
which is the work of His hands."
These words had exhausted her; it was evident to me that she wanted some rest.
I left her alone, but I was absolutely beside myself. Filled with admiration
for the sublime lessons which I had received from the lips of that regenerated
daughter of eve, who, it was evident, my theologians shall I say it? yes, I
felt in that solemn hour a supreme disgust for my church, which was cruelly
defiling me and all her priests, in the confessional-box. I felt, in that hour,
a supreme horror for that auricular confession, which is so often a pit of
perdition and supreme misery for the confessor and penitent. I went out and
walked two hours on the Plains of Abraham, to breathe the pure and refreshing
air of the mountains. There, alone, I sat on a stone, on the very spot were
Wolff and Montcalm fought and died; and I wept to my heart's content on my
irreparable degradation, and the degradation of so many priests through the
confessional.
At four o'clock in the afternoon I went back again to the house of dear dying
Mary. The mother took me apart, and very politely said, "My dear Mr.
Chiniquy, do you not think it is time that our dear child should receive the
last sacraments? She seemed to be much better this morning, and we were full of
hope; but she is now rapidly sinking. Please lose no time in giving her the holy
viaticum and the extreme unction."
I said, "Yes, madam; let me pass a few minutes alone with our dear child,
that I may prepare for the last sacraments."
When alone with her, I again fell on my knees, and, amidst torrents of tears, I
said, "Dear sister, it is my desire to give you the holy viaticum and the
extreme unction: but tell me, how can I dare to do a thing so solemn against
all the prohibitions of our holy church? How can I give you the holy communion
without first giving you absolution? and how can I give you absolution when you
earnestly persist in telling me that you have so many sins which you will never
declare to me or any other confessor?
"You know that I cherish and respect you as if you were an angel sent to
me from heaven. You told me, the other day, that you blessed the day that you
first saw and knew me. I say the same thing. I bless the day that I have known
you; I bless every hour that I have spent by your bed of suffering; I bless
every tear which I have shed with you on your sins and on my own; I bless every
hour we have passed together in looking to the wounds of our beloved, dying
Saviour; I bless you for having forgiven me your death! for I know it, and I
confess it in the presence of God, I have killed you, dear sister. But now I
prefer a thousand times to die than to say to you a word which would pain you
in any way, or trouble the peace of your soul. Please, my dear sister, tell me
what I can and must do for you in this solemn hour."
Calmly, and with a smile of joy such as I had never seen before, nor seen
since, she said, "I thank and bless you, dear father, for the parable of
the Prodigal Son, on which you preached a month ago. You have brought me to the
feet of the dear Saviour; there I have found a peace and a joy surpassing
anything that human heart can feel; I have thrown myself into the arms of my
Heavenly Father, and I know He has mercifully accepted and forgiven His poor
prodigal child! Oh, I see the angels with their golden harps around the throne
of the Lamb! Do you not hear the celestial harmony of their songs? I go I go to
join them in my Father's house. I SHALL NOT BE LOST!"
While she was thus speaking to me, my eyes were really turned into two
fountains of tears; I was unable, as well as unwilling, to see anything, so
entirely overcome was I by the sublime words which were flowing from the dying
lips of that dear child, who was no more a sinner; but a real angel of Heaven
to me. I was listening to her words; there was a celestial music in every one
of them. But she had raised her voice in such a strange way, when she had begun
to say, "I go to my Father's house," and she had made such a cry of
joy when she had to let the last words, "not be lost," escape her
lips, that I raised my head and opened my eyes to look at her. I suspected that
something strange had occurred.
I got upon my feet, passed my handkerchief over my face to wipe away the tears
which were preventing me from seeing with accuracy, and looked at her.
Her hands were crossed on her breast, and there was on her face the expression
of a really superhuman joy; her beautiful eyes were fixed as if they were
looking on some grand and sublime spectacle; it seemed to me, at first, that
she was praying.
In that very instant the mother rushed into the room, crying, "My God! my
God! what does that cry 'lost' mean?" For her last words, "not be
lost," particularly the last one, had been pronounced with such a powerful
voice, that they had been heard almost everywhere in the house.
I made a sign with my hand to prevent the distressed mother from making any
noise and troubling her dying child in her prayer, for I really thought that
she had stopped speaking, as she used so often to do, when alone with me, in
order to pray. But I was mistaken. The redeemed soul had gone, on the golden
wings of love, to join the multitude of those who have washed their robes in
the blood of the Lamb, to sing the eternal Alleluia.
The revelation of the unmentionable corruptions directly and unavoidably
engendered by auricular confession, had come to me from the lips of that young
lady, as the first rays of the sun which were to hurl back the dark clouds of
night by which Rome had wrapped my intelligence on that subject.
So miserable by her fall and her sins, but so admirable by her conversion, that
young lady was standing before me, for the rest of my priestly life, as the
bright beacon raised on the solitary rock stands before the sailor whose ship
is drifting through the shoals, in a dark and stormy night.
She was brought there by the merciful hand of God, to right my course.
Lost and degraded by auricular confession, only after having given it up, that
precious soul was to find peace and life, when washed in the blood of the Lamb,
as the only hope and refuge of sinners.
Her words, filled with a superhuman wisdom, and her burning tears, came to me,
by the marvelous Providence of God, as the first beams of the Sun of
Righteousness, to teach me that auricular confession was a Satanic invention.
Had this young person been the only one to tell me that, I might still have
held some doubt about the diabolical origin of that institution. But thousands
and thousands, before and after her, have been sent by my merciful God to tell
me the same tale, till after twenty-five years of experience it became a
certitude to me that that modern invention of Rome must, sooner or later, with
a very few exceptions, drag both the confessor and his female penitents into a
common and irreparable ruin.
.
CHAPTER 55
On
the first of August, 1855, I received the following letter:-
The College, Chicago, July 24th, 1855.
Rev. Mr. Chiniquy,
You will have the goodness to attend a spiritual retreat to be given next month
at the college, in Chicago, for the clergy of the diocese of Chicago and
Quincy.
The spiritual exercises, which will be conducted by the Rt. Rev. the Bishop of
Louisville, are to commence on Tuesday, the 28th of August, and will terminate
on the following Sunday. This arrangement will necessitate your absence from
your church on Sunday the 14th, after Pentecost, which you will make known to
your congregation. No clergyman is allowed to be absent from his retreat
without the previous written consent of the bishop of the diocese, which
consent will not be given except in cases which he will judge to be of urgent
necessity.
By order of Rt. Rev. Bishop,
Matthew Dillon,
Pro Secretary.
Wishing
to study the personnel of that Irish clergy of which Bishop Vandeveld had told
such frightful things, I went to St. Mary's University, two hours ahead of
time.
Never did I see such a band of jolly fellows. Their dissipation and laughter.
Their exchange of witty, and too often, unbecoming expressions, the tremendous
noise they made in addressing each other, at a distance: Their "Hello,
Patrick!" "hello, Murphy!" "hello, O'Brien! how do you do?
How is Bridget? Is Marguerite still with you?" The answers: "Yes!
yes! She will not leave me;" or "No! no! the crazy girl is
gone," were invariably followed by outbursts of laughter.
Though nine-tenths of them were evidently under the influence of intoxicating
drinks, not one could be said to be drunk. But the strong odour of alcohol,
mixed with the smoke of cigars, soon poisoned the air and made it suffocating.
I had withdrawn in a corner, alone, in order to observe everything.
What stranger, in entering that large hall, would have suspected that those men
were about to begin one of the most solemn and sacred actions of a priest! With
the exception of five or six, they looked more like a band of carousing
raftsmen than priests.
About an hour before the opening of the exercises, I saw one of the priests
with hat in hand, accompanied by two of the fattest and most florid of the
band, going to every one, collecting money and with the utmost hilarity and
pleasure, each one threw his bank bills into the hat. I supposed that this
collection was intended to pay for our board, during the retreat, and I
prepared the fifteen dollars I wanted to give. When they came near me the big
hat was literally filled with five and ten dollar bills. Before handing my
money to them, I asked: "What is the object of that collection?"
"Ah! ah!" they answered with a hearty laugh. "Dear Father
Chiniquy, is it possible that you do not know it yet? Don't you know that, when
we are so crowded as we will be here, this week the rooms are apt to become too
warm, and we get thirsty? Then a little drop to cool the throat and quench the
thirst, is needed," and the collectors laughed outright.
I answered politely, but seriously: "Gentlemen, I came here to meditate
and pray; and when I am thirsty, the fresh and pure water of Lake Michigan will
quench my thirst. I have given up, long ago, the use of intoxicating drinks.
Please excuse me, I am a teetotaler."
"So we are!" they answered, with a laugh; "we have all taken the
pledge from Father Mathew; but this does not prevent us from taking a little
drop to quench our thirst and keep up our health. Father Mathew is not so
merciless as you are."
"I know Father Mathew well," I answered. "I have written to him
and seen him many times. Allow me to tell you that we are of the same mind
about the use of intoxicating drink."
"Is it possible! you know Father Mathew! and you are exchanging letters
with him! What a holy man he is, and what good he has done in Ireland, and
everywhere!" they answered.
"But the good he has done will not last long," I said, "if all
his disciples keep their pledges as you do."
As we were talking, a good number of priests came around us to hear what was
said; for it was evident to all that the bark of their collectors, not only had
come to shallow waters, but had struck on a rock.
One of the priests said: "I thought we were to be preached to by Bishop
Spaulding. I had no idea that it was Father Chiniquy who had that charge."
"Gentlemen," I answered, "I have as much right to preach to you
in favour of temperance as you have to preach to me in favour of intemperance.
You may do as you please about the use of strong drink, during the retreat; but
I hope I also may have the right to think and do as I please in that
matter."
"Of course," they all answered, "but you are the only one who
will not give us a cent to get a little drop."
"So much the worse for you all, gentlemen, if I am the only one. But
please excuse me, I cannot give you a cent for that object."
They then left me, saying something which I could not understand, but they were
evidently disgusted with what they considered my stubbornness and want of good
manners.
I must, however, say here, that two of them, Mr. Dunn, pastor of one of the
best congregations of Chicago, and the other unknown to me, came to
congratulate me on the stern rebuke I had given the collectors.
"I regret," said Mr. Dunn, "the five dollars I have thrown into
the hat. If I had spoken to you before, and had known that you would be brave
enough to rebuke them, I would have stood by you, and kept my money for better
use. It is really a shame that we should be preparing ourselves for a retreat
by wasting five hundred dollars for such a shameful object. They have just told
me that they have raised that sum for the champagne, brandy, whisky and beer
they will drink this week. Ah! what a disgrace! What a cry of indignation would
be raised against us, if such a shameful thing should be known! I am sorry
about the unkind words those priests have spoken to you; but you must excuse
them, they are already full of bad whisky.
"Do not think, however, that you are friendless, here, in our midst. You
have more friends than you think among the Irish priests; and I am one of them,
though you do not know me. Bishop Vandeveld has often spoken to me of your
grand colonization work among the French."
Mr. Dunn, then, pressed my hand in his, and taking me a short distance from the
others, said: "Consider me, hereafter, as your friend: you have won my confidence
by the fearless way in which you have just spoken, and the common sense of your
arguments. You have lost a true friend in Bishop Vandeveld. I fear that our
present bishop will not do you justice. Lebel and Carthuval have prejudiced him
against you. But I will stand by you, if you are ever unjustly dealt with, as I
fear you will, by the present administration of the diocese. I fear we are on
the eve of great evils. The scandalous suit which Bishop O'Regan has brought
against his predecessor is a disgrace. If he has gained fifty thousand dollars
by it, he has for ever lost the respect and confidence of all his priests and
diocesans.
"After the mild and paternal ruling of Bishop Vandeveld, neither the
priests nor the people of Illinois will long bear the iron chains which the
present bishop has in store for us all."
I thanked Mr. Dunn for his kind words, and told him that I had already tasted
the paternal love of my bishop by being twice dragged by Spink before the
criminal courts for having refused to live on good terms with the two most
demoralized priests I have ever known. He, then, speaking with a more subdued
voice, said: "I must tell you, confidentially, that one of those priests,
Lebel, will be turned out ignominiously from the diocese during the retreat.
Last week, a new fact, which surpasses all his other abominations, has been
revealed and proved to the bishop, for which he will be interdicted."
At that moment, the bell called us to the chapel to hear the regulations of the
bishop in reference to the retreat, after which we sang the matins. At 8 p.m.
we had our first sermon by Bishop Spaulding, from Kentucky. He was fat
fine-looking man, a giant in stature, and a good speaker. But the way in which
he treated his subject, though very clever, left, in my mind, the impression
that he did not believe a word of what he said. At certain times, there was
much fire in his elocution, but it was a fire of straw. He delivered two
sermons each day; and the Rev. Mr. Vanhulest, a Jesuit, gave us two meditations,
each of them lasting from forty to fifty minutes. The rest of the time was
spent in reading aloud the life of a saint, reciting the breviarum, examination
of conscience, and going to confession. We had half-an-hour for meals, followed
by one hour of recreation. Thus were the days spent. But the nights! the
nights! what shall I say of them? What pen can describe the orgies I witnessed
during those dark nights! and who can believe what I shall have to say about
them! though I will not and cannot say the half of what I have seen and heard!
I got from the Rev. Mr. Dunn, then one of the bishop's counselors, and soon
after Vicar General, the statement that the sum of five hundred dollars was
expended in intoxicating drinks during the six days of the retreat. I ought to
say during the five nights. My pen refuses to write what my eyes saw and my
ears heard during the long hours of those nights, which I cannot forget though
I should live a thousand years.
The drinking used to begin about nine o'clock, as soon as the lights were put
out. Some were handing the bottles from bed to bed, while others were carrying
them to those at a distance, at first, with the least noise possible; but
half-an-hour had not elapsed before the alcohol was beginning to unloose the tongues,
and upset the brain. Then the bons mots, the witty stories, at first, were soon
followed by the most indecent and shameful recitals. Then the songs, followed
by the barking of dogs, the croaking of frogs, the howling of wolves. In a
word, the cries of all kinds of beasts, often mixed with the most lascivious
songs, the most infamous anecdotes flying from bed to bed, from room to room,
till one or two o'clock in the morning.
One night, three priests were taken with delirium tremens, almost at the same
time. One cried out that he had a dozen rattle-snakes at his shirt; the second
was fighting against thousands of bats, which were trying to tear his eyes from
their sockets; and the third, with a stick, was repulsing millions of spiders,
which, he said, were as big as wild turkeys, all at work to devour him. The
cries and lamentations of those three priests were really pitiful! To those
cries add the lamentations of some dozens of them whose overload stomachs were
ejecting in the beds and all around, the enormous quantity of drink they had
swallowed! The third day, I was so disgusted and indignant, that I determined
to leave, without noise, under the pretest that I was sick. It was not a false
pretext; for I was really sick. There was no possibility of sleeping before two
or three o'clock. Besides, the stench in the dormitories was horrible.
There was, however, another thing which was still more overwhelming me. It was
the terrible moral struggle in my soul from morning till night, and from night
till morning, when the voice of my conscience, which I had to take for the
voice of Satan, was crying in my ears: "Do you not clearly see that your
church is the devil's church that those priests, instead of being the Lamb's
priests, are the successors of the old Bacchus priests? Read your Bible a
little more attentively, and see if this is not the reign of that great harlot,
which is defiling the world with her abominations? How can you remain in such a
church? how long will you remain in this sea of Sodom? Come out! come out of
Babylon, if you do not want to perish with her! Can the tree which bears such
fruits be the tree of life? Can the priests who surround you, be the priests,
the ambassadors of the Saviour? Can the Son of God come down every morning in
body, in soul, and divinity, into the hands and stomach of such men? Can the
nations be led into the ways of God by them? Are you not guilty of an
unpardonable crime when you are planting, with your own hands, over this
magnificent country, a tree bearing such fruits? How dare you meet your God,
after you have so deceived yourself and the people as to believe and say that
these are the representatives, the leaders, the priests of the church out of
which there is no salvation!"
Oh! what an awful thing it is to resist the voice of God! To take Him for the
evil one, when, by His warnings, He seeks to save your soul! Although the
horrible scandal I had seen distressed me more than human words can tell, those
mental conflicts were still more distressing. Fearing lest I should entirely
lose my faith in my religion, and become an absolute infidel, by remaining any
longer in the midst of such profligacy, I determined to leave; but before doing
so, I wanted to consult a new friend whom the providence of God had given me in
Mr. Dunn. It seemed the unbearable burden which was on my shoulders would
become lighter, by sharing it with such a sympathetic brother priest.
I went to him, after dinner, and taking him apart, I told him all about the
orgies of last night, and asked his advice on my determination not to continue
that retreat, which was evidently nothing else than a blind, and a sacrilegious
comedy, to deceive the world.
He answered: "You teach me nothing, for I spent last night in the same
dormitory were you were. One of the priests told me all about those orgies,
yesterday; I could hardly believe what he said, and I determined to see and
hear for myself what was going on. You do not exaggerate, you do not even
mention half of the horrors of last night. It baffles any description. It is
simply incredible for any one who has not himself witnessed them. However, I do
not advise you to leave. It would for ever ruin you in the mind of the bishop,
who is not already too well disposed in your favour. The best thing you can do is
to go and say everything to Bishop Spaulding. I have done it this morning; but
I felt that he did not believe the half of what I told him. When the same
testimony comes from you, then he will believe it, and will probably take some
measures, with our own bishop, to put an end to those horrors. I have something
to tell you, confidentially, which surpasses, in a measure, anything you know
of the abominations of these last three nights.
"A respectable policeman, who belongs to my congregation, came to me this
morning, to tell me that the first night, six prostitutes, dressed as
gentlemen, and last night twelve came to the University, after dark, entered
the dormitory, and went, directed by signals, to those who had invited them,
each being provided with the necessary key. I have just reported the thing to
Bishop O'Regan; but instead of paying any attention to what I said, he became
furious against me, and nearly turned me out of his room, saying, 'Do you think
that I am going to come down from my dignity of bishop to hear the reports of
degraded policemen, or of vile spies? Shall I become the spies of my priests?
If they want to damn themselves, there is no help, let them go to hell! I am
not more obliged or able than God Himself to stop them! Does God stop them?
Does He punish them? No! Well! you cannot expect from me more zeal and power
than in our common God!'
"With these fine words ringing in my ears," said good Mr. Dunn,
"I had to leave his room at the double quick. It is of no use for us to
speak to Bishop O'Regan on that matter. It will do no good. He wants to get a
large subscription from those priests, at the end of the retreat, and he is
rather inclined to pet than punish them, till he obtains the hundred thousand
dollars he wants to build his white marble palace on the lake shore."
I replied: "Though you add to my desolation, instead of diminishing it, by
what you say of the strange principles of our bishop, I will speak to my lord
Spaulding as you advise me." Without a moment's delay, I went to his room.
He received me very kindly, and did not at all seem surprised at what I said.
It was as if he had been accustomed to see the same, or still worse
abominations. However, when I told him the enormous quantity of liquor drank,
and that the retreat would be only a ridiculous comedy, if no attempt at reform
was tried, he agreed with me; "but it would be advisable to try it,"
he said. "Though this is not in our programme, we might give one or two
sermons on the necessity of priests giving an example of temperance to their
people. Will you please come with me to the room of my lord O'Regan, that we
may confer on the matter, after you have told him what is going on?"
Although the Bishop of Chicago seemed puzzled at seeing me entering his room
with my lord Spaulding, he was as polite as possible. He listened with more
attention than I expected to the narrative I gave of what was going on among
the priests. After telling him my sad story, Bishop Spaulding said: "My
lord of Chicago, these facts are very grave, and there cannot be any doubt
about the truth of what we have just heard. Two other gentlemen gave me the
same testimony this morning."
"Yes!" said Bishop O'Regan, "it is very sad to see that our
priests have so little self-respect, even during such solemn days as those of a
public retreat. The Rev. Mr. Dunn has just told me the same sad story as Father
Chiniquy. But what remedy can we find for such a state of things? Perhaps it
might do well to give them a good sermon on temperance. Mr. Chiniquy, I am told
that you are called 'the temperance apostle of Canada,' and that you are a
powerful speaker on that subject; would you not like to give them one or two
addresses on the injury they are doing to themselves and to our holy church, by
their drunkenness?"
"If those priests could understand me in French," I replied, "I
would accept the honour you offer me with pleasure; but to be understood by
them, I would have to speak in English; and I am not sufficiently free in that
language to attempt it. My broken English would only bring ridicule upon the
holy cause of temperance. But my lord Spaulding has already preached on that
subject in Kentucky, and an address from his lordship would be listened to with
more attention and benefit from him than from me."
It was then agreed that he should change his programme, and give two addresses
on temperance, which he did. But though these addresses were really eloquent,
they were pearls thrown before swine. The drunken priests slept, as usual; and
even snored, almost through the whole length of the delivery. It is true that
we could notice a little improvement, and less noise the following nights; the
change, however, was very little.
The fourth day of the retreat, the Rev. Mr. Lebel came to me with his bag in
hand. He looked furious. He said: "Now, you must be satisfied, I am
interdicted and turned out ignominiously from this diocese. It is your work!
But mind what I tell you: you will, also, soon be turned out from your colony
by the mitred tyrant who has just struck me down. He told me, several times,
that he would, at any cost, break your plant of French colonization, by sending
you to the south-west of Illinois, along the Mississippi, to an old French
settlement, opposite St. Louis. He is enraged against you, for your refusing to
give him your fine property at St. Anne."
I answered him: "You are mistaken when you think that I am the author of
your misfortunes. You have disgraced yourself by your own acts. God has given
you talents and qualities which, if cultivated, would have exalted you in the
church, but you have preferred to destroy those great gifts, in order to follow
the evil inclinations of your poor degraded human nature; you reap today what
you have sown. Nobody is more sorry than I am for your misfortune, and my most
sincere wish is that the past may be a lesson to guide your steps in the
future. The desire of the bishop to turn me out of my colony does not trouble
me. If it is the will of God to keep me at the head of that great work, the
bishop of Chicago will go down from his episcopal throne before I go down the
beautiful hill of St. Anne. Adieu!" He soon disappeared. But how the fall
of this priest, whom I had so sincerely loved, saddened me!
The next Sabbath was the last day of the retreat. All the priests went in
procession to the cathedral, to receive the holy communion, and every one of
them ate, what we had to believe was the true body, soul, and divinity of Jesus
Christ. This, however, did not prevent thirteen of them from spending the
greater part of the next night in calabooses, to which they had been taken by
the police, from houses of ill-fame, where they were rioting and fighting. The
next morning they were discharged from the hands of the police by paying pretty
round sums of money for the trouble of the night!
The next day, I went to Mr. Dunn's parsonage to ask him if he could give me any
explanation of the rumour which was afloat, and to which Mr. Lebel had made
allusion, that it was the intention of the bishop to remove me from my colony
to some distant part of his diocese.
"It is unfortunately too true," said he. "Bishop O'Regan thinks
that he has a mission from heaven to undo all his predecessor has done, and as
a one of the best and grandest schemes of Bishop Vandeveld was to secure the
possession of this magnificent State of Illinois to our church, by inducing all
the Roman Catholic emigrants from France, Belgium and Canada, to settle here,
our present bishop does not conceal that he will oppose that plan by removing
you to such a distance, that your colonization plans will be at an end. He says
that the French are, as a general thing, rebels and disobedient to their
bishops. He prefers seeing the Irish coming, on account of their proverbial
docility to their ecclesiastical superiors. I have, in vain, tried to change
his mind. I told you before that he often asks my opinion on what I think the
best thing to be done for the good of the diocese. But do not think that he
intends to follow my advice; it is just the contrary. My impression now is, that
he wants to know our views, only for the pleasure of acting diametrically in
opposition to what we advise."
I must not omit to say that we have been requested to spend the forenoon of
Monday in the University, for an important affair which the bishop had to
propose to his clergy. We were all there, in the great hall, at the appointed
hour. Even the thirteen priests who had spent the best part of the night at the
police station, heard the voice of their bishop, and hey were there, as docile
lambs.
We knew beforehand the proposition which was to be put before us. It was to
build a palace for our bishop, worthy of the great Illinois State, the cost of
which would be about one hundred thousand dollars.
Though every one of us felt that this was most extravagant in such a young and
poor diocese, nobody dared to raise his voice against that act of pride and
supreme folly. Every one promised to do all in his power to raise that sum, and
to show our good-will, we raised among ourselves, at once, seven thousand dollars,
which we gave in cash or in promissory notes. After this act of liberality, we
were blessed and dismissed by our bishop. I was but a few steps from the
University, when an Irish priest, unknown to me, ran after me to say, "My
lord O'Regan wants to see you immediately." And, five minutes later, I was
alone with my bishop, who, without any preface, told me, "Mr. Chiniquy, I
hear very strange and damaging things about you, form every quarter. But the
worst of all is that you are a secret Protestant emissary; that, instead of
preaching the true doctrines of our holy church, about the immaculate
conception, purgatory, the respect and obedience due to their superiors by the
people, auricular confession, ect., ect., you spend a part of your time in
distributing Bibles and New Testaments among your immigrants; I want to know
from your own lips, if this be true or not."
I answered, "A part of what the people told you about the matter is not
true, the other is true. It is not true that I neglect the preaching of the
doctrines of our holy church, about purgatory, immaculate conception of Mary,
auricular confession, or the respect due to our superiors. But it is true that
I do distribute the Holy Bible and the Gospel of Christ, among my people."
"And instead of blushing at such unpriestly conduct, you seem to be proud
of it," angrily replied the bishop.
"I do not understand, my lord, why a priest of Christ could blush for
distributing the Word of God among his people; as I am bound to preach that
Holy Word, it is not only my right but my duty to give it to them. I am fully
persuaded that there is no preaching so efficacious and powerful as the
preaching of our God Himself, when speaking to us in His Holy Book."
"This is sheer Protestantism, Mr. Chiniquy, this is sheer
Protestantism," he answered me angrily.
"My dear bishop," I answered calmly, "if to give the Bible to
the people and invite them to read and meditate on it is Protestantism, our
holy Pope Pius VI. was a good Protestant, for in his letter to Martini, which
is probably in the first pages of the beautiful Bible I see on your lordship's
table, he not only blesses him for having translated that Holy Book into
Italian, but invites the people to read it."
The bishop, assuming an air of supreme contempt, replied: "Your answer
shows your complete ignorance on the subject on which you speak so boldly. If
you were a little better informed on that grave subject, you would know that
the translation by Martini, which the Pope advise the Italian people to read,
formed a work of twenty-three big volumes in folio, which, of course, nobody,
except very rich and idle people could read. Not one in ten thousand Italians
have the means of purchasing such a voluminous work; and not one in twenty
thousand have the time or the will to pursue such a mass of endless
commentaries. The Pope would never have given such an advice to read a Bible,
as the one you distribute so imprudently."
"Then, my lord, do you positively tell me that the Pope gave permission to
read Martini's translation, because he knew that the people could never get it
on account of its enormous size and price, and do you assure me that he would
never have given such advice, had the same people been able to purchase and
read that holy work."
"Yes, sir! It is what I mean," answered the bishop, with an air of
triumph, "for I know positively that this is the fact."
I replied, calmly: "I hope your lordship is unwillingly mistaken; for if
you were correct, the stern and unflinching principles of logic would force me
to think and say that that Pope and all his followers were deceivers, and that
encyclical a public fraud in his own hands; for we Catholic priests make use of
it, all over the world, and reprint it at the head of our own Bibles, to make
the people, both Protestants and Catholics believe that we approve of their
reading our own versions of that Holy Book."
Had I thrown a spark of fire in a keg of powder, the explosion would not have
been more prompt and terrible than the rage of that prelate. Pointing his finger
to my face, he said: "Now, I see the truth of what I have been told, that
you are a disguised Protestant, since the very day that you were ordained a
priest. The Bible! The Bible is your motto! For you the Bible is everything,
and the holy church, with her Popes and bishops is nothing! what an insolent, I
dare say, what a blasphemous word, I have just heard from you? You dare call an
encyclical letter of one of our most holy Popes, a fraud!"
In vain, I tried to explain, he would not listen; and he silenced me by saying:
"If our holy church has, in an unfortunate day, appointed you one of her
priests in my diocese, it was to preach the doctrines, and not to distribute
the Bible! If you forget that, I will make you remember it!" And with that
threat on my head as a Damocles' sword, I had to take the door which he had
opened, without any au revoir. Thanks be to God, this first persecution and
these outrages I received for my dear Bible's sake, did not diminish my love,
my respect for God's Holy Word, nor my confidence in it. On the contrary, on
reaching home, I took it, fell on my knees, and pressing it to my heart, I
asked my heavenly Father to grant me the favour to love it more sincerely, and
follow its divine teachings with more fidelity till the end of my life.
.
CHAPTER 56
A
month had scarcely elapsed since the ecclesiastical retreat, when all the
cities of Illinois were filled by the most strange and humiliating clamors
against our bishop. From Chicago to Cairo, it would have been difficult to go to
a single town without hearing, from the most respectable people, or reading in
big letters, in some of the most influential papers, that Bishop O'Regan was a
thief or a simoniac, a perjurer, or even something worse. The bitterest
complaints were crossing each other over the breadth and length of Illinois,
from almost every congregation: "He has stolen the beautiful and costly
vestments we bought for our church," cried the French Canadians of
Chicago. "He has swindled us out of a fine lot given us to build our
church, sold it for 40,000 dollars, and pocketed the money, for his own private
use, without giving us any notice," said the Germans. "His thirst for
money is so great," said the whole Catholic people of Illinois, "that
he is selling even the bones of the dead to fill his treasures!"
I had not forgotten the bold attempt of the bishop to wrench my little property
from my hands, at his first visit to my colony. The highway thief, who puts his
dagger at the breast of the traveler, threatening to take away his life if he
does not give him his purse, does not appear more infamous to his victim than
that bishop appeared to me that day. But my hope then was, that this act was an
isolated and exceptional case in the life of my superior; and I did not whisper
a word of it to anybody. I began to think differently, however, when I saw the
numerous articles in the principal papers of the State, signed by the most
respectable names, accusing him of theft, simony, and lies. My hope, at first,
was that there were many exaggerations in those reports. But as they came
thicker day after day, I thought my duty was to go to Chicago and see for
myself to what extent those rumours were true. I went directly to the French
Canadian church; and to my unspeakable dismay, I found that it was too true
that the bishop had stolen the fine church vestments, which my countrymen had
bought for their own priest for grand festivals, and he had transferred them to
the cathedral of St. Mary for his own personal use. The indignation of my poor
countrymen knew no bounds. It was really deplorable to hear with what supreme
disgust and want of respect they were speaking of their bishop. Unfortunately,
the Germans and Irish people were still ahead of them in their unguarded,
disrespectful denunciations. Several spoke of prosecuting him before the civil
courts, to force him to disgorge what he had stolen; and it was with the
greatest difficulty that I succeeded in preventing some of them from mobbing
and insulting him publicly in the streets, or even in his own palace. The only
way I could find to appease them was to promise them that I would speak to his
lordship, and tell him that it was the desire of my countrymen to have those
vestments restored to them.
The second thing I did was to go to the cemetery, and see for myself to what
extent it was true or not that our bishop was selling the very bones of his
diocesans, in order to make money. On my way to the Roman Catholic graveyard, I
met a great many cart loads of sand, which, I was told by the carters, had been
taken from the cemetery; but I did not like to stop them till I was at the very
door of the consecrated spot. There I found three carters, who were just
leaving the grounds. I asked and obtained from them the permission to search
the sand which they carried, to see if there were not some bones. I could not
find any in the first cart; and my hope was that it would be the same in the
two others. But, to my horror and shame, I found the lower jaw of a child in
the second, and part of the bones of an arm, and almost the whole foot of a
human being, in the third cart! I politely requested the carters to show me the
very place where they had dug that sand, and they complied with my prayer. To
my unspeakable regret and shame, I found that the bishop had told an
unmitigated falsehood when, to appease the public indignation against his
sacrilegious trade, he had published that he was selling only the sand which
was outside of the fence, on the very border of the lake.
It is true that, to make his case good, he had ordered the old fence to be
taken away, in order to make a new one, many feet inside the old one. But this
miserable and shameful subterfuge rendered his crime still greater than it had
at first appeared. What added to the gravity of that public iniquity, is that
the Bishop of Chicago had received that piece of land from the city, for a
burial ground, only after he had taken a solemn oath to use it only for buying
the dead. Every load of that ground sold then, was not only an act of simony, but
the breaking of a solemn oath! No words can express the shame I felt, after
convincing myself of the correctness of what the press of Chicago, and of the
whole State of Illinois had published against our bishop, about this
sacrilegious traffic.
Slowly retracing my steps to the city from the cemetery, I went directly to the
bishop, to fulfill the promise I had made to the French Canadians, to try to
obtain the restoration of their fine vestments. But I was not long with him
without seeing that I would gain nothing but his implacable enmity in pleading
the cause of my poor countrymen. However, I thought my duty was to do all in my
power to open the eyes of my bishop to the pit he was digging for himself and
for all us Catholics, by his conduct. "My lord," I said, "I
shall not surprise your lordship, when I tell you that all the true Catholics
of Illinois are filled with sorrow by the articles they find, every day, in the
press, against their bishop."
"Yes! yes!" he abruptly replied, "the good Catholics must be sad
indeed to read such disgusting diatribes against their superior; and I presume
that you are one of those that are sorry. But, then, why do you not prevent
your insolent and infidel countrymen from writing those things! I see that a
great part of those libels are signed by the French Canadians."
I answered, "It is to try, as much as it is in my power, to put an end to
those scandals that I am in Chicago, today, my lord."
"Very well, very well," he replied, "as you have the reputation
of having a great influence over your countrymen, make use of it to stop them
in their rebellious conduct against me, and I will, then, believe that you are
a good priest."
I answered, "I hope that I will succeed in what your lordship wants me to
do. But there are two things to be done, in order to secure my success."
"What are they?" quickly asked the bishop.
"The first is, that your lordship give back the fine church vestments
which you have taken from the French Canadian congregation of Chicago.
"The second is, that your lordship abstain, absolutely, from this day, to
sell the sand of the burying ground, which covers the tombs of the dead."
Without answering a word, the bishop struck his fist violently upon the table,
and crossed the room at a quick step, two or three times; then turning towards
me, and pointing his finger to my face, he exclaimed in an indescribable accent
of rage:
"Now, I see the truth of what Mr. Spink told me! you are not only my
bitterest enemy, but you are the head of my enemies. You take sides with them
against me. You approve of their libelous writings against me! I will never
give back those church vestments. They are mine, as the French Canadian church
is mine! Do you not know that the ground on which the churches are built, as
well as the churches themselves, and all that belongs to the church, belongs to
the bishop? Was it not a burning shame to use those fine vestments in a poor
miserable church of Chicago, when the bishop of that important city was covered
with rags! It was in the interest of the episcopal dignity, that I ordered
those rich and splendid vestments, which were mine by law, to be transferred
from that small and insignificant congregation, to my cathedral of St. Mary,
and if you had an ounce of respect for your bishop, Mr. Chiniquy, you would
immediately go to your countrymen and put a stop to their murmurs and slanders
against me, by simply telling them that I have taken what was mine from that
church, which is mine also, to the cathedral, which is altogether mine. Tell your
countrymen to hold their tongues, and respect their bishop, when he is in the
right, as I am today."
I had, many times, considered the infamy and injustice of the law which the
bishops have had passed all over the United States, making every one of them a
corporation, with the right of possessing personally all the church properties
of the Roman Catholics. But I had never understood the infamy and tyranny of
that law so clearly as in that hour. It is impossible to describe with ink and
paper the air of pride and contempt with which the bishop really in substance,
if not in words, told me: "All those things are mine. I do what I please
with them, you must be mute and silent when I take them away from you. It is
against God Himself that you rebel when you refuse me the right of
dispossessing you of all those properties which you have purchased with your
own money, and which have not cost me a cent!" In that moment I felt that
the law which makes every bishop the only master and proprietor of all the religious
goods, houses, churches, lands and money of their people as Catholics, is
simply diabolical: and that the church which sanctions such a law, is
antichristian. Though it was at the risk and peril of everything dear to me,
that I should openly protest against that unjust law, there was no help; I felt
constrained to do so with all the energy I possessed.
I answered: "My lord, I confess that this is the law in the United States;
but this is a human law, directly opposed to the Gospel. I do not find a single
word in the Gospel which gives this power to the bishop. Such a power is an
abusive, not a divine power, which will sooner or later destroy our holy church
in the United States, as it has already mortally wounded her in Great Britain,
in France and in many other places. When Christ said, in the Holy Gospel, that
He has not enough of ground whereon to lay His head, He condemned, in advance,
the pretensions of the bishops who lay their hands on our church properties as
their own. Such a claim is an usurpation and not a right, my lord. Our Saviour
Jesus Christ protested against that usurpation, when asked by a young man to
meddle in his temporal affairs with his brothers; He answered that 'He had not
received such power.' The Gospel is a long protest against that usurpation, in
every page, it tells us that the kingdom of Christ is not of this world. I have
myself given fifty dollars to help my countrymen to buy those church vestments.
They belong to them and not to you!"
My words, uttered with an expression of firmness which the bishop had never yet
seen in any of his priests, fell upon him, at first, as a thunderbolt. They so
puzzled him, that he looked at me, a moment, as if he wanted to see if it were
a dream or a reality, that one of his priests had the audacity to use such
language, in his presence. But! soon, recovering from his stupor, he
interrupted me by striking his fist again on the table, and saying in anger:
"You are half a Protestant! Your words smell of Protestantism! The Gospel!
the Gospel! that is your great tower of strength against the laws and
regulations of our holy church! If you think, Mr. Chiniquy, that you will
frighten me with your big words of the Gospel, you will soon see your mistake,
at your own expense. I will make you remember that it is the Church you must
obey, and it is through your bishop that the church rules you!"
"My lord," I answered, "I want to obey the church. Yes! but it
is a church founded on the Gospel; a church that respects and follows the
Gospel, that I want to obey!"
These words threw him into a fit of rage, and he answered: "I am too busy
to hear your impertinent babblings any longer. Please let me alone, and
remember that you will soon hear from me again if you cannot teach your people
to respect and obey their superiors!" The bishop kept his promise. I heard
of him very soon after, when his agent, Peter Spink, dragged me, again a
prisoner, before the Criminal Court of Kankakee, accusing me falsely of crimes
which his malice alone could have invented. My lord O'Regan had determined to
interdict me; but, not being able to find any cause in my private or public
life as a priest to found such a sentence, he had pressed that land speculator,
Spink, to prosecute me again; promising to base his interdict on the condemnation
which, he had been told, would be passed against me by the Criminal Court of
Kankakee. But the bishop and Peter Spink were again to be disappointed; for the
verdict of the court, given on the 13th of November, 1855, was again in my
favour.
My heart filled with joy at this new and great victory my God had given me
against my merciless persecutors. I was blessing Him, when my two lawyers,
Messrs. Osgood and Paddock, came to me and said: "Our victory, though
great, is not so decisive as was expected; for Mr. Spink has just taken an oath
that he has no confidence in this Kankakee Court, and he has appealed, by a
change of venue, to the Court of Urbana, in Champaign County. We are sorry to
have to tell you that you must remain a prisoner, under bail, in the hands of
the sheriff, who is bound to deliver you to the sheriff of Urbana, the 19th of
May, next spring."
I nearly fainted when I heard this. The ignominy of being again in the hands of
the sheriff for so long a time; the enormous expenses, far beyond my means, to
bring my fifteen to twenty witnesses such a long distance of nearly one hundred
miles; the new ocean of insults, false accusations, and perjuries with which my
enemies were to overwhelm me again; and the new risk of being condemned, though
innocent, at that distant court; all those things crowded themselves in my mind
to crush me. For a few minutes I was obliged to sit down; for I would surely
have fallen down had I continued to stand on my feet. A kind friend had to
bring me some cold water and bathe my forehead, to prevent me from fainting. It
seemed that God had forsaken me for the time being, and that He was to let me
fall powerless in the hand of my foes. But I was mistaken. That merciful God
was near me, in the dark hour, to give me one of the marvellous proofs of His
paternal and loving care.
The very moment I was leaving the court with a heavy heart, a gentleman, a
stranger, came to me and said: "I have followed your suit from the
beginning. It is more formidable than you suspect. Your prosecutor, Spink, is
only an instrument in the hands of the bishop. The real prosecutor is the land
shark who is at the head of the diocese, and who is destroying our holy
religion by his private and public scandals. As you are the only one among his
priests who dares to resist him, he is determined to get rid of you: he will
spend all his treasures and use the almost irresistible influence of his
position to crush you. The misfortune for you is that, when you fight a bishop,
you fight all the bishops of the world. They will unite all their wealth and
influence to Bishop O'Regan's to silence you, though they hate and despise him.
There was no danger of any verdict against you in this part of Illinois, where
you are too well known for the perjured witnesses they have brought to
influence your judges. But when you are among strangers, mind what I tell you:
the false oaths of your enemies may be accepted as gospel truths by the jury,
and then, though innocent, you are lost. Though your two lawyers are expert
men, you will want something better at Urbana. Try to secure the services of
Abraham Lincoln, of Springfield. If that man defends you, you will surely come
out victorious from that deadly conflict!"
I answered: "I am much obliged to you for your sympathetic words: but
would you please allow me to ask your name?"
"Be kind enough to let me keep my incognito here," he answered.
"The only thing I can say is, that I am a Catholic like you, and one who,
like you, cannot bear any longer the tyranny of our American bishops. With many
others, I took to you as our deliverer, and for that reason I advise you to
engage the services of Abraham Lincoln."
"But," I replied, "who is that Abraham Lincoln? I never heard of
that man before."
He replied: "Abraham Lincoln is the best lawyer and the most honest man we
have in Illinois."
I went immediately, with that stranger, to my two lawyers, who were in
consultation only a few steps from us, and asked them if they would have any
objection that I should ask the services of Abraham Lincoln, to help them to
defend me at Urbana.
They both answered: "Oh! if you can secure the services of Abraham
Lincoln, by all means do it. We know him well; he is one of the best lawyers,
and one of the most honest men we have in our State."
Without losing a minute, I went to the telegraph office with that stranger, and
telegraphed to Abraham Lincoln to ask him if he would defend my honour and my
life (though I was a stranger to him) at the next May term of the court at
Urbana.
About twenty minutes later I received the answer:
"Yes, I will defend your honour and your life at the next May term at
Urbana.
"Abraham Lincoln."
My
unknown friend then paid the operator, pressed my hand, and said: "May God
bless you and help you, Father Chiniquy. Continue to fight fearlessly for truth
and righteousness against our mitred tyrants; and God will help you in the
end." He then took a train for the north, and soon disappeared, as a
vision from heaven. I have not seen him since, though I have not let a day pass
without asking my God to bless him. A few minutes later, Spink came to the
office to telegraph to Lincoln, asking his services at the next May term of the
Court, at Urbana. But it was too late.
Before being dragged to Urbana, I had to renew, at Easter, 1856, the oil which
is used for the sick, in the ceremony which the Church of Rome calls the
Sacrament of Extreme Unction, and in the Baptism of Children. I sent my little
silver box to the bishop by a respectable young merchant of my colony, called
Dorion. But he brought it back without a drop of oil, with a most abusive
letter from the bishop, because I had not sent five dollars to pay for the oil.
It was just what I expected. I knew that it was his habit to make his priests
pay five dollars for that oil, which was not worth more than two or three
cents.
This act of my bishop was one of the many evident cases of simony of which he
was guilty every day. I took his letter, with my small silver box, to the
Archbishop of St. Louis, my lord Kenrick, before whom I brought my complaints
against the Bishop of Chicago, on the 9th April, 1856. That high dignitary told
me that many priests of the diocese of Chicago had already brought the same
complaints before him, and exposed the infamous conduct of their bishop. He agreed
with me that the rapacity of Bishop O'Regan, his thefts, his lies, his acts of
simony were public and intolerable, but that he hand no remedy for them, and
said: "The only thing I advise you to do is to write to the Pope directly.
Prove your charges against that guilty bishop as clearly as possible. I will
myself write to corroborate all you have told me; for I know it is true. My
hope is that your complaints will attract the attention of the Pope. He will,
probably, send some one from Rome to make an enquiry, and then that wicked man
will be forced to offer his resignation. If you succeed, as I hope, in your
praiseworthy efforts to put an end to such scandals, you will have well
deserved the gratitude of the whole church. For that unprincipled dignitary is
the cause that our holy religion is not only losing her prestige in the United
States, but is becoming an object of contempt wherever those public crimes are
known."
I was, however, forced to postpone my writing to the Pope. For, a few days
after my return from St. Louis to my colony, I had to deliver myself again into
the hands of the Sheriff of Kankakee, who was obliged by Spink to take me
prisoner, and deliver me as a criminal into the hands of the Sheriff of
Champaign County, on the 19th of May, 1856.
It was then that I met Mr. Abraham Lincoln for the first time. He was a giant
in stature; but I found him still more a giant in the noble qualities of his
mind and heart. It was impossible to converse five minutes with him without
loving him. There was such an expression of kindness and honesty in that face,
and such an attractive magnetism in the man, that after a few moments'
conversation one felt as tied to him by all noblest affections of the heart.
When pressing my hand, he told me: "You were mistaken when you telegraphed
that you were unknown to me. I know you, by reputation, as the stern opponent
of the tyranny of your bishop, and the fearless protector of your countrymen in
Illinois; I have heard much of you from two priests; and, last night, your
lawyers, Messrs. Osgood and Paddock have acquainted me with the fact that your
bishop is employing some of his tools to get rid of you. I hope it will be an
easy thing to defeat his projects, and protect you against his
machinations." He then asked me how I had been induced to desire his
services. I answered by giving him the story of that unknown friend who had
advised me to have Mr. Abraham Lincoln for one of my lawyers, for the reason
that "he was the best lawyer and the most honest man in Illinois." He
smiled at my answer with that inimitable and unique smile, which we may call
the "Lincoln smile," and replied: "That unknown friend would
surely have been more correct had he told you that Abraham Lincoln was the
ugliest lawyer of the country!" and he laughed outright.
I spent six long days at Urbana as a criminal, in the hands of the sheriff, at
the feet of my judges. During the greatest part of that time, all that human
language can express of abuse and insult was heaped on my poor head. God only
knows what I suffered in those days; but I was providentially surrounded, as by
a strong wall. I had Abraham Lincoln for my defense "the best lawyer and
the most honest man of Illinois," and the leaned and upright David Davis
for my judge. The latter became Vice-president of the United States in 1882;
and the former its most honoured President from 1861 to 1865.
I never heard anything like the eloquence of Abraham Lincoln when he demolished
the testimonies of the two perjured priests, Lebel and Carthuval, who, with ten
or twelve other false witnesses, had sworn against me. I would have surely been
declared innocent after that eloquent address and the charge of the learned
Judge Davis, had not my lawyers, by a sad blunder, left a Roman Catholic on the
jury. Of course, that Irish Roman Catholic wanted to condemn me, when the
eleven honest and intelligent Protestants were unanimous in voting "Not
guilty." The court, having at last found that it was impossible to
persuade the jury to give an unanimous verdict, discharged them. But Spink
again forced the sheriff to keep me prisoner, by obtaining from the court the
permission to begin the prosecution de novo at the term of the fall, the 19th
of October, 1856. Humanly speaking, I would have been one of the most miserable
men, had I not had my dear Bible, which I was mediating and studying day and
night in those dark days of trial. But tough I was then still in the desolate
wilderness, far away yet from the Promised Land, my heavenly Father never
forsook me. He many times let the sweet manna fall from heaven to feed my
desponding soul, and cheer my fainting heart. More than once, when I was
panting with spiritual thirst, He brought me near the Rock, from the side of
which the living waters were gushing to refresh and renew my strength and
courage.
Though the world did not suspect it, I knew from the beginning, that all my
tribulations were coming from my unconquerable attachment an my unfaltering
love and respect for the Bible, as the root and source of every truth given by
God to man; and I felt assured that my God knew it also; -- that assurance
supported my courage in the conflict. Every day my Bible was becoming dearer to
me. I was then constantly trying to walk in its marvellous light and divine
teaching. I wanted to learn my duties and rights. I like to acknowledge that it
was the Bible which gave me the power and wisdom I then so much needed, to face
fearlessly so many foes. That power and wisdom I felt were not mine. On this
very account my dear Bible enabled me to remain calm in the very lions' den;
and it gave me, from the very beginning of that terrible conflict, the
assurance of a final victory; for every time I bathed my sould in its Divine
light, I heard my merciful heavenly Father's voice, saying, "Fear not, for
I am with thee" (Isaiah 43:5).
.
CHAPTER 57
The
Holy Scriptures say that an abyss calls for another abyss (abyssus abyussum
invocat). That axiom had its accomplishment in the conduct of Bishop O'Regan.
When once on the declivity of iniquity, he descended to its lowest depths with
more rapidity than a stone thrown into the sea. Not satisfied with the shameful
theft of the rich vestments of the French Canadian Church of Chicago, he
planned iniquity which was to bring upon him, more than ever, the execration of
the Roman Catholics of Illinois. It was nothing less than the complete
destruction of the thriving congregations of my French Canadian countrymen of
Chicago from his people, as well as my removal from my colony, were determined.
Our churches were at first to be closed, and after some time sold to the Irish
people, or to the highest bidder, for their own use. It was in Chicago that
this great iniquity was to begin. Not long after Easter, 1856, the Rev. Mons.
Lemaire was turned out, interdicted, and ignominiously driven from the diocese
of Chicago, without even giving the shadow of a reason, and the French
Canadians suddenly found themselves without a pastor. A few days after, the
parsonage they had built for their priest in Clark Street was sold for 1,200
dollars to an American. The beautiful little church which they had built on the
lot next to the parsonage, at the cost of so many sacrifices, was removed five
or six blocks south-west, and rented by the bishop to the Irish Catholics for
about 2,000 dollars per annum, and the whole money was pocketed, without even a
notice to my countrymen.
Though accustomed to his acts of perfidy, I could not believe at first the
rumours which reached me of those transactions! They seemed to be beyond the
limits of infamy, and to be impossible. I went to Chicago, hoping to find that
the public rumour had exaggerated the evil. But alas! nothing had been
exaggerated!
The wolf had dispersed the sheep and destroyed the flock. The once thriving
French congregation of Chicago was no more! Wherever I went, I saw tears of
distress among my dear countrymen, and heard cries of indignation against the
destroyer. Young and old, rich and poor among them, with one voice, denounced
and cursed the heartless mitred brigand, who had dared to commit publicly such
a series of iniquities, to satisfy his thirst for gold and his hatred of the
French Canadians.
They asked me what they should do: but what could I answer! They requested me
to go again to him and remonstrate. But I showed them that after my complete
failure which I had tried to get back the sacerdotal vestments, there was no
hope that he would disgorge the house and the church. The only thing I could
advise them was to select five or six of the most influential members of their
congregation to go and respectfully ask him by what right he had taken away,
not only their priest, but the parsonage and the church they had built, and
transferred them to another people. They followed my advice. Messrs. Franchere
and Roffinot (who are still living) and six other respectable French Canadians,
were sent by the whole people to put those questions to their bishop. He
answered them:
"French Canadians! you do not know your religion! Were you a little better
acquainted with it, you would know that I have the right to sell your churches
and church properties, pocket the money, and go, eat and drink it where I
please." After that answer they were ignominiously turned out from his
presence into the street. Posterity will scarcely believe those things, though
they are true.
The very next day, Aug. 19th, 1856, the bishop having heard that I was in
Chicago, sent for me. I met him after his dinner. Though not absolutely drunk,
I found him full of wine, and terribly excited. "Mr. Chiniquy," he
said, "you had promised me to make use of your influence to put an end to
the rebellious conduct of your countrymen against me. But I find that they are
more insolent and unmanageable than ever; and my firm belief is that it is your
fault. You, and that handful of French Canadians of Chicago, give me more
trouble than all the rest of my priests and my people in Illinois. You are too
near Chicago, sir, your influence is too much felt on your people here. I must
remove you to a distant place, where you will have enough to do without
meddling in my administration. I want your service to Kahokia, in my diocese of
Quincy; and if you are not there by the 15th of Sept. next, I will interdict
and excommunicate you, and for ever put an end to your intrigues."
These words fell upon me as a thunderbolt. The tyranny of the bishop of my
church, and the absolute degradation of the priest whose honour, position and
life are entirely in his hands, had never been revealed to me so vividly as in
that hour. What could I say or do to appease that mitred despot? After some
moments of silence, I tried to make some respectful remonstrances by telling
him that my position was an exceptional one; that I had not come to Illinois as
his other priests, to be at the head of any existing congregation, but that I
had been invited by his predecessor to direct the tide of the emigration of the
Frenchspeaking people of Europe and America. That I had come to a wilderness
which, by the blessing of God, I had changed into a thriving country, covered
with an industrious and religious people. I further told him, that I had left
the most honourable position which a priest had ever held in Canada, with the
promise from his predecessor that, as long as I lived the life of a good
priest, I should not be disturbed in my work. As I soon perceived that he was
too much under the influence of liquor to understand me, and speak with
intelligence, I only added:
"My lord, you speak of interdict and excommunication! Allow me to
respectfully tell you that if you can show me that I have done anything to
deserve to be interdicted or excommunicated, I will submit in silence to your
sentence. But before you pass that sentence, I ask you, in the name of God, to
make a public inquest about me, and have my accusers confront me. I warn your
lordship, that if you interdict or excommunicate me without holding an inquest,
I will make use of all the means which our holy church puts in the hands of her
priests to defend my honour and prove my innocence; I will also appeal to the
laws of our great Republic, which protects the character of all her citizens
against any one who slanders them. It will, then, be at your risk and peril
that you will pass such a sentence against me."
My calm answer greatly excited his rage. He violently struck the table with his
fist, and said: "I do not care a straw about your threats. I repeat it,
Mr. Chiniquy, if you are not at Kahokia by the 15th of next month, I will
interdict and excommunicate you."
Feeling that it was a folly on my part to argue with a man who was beside
himself by passion and excess of wine, I replied "With the help of God, I
will never bear the infamy of an interdict or excommunication. I will do all
that religion and honour will allow me to prevent such a dark spot from
defiling my name, and the man who does try it, will learn at his own expense
that I am not only a priest of Christ, but also an American citizen. I
respectfully tell your lordship that I neither smoke nor use intoxicating
drinks. The time which your other priests give to those habits, I spend in the
study of books, and especially of my Bible. I found in them, not only my
duties, but my rights; and just as I am determined, with the help of God, to
perform my duties, I will stand by my rights." I then immediately left the
room to take the train to St. Anne.
Having spent a part of the night praying God to change the heart of my bishop,
and keep me in the midst of my people, which were becoming dearer and dearer to
me, in proportion to the efforts of the enemy to drive me away from them, I
addressed the following letter to the bishop:
To the Rt. Rev. O'Regan, Bishop of
Chicago.
My Lord. The more I consider your design to turn me out of the colony which I
have founded, and of which I am the pastor, the more I believe it a duty which
I owe to myself, my friends, and to my countrymen, to protest before God and
man against what you intend to do.
Not a single one of your priests stands higher than I do in the public mind,
neither is more loved and respected by his people than I am. I defy my
bitterest enemies to prove the contrary. And that character which is my most
precious treasure, you intend to despoil me of by ignominiously sending me away
from among my people! Certainly, I have enemies, and I am proud of it. The
chief ones are well known in this country as the most depraved of men. The
cordial reception they say they have received from you, has not taken away the
stains they have on their foreheads.
By this letter, I again request you to make a public and most minute inquest into
my conduct. My conscience tells me that nothing can be found against me. Such a
public and fair dealing with me would confound my accusers. But I speak of
accusers, when I do not really know if I have any. Where are they? What are
their names? Of what sin do they accuse me? All these questions which I put to
you, last Tuesday, were left unanswered! and would to God that you would answer
them today, by giving me their names. I am ready to meet them before any
tribunal. Before you strike the last blow on the victim of this most hellish
plot, I request you, in the name of God, to give a moment's attention to the
following consequences of my removal from this place at present.
You know I have a suit with Mr. Spink at the Urbana Court, for the beginning of
October. My lawyers and witnesses are all in Kankakee and Iroquois counties;
and in the very time I want most to be here to prove my innocence and guard my
honour, you order me to go to a place more than three hundred miles distant!
Did you ever realize that by that strange conduct, you help Spink against your
own priest? When at Kahokia, I will have to bear the heavy expenses of
traveling more than three hundred miles, many times, to consult my friends, or
be deprived of their valuable help! Is it possible that you thus try to tie my
hands and feet, and deliver me into the hands of my remorseless enemies? Since
the beginning of that suit, Mr. Spink proclaims that you help him, and that,
with the perjured priests, you have promised to do all in your power to crush
me down! For the sake of the scared character you bear, do not show so publicly
that Mr. Spinks' boastings are true. For the sake of your high position in the
church, do not so publicly lend a helping hand to the heartless land speculator
of L'Erable. He has already betrayed his Protestant friends to get a wife; he
will, ere long, betray you for less. Let me then live in peace here, till that
suit is over.
By turning me away from my settlement, you destroy it. More than ninetenths of
the emigrants come here to live near me; by striking me you strike them all.
Where will you find a priest who will love that people so much as to give them,
every year, from one to two thousand dollars, as I have invariably done? It is
at the price of those sacrifices that, with the poorest class of emigrants from
Canada, I have founded, here, in four years, a settlement which cannot be
surpassed, or even equaled, in the United States, for its progress. And now
that I have spent my last cent to form this colony, you turn me out of it. Our
college, where one hundred and fifty boys are receiving such a good education,
will be closed the very day I leave. For, you know very well the teachers I got
from Montreal will leave as soon as I will.
Ah! if you are merciless towards the priest of St. Anne, have pity on these
poor children. I would rather be condemned to death than to see them destroy
their intelligence by running in the streets. Let me then finish my work here,
and give me time to strengthen these young institutions which would fall to the
ground with me. If you turn me out or interdict me, as you say you will do, if
I disobey your orders, my enemies will proclaim that you treat me with that
rigour because you have found me guilty of some great iniquity; and this necessarily
will prejudice my judges against me. They will consider me as a vile criminal.
For who will suppose, in this free country, that there is a class of men who
can judge a man and condemn him as our Bishop of Chicago is doing today,
without giving him the names of his accusers, or telling him of what crimes he
is accused?
In the name of God, I again ask you not to force me to leave my colony before I
prove my innocence, and the iniquity of Spink, to the honest people of Urbana.
But, if you are deaf to my prayers, and if nothing can deter you from your
resolution, I do not wish to be in the unenviable position of an interdicted
priest among my countrymen; send me, by return mail, my letters of mission for
the new places you intend trusting to my care. The sooner I get there the
better for me and my people. I am ready! When on the road of exile, I will pray
the God of Abraham to give me the fortitude and the faith He gave to Isaac,
when laying his head on the altar, he willingly presented his throat to the sword.
I will pray my Saviour, bearing His heavy cross to the top of Calvary, to
direct and help my steps towards the land of exile you have prepared for your
Devoted Priest,
C. Chiniquy.
This
letter was not yet mailed when we heard that the drunkard priests around us
were publishing that the bishop had interdicted me, and they had received
orders from him to take charge of the colony of St. Anne. I immediately called
a meeting of the whole people and told them: "The bishop has not
interdicted me as the neighbouring priests publish; he has only threatened to
do so, if I do not leave this place for Kahokia, by the 15th of next month. But
though he has not interdicted me, it may be that he does today, falsely publish
that he has done it. We can expect anything from the destroyer of the fine
congregation of the French Canadians of Chicago. He wants to destroy me and you
as he has destroyed them. But before he immolates us, I hope that, with the
help of God, we will fight as Christian soldiers, for our life, and we will use
all the means which the laws of our church, the Holy word of God, and the
glorious Constitution of the Untied States allow us to employ against our
merciless tyrant.
"I ask of you, as a favour, to send a deputation of four members of our
colony, in whom you place the most implicit confidence, to carry this letter to
the bishop. But before delivering it, they will put to him the following
questions, the answers of which they will write down with great care in his
presence, and deliver them to us faithfully. It is evident that we are now
entering into a momentous struggle. We must act with prudence and
firmness." Messrs. J. B. Lemoine, Leon Mailloux, Francis Bechard, and B.
Allaire, having been unanimously chosen for that important mission, we gave
them the following questions to put to the bishop:-
1st. "Have you interdicted Mr. Chiniquy?
2nd. "Why are you interdicted him? Is Mr. Chiniquy guilty of any crime to
deserve to be interdicted? Have those crimes been proved against him in a
canonical way?
3rd. "Why do you take Mr. Chiniquy away from us?
[Our deputies came back from Chicago with the following report and answers,
which they swore to, some time after before the Kankakee court.]
1st. "I have suspended Mr. Chiniquy on the 19th inst. on account of his
stubbornness and want of submission to my orders, when I ordered him to
Kaholia.
2nd. "If Mr. Chiniquy has said mass since, as you say, he is irregular,
and the Pope alone can restore him in his ecclesiastical and sacerdotal
functions.
3rd. "I take him away from St. Anne. despite his prayers and yours,
because he has not been willing to live in peace and friendship with the Rev.
Messrs. Lebel and Carthuval.
[The bishop, being asked if those two priests had not been interdicted by him
for public scandals, was forced to say: "Yes!"]
4th. "My second reason for taking Mr. Chiniquy from St. Anne, and sending
him to his new mission, is to stop the law-suit Mr. Spink has instituted
against him.
[The bishop being asked if he would promise that the suit would be stopped by
the removal of Mr. Chiniquy, answered: "I cannot promise that."]
5th. "Mr. Chiniquy is one of the best priests in my diocese, and I do not
want to deprive myself of his services, no accusation against his morality has
been proved before me.
6th. "Mr. Chiniquy has demanded an inquest to prove his innocence against
certain accusations made against him; he asked me the names of his accusers, to
confound them; I have refused to grant his request.
[After the bishop had made those declarations, the deputation presented him the
letter of Mr. Chiniquy; it evidently made a deep impression upon him. As soon
as he read it, he said:]
7th. "Tell Mr. Chiniquy to come and meet me to prepare for his new
mission, and I will give him the letters he wants, to go and labour there.
Francis Bechard,
(Signed) J. B. Lemoine,
Basilique Allaire, Leon Mailloux."
After
the above had been read and delivered to the people, I showed them the evident
falsehood and contradictions of the bishop when he said in his second answer:
"If Mr. Chiniquy said mass
since I Interdicted him, he is irregular, and the Pope alone can restore him in
his ecclesiastical functions," and then in the seventh, "tell Mr.
Chiniquy to come and meet me to prepare for his new mission, and I will give
him the letters he wants to go and labour there."
The
last sentence, I said, proves that he knew he had not interdicted me as he said
at first. For, had he done so, he could not give me letters to administer the
sacraments and preach at Kahokia before my going before the Pope, who, alone,
as he said himself, could give me such powers, after he (the bishop) knew that
I had said mass since my return from Chicago. Now, my friends, here is the law
of our holy church, not the saying, or the law of a publicly degraded man, as
the Bishop of Chicago: "If a man had been unjustly condemned, let him pay
no attention to the unjust sentence: let him even do nothing to have that
unjust sentence removed."
"If the bishop had interdicted me on the 19th, his sentence would be
unjust, for, from his own lips, we have the confession, 'that no accusation has
ever been proved before him; that I am one of his best priests; that he does
not want to be deprived of my services.' Yes, such a sentence, if passed, would
have been unjust, and our business, today, would be to treat it with the
contempt it would deserve. But that unjust sentence has not even been
pronounced, since, after saying mass every day since the 19th, the bishop
himself wants to give me letters to go to Kahokia and work as one of his best
priests! It strikes me, today, for the first time, that it is more your
destruction, as a people, than mine, which the bishop wants to accomplish. It
is my desire to remain in your midst to defend your rights as Catholics. If you
are true to me, as I will be to you, in the impending struggle, we have nothing
to fear; for our holy Catholic Church is for us; all her laws and canons are in
our favour; the Gospel of Christ is for us. The God of the Gospel is for us.
Even the Pope, to whom we will appeal, will be for us. For, I must tell you a
thing, which, till to day I kept secret; viz.: The Archbishop of St. Louis, to
whom I brought my complaint, in April last, advised me to write to the Pope and
tell him, not all, for it would make too large a volume, but something of the
criminal deeds of the roaring lion who wants to devour us. He is, today,
selling the bones of the dead which are resting in the Roman Catholic cemetery
of Chicago! But if you are true to yourselves as Catholics and Americans, that
mitred tyrant will not sell the bones of our friends and relatives which rest
here on our burying ground. He has sold the parsonage and the church which our
dear countrymen had built in Chicago. Those properties are, today, in the hands
of the Irish: but if you promise to stand by your rights as Christian men and
American citizens, I will tell that avaricious bishop: "Come and sell our
parsonage and our church here, if you dare!' As I told you before, we have a
glorious battle to fight. It is the battle of freedom against the most cruel
tyranny the world has ever seen: it is the battle of truth against falsehood:
It is the battle of the old Gospel of Christ against the new gospel of Bishop
O'Regan. Let us be true to ourselves to the end, and our holy church, which
that bishop dishonours, will bless us. Our Saviour Jesus Christ, whose Gospel
is despised by that adventurer, will be for us, and give us a glorious victory.
Have you not read in your Bibles that Jesus wanted His disciples to be free,
when He said: 'If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free
indeed' (John viii. 36). Does that mean that the Son of God wants us to be the
slaves of Bishop O'Regan? 'No!' cried out the whole people. May God bless you
for your understanding of your Christian rights. Let all those who want to be
free, with me, raise their hands.
"Oh! blessed by the Lord," I said, "there are more than 3,000
hands raised towards heaven to say that you want to be free! Now, let those who
do not want to defend their rights as Christians, and as American citizens,
raise their hands. Thanks be to God," I again exclaimed, "there is
not a traitor among us! You are all the true, brave and noble soldiers of
liberty, truth and righteousness! May the Lord bless you all!"
It is impossible to describe the enthusiasm of the people. Before dismissing
them, I said: "We will, no doubt, very soon, witness one of the most
ludicrous comedies ever played on this continent: that comedy is generally
called excommunication. Some drunkard priests, sent by the drunkard Bishop of
Chicago, will come to excommunicate us. I expect their visit in a few days.
That performance will be worth seeing; and I hope that you will see and hear
the most amusing thing in your life."
I was not mistaken. The very next day, we heard that the 3rd of September had
been chosen by the bishop to excommunicate us.
I said to the people: "When you see the flag of the free and the brave
floating from the top of our steeple, come and rally around that emblem of
liberty."
There were more than 3,000 people on our beautiful hill, when the priests made
their appearance. A few moments before, I had said to that immense gathering:
"I bless God that you are so many to witness the last tyrannical act of
Bishop O'Regan. But I have a favour to ask of you, it is, that no insult or
opposition whatever will be made to the priests who come to play that comedy.
Please do not say an angry word; do not move a finger against the performers.
They are not responsible for what they will do, for two reasons. 1. They will
probably be drunk. 2. They are bound to do that work, by their master and Lord
Bishop O'Regan.
The priests arrived at about two o'clock p.m., and never such shouting and
clapping of hands had been heard in our colony as on their appearance. Never
had I seen my dear people so cheerful and good-humoured, as when one of the
priests, trembling from head to foot with terror and drunkenness, tried to read
the following sham act of excommunication; which he nailed on the door of the
chapel:
The Reverend Monsieur Chiniquy, heretofore curate of St. Anne, Colonie of
Beaver, in the Diocese of Chicago, has formally been interdicted by me for
canonical causes.
The said Mr. Chiniquy, notwithstanding that interdict, has maliciously
performed the functions of the holy ministry, in administering the holy
sacraments and saying mass. This has caused him to be irregular, and in direct
opposition to the authority of the church, consequently, he is a schismatic.
The said Mr. Chiniquy, thus named by my letters and verbal injunction, has
absolutely persisted in violating the laws of the church, and disobeyed her
authority, is by this present letter excommunicated.
I forbid any Catholic having any communication with him, in spiritual matters,
under pain of excommunication. Every Catholic who goes against this suspense,
is excommunicated.
(Signed) Anthony,
Bishop of Chicago, and administrator of Quincy. Sept. 3rd., 1856.
As
soon as the priests, who had nailed this document to the door of our chapel,
had gone away at full speed, I went to see it, and found, what I had expected,
that it was not signed by the bishop, neither by his grand vicar, nor any known
person, and, consequently it was a complete nullity, according to the laws of
the church. Fearing I would prosecute him, as I threatened, he shrank from the
responsibility of his own act, and had not signed it. He was probably ignorant
of the fact that he was himself excommunicated, ipso facto, for not having
signed the document himself, or by his known deputies. I learned afterwards,
that he got a boy twelve years old to write and sign it. In this way, it was
impossible for me to bring that document before any court, on account of its
want of legal and necessary forms. That act was also a nullity, for being
brought by three priests who were not compos mentis, from their actual state of
drunkenness. And again, it was a nullity from the evident falsehood which was
its base.
It alleged that the bishop had interdicted and suspended me on the 19th of
August, for canonical causes. But he had declared to the four deputies we had
sent him: "That Mr. Chiniquy was one of my best priests, that nothing had
been proved against him," consequently, no canonical cause could exist for
the allegation. The people understood very well that the whole affair was a
miserable farce, designed to separate them from their pastor. It had just, by
the good providence of God, the contrary effect. They had never shown me such
sincere respect and devotedness as since that never-to-be-forgotten day.
The three priests, after leaving, entered the house of one of our farmers,
called Bellanger, a short distance from the chapel, and asked permission to
rest awhile. But after sitting and smoking a few minutes they all went out to
the stables. The farmer thinking this very strange, went after them to see what
they would do in his stables; to his great surprise and disgust, he found them
drinking the last of their whiskey. He exclaimed, "Is it not a shame to
see three priests in a stable drinking spirits?"
They made no answer, but went immediately to their carriage and drove away as
quickly as possible, singing with all their might, a bacchanalian song! Such
was the last act of that excommunication, which has done more than anything else
to prepare my people and myself to understand that the Church of Rome is a den
of thieves, a school of infidelity and the very antipodes of the Church of
Christ.
.
CHAPTER 58
The
Sabbath afternoon after the three drunken priests nailed their signed, unsealed,
untestified, and consequently null sentence of excommunication, to the door of
our chapel, the people had gathered from every part of our colony into the
large hall of the court-house of Kankakee City to hear several addresses of
their duties of the day, and they unanimously passed the following resolutions:
"Resolved, That we, French Canadians of the County of Kankakee, do hereby
decide to give our moral support to Rev. C. Chiniquy, in the persecution now
exerted against him by the Bishop of Chicago, in violation of the laws of the
church, expressed and sanctioned by the Councils."
After this resolution had been voted, Mr. Bechard, who is now one of the
principal members of the Parliament of Canada, and who was then a merchant of
Kankakee City, presented to me the following address, which had also been
unanimously voted by the people:
"Dear and Beloved Pastor: For several years we have been witnesses of the
persecution of which you are the subject, on the part of the bad priests, your
neighbours, and on the part of the unworthy Bishop of Chicago; but we also have
been the witnesses of your sacerdotal virtues of your forbearance of their
calumnies and our respect and affection for your person has but increased at
the sight of all those trials.
"We know that you are persecuted, not only because you are a Canadian
priest, and that you like us, but also because you do us good in making a
sacrifice of your own private fortune to build school-houses, and to feed our
teachers at your own table. We know that the Bishop of Chicago, who resembles
more an angry wolf than a pastor of the church, having destroyed the prosperous
congregation of Chicago by taking away from them their splendid church, which
they had built at the cost of many sacrifices, and giving it to the Irish
population, and having discouraged the worthy population of Bourbonnais Grove
in forcing on them drunken and scandalous priests, wants to take you away from
among us, to please Spink, the greatest enemy of the French population. They
even say that the bishop, carrying iniquity to its extreme bounds, wanted to
interdict you. But as our church cannot, and is not willing to sanction evil
and calumny, we know that all those interdicts, based on falsehoods and spite,
are null and void.
"We, therefore, solicit you not to give way in presence of the perfidious
plots of your enemies, and not to leave us. Stay among us as our pastor and our
father, and we solemnly promise to sustain you in all your hardships to the
end, and to defend you against our enemies. Stay among us, to instruct us in
our duties by your eloquent speeches, and to enlighten us by your pious
examples. Stay among us, to guard us against the perfidious designs of the
Bishop of Chicago, who wants to discourage and destroy our prosperous colony,
as he has already discouraged and destroyed other congregations of the French
Canadians, by leaving them without a pastor, or by forcing on them unworthy
priests."
The
stern and unanimous determination of my countrymen to stand by me in the impending
struggle is one of the greatest blessings which God has ever given me. It
filled me with a courage which nothing could hereafter shake. But the people of
St. Anne did not think that it was enough to show to the bishop that nothing
could ever shake the resolution they had taken to live and die free men. They
gathered in a public and immense meeting on the Sabbath after the sham
excommunication, to adopt the following address to the Bishop of Chicago, a
copy of which was sent to every bishop of the United States and Canada, and to
Pope Pius IX.:
"To His Lordship, Anthony O'Regan of Chicago:We, the undersigned,
inhabitants of the parish of St. Anne, Beaver settlement, seeing with sorrow
that you have discarded our humble request, which we have sent you by the four
delegates, and have persisted in trying to drive away our honest and worthy
priest, who has edified us in all circumstances by his public and religious
conduct, and having, contrary to the rules of our holy church and common sense,
struck our worthy pastor, Mr. Chiniquy, with excommunication, having caused him
to be announced as a schismatic priest, and having forbidden us to communicate
with him in religious matters, are hereby protesting against the unjust and
iniquitous manner in which you have struck him, refusing him the privilege of
justifying himself and proving his innocence.
"Consequently, we declare that we are ready at all times as good
Catholics, to obey all your orders and ordinances that are in accordance with
the laws of the Gospel and the Church, but that we are not willing to follow
you in all your errors of judgments, in your injustices and covetous caprices.
Telling you, as St. Jerome wrote to his bishop, that as long as you will treat
us as your children, we will obey you as a father; but as soon as you will
treat us as our master, we shall cease to consider you as our father.
Considering Mr. Chiniquy as a good and virtuous priest, worthy of the place he
occupies, and possessing as yet all his sacerdotal powers, in spite of your
null and ridiculous sentence, we have unanimously decided to keep him among us
as our pastor; therefore praying your lordship not to put yourself to the
trouble of seeking another priest for us. More yet; we have unanimously decided
to sustain him and furnish him the means to go as far as Rome, if he cannot
have justice in America.
"We further declare that it has been dishonourable and shameful for our
bishop and for our holy religion to have seen, coming under the walls of our
chapel, bringing the orders of the prince of the church, a representative of
Christ, three men covered with their sacerdotal garments, having their tongues
half paralyzed by the effects of whiskey, and who, turning their backs to the
church, went to the house and barn of one of our settlers and thee emptied
their bottles. And from there, taking their seats in the buggies, went toward
the settlement of L'Erable, singing drunken songs and hallooing like wild
Indians. Will your lordship be influenced by such a set of men, who seem to have
for their mission to degrade the sacerdos and Catholicism?
"We conclude, in hoping that your lordship will not persist in your
decision given in a moment of madness and spite; that you will reconsider your
acts, and that you will retract your unjust, null and ridiculous
excommunication, and by these means avoid the scandal of which your
precipitation is the cause. We then hope that, changing your determination, you
will work to the welfare of our holy religion, and not to its degradation, into
which your intolerant conduct would lead us, and that you will not persist in
trying to drive our worthy pastor, Rev. Charles Chiniquy, from the flourishing
colony that he has founded at the cost of the abandonment of his native land,
of the sacrifice of the high position he had in Canada; that you will bring
peace between you and us, that we shall have in the Bishop of Chicago not a
tyrant, but a father, and that you will have in us not rebels, but faithful
children, by our virtues and our good example. Subscribing ourselves the
obedient children of the church.
"Theopile Dorien, J.B. Lemoine, N.P.,
"Det. Vanier, Oliver Senechall,
"J.B. Belanger, Basilique Allair,
"Camile Betourney, Michel Allair,
"Stan'las Gagne, Joseph Grisi,
"Antoine Allain, Joseph Allard,
"And five hundred others."
This
address, signed by more than five hundred men, all heads of families, and
reproduced by almost the whole press in the United States, fell as a
thunderclap on the head of the heartless destroyer of our people. But it did
not change his destructive plans. It had just the contrary effect. As a tiger,
mortally wounded by the sure shots of the hunters, he filled the country with
his roaring, hoping to frighten us by his new denunciations. He published the
most lying stories to explain his conduct, and to show the world that he had
good reasons for destroying the French congregation of Chicago, and trying the
same experiment on St. Anne.
In order to refute his false statements, and show more clearly to the whole
world the reasons I had, as a Catholic priest, to resist him, I addressed the
following letter to his lordship:
"St. Anne, Kankakee County, Ill.,
"Sept. 25, 1856.
"Rt. Rev'd O'Regan:You seen to be surprised that I have offered the holy
sacrifice of mass since our last interview. Here are some of my reasons for so
doing.
"1st. You have not suspended me; far from it, you have given me fifteen
days to consider what I should do, threatening only to interdict me after that
time, if I would not obey your orders.
"2nd. If you have been so ill-advised as to suspend me, for the crime of
telling you that my intention was to live the life of a retired priest in my
little colony, sooner than to be exiled at my age, your sentence is ridiculous
and null; and if you were an expert in the jure Canonico as in the art of
pocketing our money, you would know that you are yourself suspended ipso facto
for a year, and that I have nothing to fear or expect from you now.
"3rd. When I bowed down before the altar of Jesus Christ, twenty-four
years ago, to receive the priesthood, my intention was to be the minister of
the Catholic Church, but not a slave of a lawless tyrant.
"4th. Remember the famous words of Tertullian, 'Nimia potestas, nulla
potestas.' For the sake of peace, I have, with many others, tolerated your
despotism till now; but my patience is at an end, and for the sake of our holy
church, which you are destroying, I am determined with many to oppose an
insurmountable wall to your tyranny.
"5th. I did not come here, you know well, as an ordinary missionary; but I
got from your predecessor the permission to form a colony of my emigrating
countrymen. I was not sent here in 1851 to take care of any congregation. It
was a complete wilderness. In a great part, with my own money, I have built a
chapel, a college and a female academy. I have called from everywhere my
countrymen nine-tenths of them came here only to live with me, and because I
had the pledged word of my bishop to do that work. And as long as I live the
life of a good priest I deny you the right to forbid me to remain in my colony
which wants my help and my presence.
"6th. You have never shown me your authority (but once) except in the most
tyrannical way. But now, seeing that the more humble I am before you the more
insolent you grow, I have taken the resolution to stand by my rights as a
Catholic priest and as an American citizen.
"7th. You remember, that in our second interview you forbade me to have
the good preceptors we have now for our children, and you turned into ridicule
the idea I had to call them from Canada. Was that the act of a bishop or of a
mean despot?
"8th. A few days after your ordered me to live on good terms with R. R.
Lebel and Carthuval, though you were well acquainted with their scandalous
lives, and twice you threatened me with suspension for refusing to become a
friend of those two rogues! And you have so much made a fool of yourself before
the four gentlemen I sent to you to be witnesses of your iniquity and my
innocence, that you have acknowledged before them that one of your principal
reasons for turning me out of my colony was, that I had not been able to keep
peace with two priests whom you acknowledge to be depraved and unworthy
priests! Is not that surpassing wickedness and tyranny of anything recorded in
the blackest pages of the most daring tyrants? You want to punish by exile a
gentleman and a good priest, because he cannot agree to become the friend of
two public rogues! I thank you, Bishop O'Regan, to have made that public
confession in the presence of unimpeachable witnesses. I do not want to advise
you to be hereafter very prudent in what you intend to do against the
reputation and character of the priest of St. Anne. If you continue to denounce
me as you have done since a few weeks, and to tell the people what you think
fit against me, I have awful things to publish of your injustice and tyranny.
"As Judas sold our Saviour to His enemies, so you have sold me to my enemy
of L'Erable. But be certain that you shall not deliver up your victim as you
like.
"For withdrawing a suit which you have instituted against my honour, and
which you shall certainly lose, you drag me out from my home and order me to
the land of exile, and you cover that iniquity with the appearance of zeal for
the public peace, just as Pilate delivered his victim into the hands their
enemies to make peace with them.
"Shame on you, Bishop O'Regan! For the sake of God, do not oblige me to
reveal to the world what I know against you. Do not oblige me, in self-defence,
to strike you, my merciless persecutor. If you have no pity on me, have pity on
yourself, and on the church which that coming struggle will so much injure.
"It is not enough for you to have so badly treated my poor countrymen of
Chicago you hatred against the French Canadians cannot be satisfied except when
you have taken away from them the only consolation they have in this land of
exile to possess in their midst a priest of their own nation whom they love and
respect as a father! My poor countrymen of Chicago, with many hard sacrifices,
had built a fine church for themselves and a house for their priest. You have
taken their church from their hands and given it to the Irish; you have sold
the house of their priest, after turning him out; and what have you done with
the one thousand five hundred dollars you got as its price? Public rumour says
that you are employing that money to support the most unjust and infamous suit
against one of their priests. Continue a little longer, and you may be sure
that the cursing of my poor countrymen against you will be heard in heaven, and
that the God of Justice will give them an avenger.
"You have, at three different times, threatened to interdict and
excommunicate me if I would not give you my little personal properties; and as
many times you have said in my teeth, that I was a bad priest, because I
refused to act according to your rapacious tyranny!
"The impious Ahab, murdering Naboth to get his fields, is risen from the
dead in your person. You cannot kill my body, since I am protected by the
glorious flag of the United States; but you do worse, you try to destroy my
honour and my character, which are dearer to me than my life. In a moral way
you give my blood to be licked by your dogs. But remember the words of the
prophet Ahab, 'In this place where dogs licked the blood of Naboth shall dogs
lick thy blood, even thine' (1 Kings xxi. 19). For every false witness you
shall bring against me, I shall have a hundred unimpeachable ones against you.
Thousands and thousands of religious Irish, and generous Germans, and liberty
and fair-play-loving French Canadians, will help me in that struggle. I do not
address you these words as a threat, but as a friendly warning.
"Keep quiet, my lord; do not let yourself be guided by your quick temper;
do not be so free in the use of suspense and interdicts. These terrible arms
are two-edged swords, which very often hurt more the imprudent who make use of
them than those whom they intend to strike."
"I wish to live in peace with you. I take my God to witness, that to this
day, I have done everything to keep peace with you. But the peace I want is the
peace which St. Jerome speaks of when, writing to his bishop, he tells him:
"'It is no use to speak of peace with the lips, if we destroy it with our
works. It is a very different way to work for peace, from trying to submit
every one to an abject slavery. We also want peace. Not only we desire it, but
we implore you instantly to give it. However, the peace we want is the peace of
Christ a true peace, a peace without hatred, a peach which is not masked war, a
peace which is not to crush enemies, but a peace which unites friends. How can
we call that peach which is nothing but tyranny? Why should we not call
everything by its proper name? Let us call hatred what is hatred; and let us
say that peace reigns only when a true love exists. We are not the authors of
the troubles and divisions which exist in the church. A father must love his
children. A bishop, as well as a father, must wish to be loved, but not feared.
The old proverb says, One hates whom he fears, and we naturally wish for the
death of one we hate. If you do not try to crush the religious men under your
power they will submit themselves to your authority. Offer them the kiss of
love and peace and they will obey you. But liberty refuses to yield as soon as
you try to crush it down. The best way to be obeyed by a free man is not to
deal with him as with a slave. We know the laws of the church, and we do not
ignore the rights which belong to every man. We have learned many things, not
only from experience, but also from the study of books. The king who strikes
his subjects with an iron rod, or who thinks that his fingers must be heavier
than his father's hand, has soon destroyed the kingdom even of the peaceful and
mild David. The people of Rome refused to bear the yoke of their proud king. We
have left our country in order to live in peace. In this solitude our intention
was to respect the authority of the pontiffs of Christ (we mean those who teach
the true faith). We want to respect them not as our masters, but as our
fathers. Our intention was to respect them as bishops, not as usurpers and
tyrants who want to reduce us to slavery by the abuse of their power. We are
not so vain as to ignore what is due to the priests of Christ, for to receive
them is to receive the very one whose bishops they are. But let them be
satisfied with the respect which is due to them. Let them remember that they
are fathers, not masters of those who have given up everything in order to
enjoy the privileges of a peaceful solitude. May Christ who is our mighty God
grant that we should be united, not by a false peace, but by a true and loyal
love, lest that by biting each other we destroy each other."
[Letter of St. Jerome to his bishop.]
"You have a great opinion of the episcopal power, and so have I. But St.
Paul and all the Holy Fathers that I have read, have also told us many things
of the dignity of the priest (alter Christus Sacerdos). I am your brother and
equal in many things; do not forget it. I know my dignity as a man and a
priest, and I shall sooner lose my life than to surrender them to any man, even
a bishop. If you think you can deal with me as a carter with his horse, drawing
him where he likes, you will very soon see your error.
"I neither drink strong wines nor smoke, and the many hours that others
spent in emptying their bottles and smoking their pipes, I read my dear books I
study the admirable laws of the church and the Gospel of Christ. I love my
books and the holy laws of our church, because they teach me my rights as well
as my duties. They tell me that many years ago a general council, which is
something above you, has annulled your unjust sentence, and brought upon your
head the very penalty you intended to impose upon me. They tell me that any
sentence from you, coming (from your own profession) from bad and criminal
motives, is null, and will fall powerless at my feet. "But I tell you
again, that I desire to live in peace with you. The false reports of Lebel and
Carthuval have disturbed that peace; but it is still in your power to have it
for yourself and give it to me. I am sure that the sentence you say you have
preferred against me comes from a misunderstanding, and your wisdom and
charity, if you can hear their voice, can very easily set everything as it was
two months ago. It is still in your power to have a warm friend, or an
immovable adversary in Kankakee County. It would both be equitable and
honourable in you to extinguish the fires of discord which you have so
unfortunately enkindled, by drawing back a sentence which you would never have
preferred if you had not been deceived. You would be blessed by the Church of
Illinois, and particularly by the 10,000 French Canadians who surround me, and
are ready to support me at all hazards.
"Do not be angry from the seeming harsh words which you find in this
letter. Nobody, but I, could tell you these sad truths, though every one of
your priests, and particularly those who flatter you the most, repeat them every
day. By kind and honest proceedings you can get everything from me, even the
last drop of my blood; but you will find me an immovable rock if you approach
me as you have always done (but once) with insult and tyrannical threats.
"You have not been ordained a bishop to rule over us according to your
fancy, but you have the eternal laws of justice and equity to guide you. You
have the laws of the church to obey as well as her humblest child, and as soon
as you do anything against these imperishable laws you are powerless to obtain
your object. It is not only lawful, but a duty to resist you. When you strike
without a legitimate or a canonical cause; when you try to take away my
character to please some of your friends; when you order me to exile to stop a
suit which you are inciting against me; when you punish me for the crime of
refusing to obey the orders you gave me to be the friend of two public rouges;
when you threatened me with excommunication, because I do not give you my
little personal properties, I have nothing to fear from your interdicts and
excommunication.
"What a sad lot for me, and what a shame for you, if by your continual
attacks at the doors of our churches or in the public press, you oblige me to
expose your injustice. It is yet time for you to avoid that. Instead of
striking me like an outcast, come and give me the paternal hand of charity,
instead of continuing that fratricidal combat, come and heal the wounds you
have made and already received. Instead of insulting me by driving me away from
my colony to the land of exile, come and bless the great work I have begun here
for the glory of God and the good of my people. Instead of destroying the
college and the female academy, for the erection of which I have expended my
last cent, and whose teachers are fed at my table, come and bless the three
hundred little children who are daily attending our schools. Instead of
sacrificing me to the hatred of my enemies, come and strengthen my heart
against their fury.
"I tell you again, that no consideration whatever will induce me to
surrender my right as a Catholic priest and as an American citizen. By the
first title you cannot interdict me, as long as I am a good priest, for the
crime of wishing to live in my colony and among my people. By the second title,
you cannot turn me out from my home.
"C. Chiniquy."
It
was the first time that a Roman Catholic priest, with his whole people, had
dared to speak such language to a bishop of Rome on this continent. Never yet
had the unbearable tyranny of those haughty men received such a public rebuke.
Our fearless words fell as a bombshell in the camp of the Roman Catholic
hierarchy of America.
With very few exceptions, the press of the State of Illinois, whose columns had
so often echoed the cries of indignation raised everywhere against the tyranny
of Bishop O'Regan, took sides with me. Hundreds of priests, not only from
Illinois, but from every corner of the United States, addressed their warmest
thanks to me for the stand I had taken, and asked me, in the name of God and
for the honour of the church, not to yield an inch of my rights. Many promised
to support us at the court of Rome, by writing themselves to the Pope, to
denounce not only the Bishop of Illinois, but several others, who though not so
openly bad, were yet trampling under their feet the most sacred rights of the
priests and the people. Unfortunately those priests gave me a saddening
knowledge of their cowardice by putting in their letters "absolutely
confidential." They all promised to help me when I was storming the strong
fortress of the enemy, provided I would go alone in the gap, and that they
would keep themselves behind thick walls, far from shot and shell.
However, this did not disturb me, for my God knows it, my trust was not in my
own strength, but in His protection. I was sure that I was in the right, that
the Gospel of Christ was on my side, that all the canons and laws of the
councils were in my favour.
My library was filled with the best books on the canons and laws passed in the
great councils of my church. It was written in big letters in the celebrated
work, "Histoire du Droit Canonique." There is no arbitrary power in
the Church of Christ.
The Council of Augsburg, held in 1548 (Can. 24), had declared that, "no
sentence of excommunication will be passed, except for great crimes."
The Pope St. Gregory had said: "That censures are null when not inflicted
for great sins or for faults which have not been clearly proved."
"An unjust excommunication does not bind before God those against whom it
has been hurled. But it injures only the one who has proffered it."
"If an unjust sentence is pronounced against any one, he must not pay any
attention to it; for, before God and His Church, an unjust sentence cannot
injure anybody. Let, then, that person do nothing to get such an unjust
sentence repealed, for it cannot injure him."
The canonists conclude, from all the laws of the church on that matter,
"That if a priest is unjustly interdicted or excommunicated he may
continue to officiate without any fear of becoming irregular."
Protected by these laws, and hundreds of others too long to enumerate, which my
church had passed in every age, strengthened by the voice of my conscience,
which assured me that I had done nothing to deserve to be interdicted or
excommunicated; sure, besides, of the testimony brought by our four delegates
that the bishop himself had declared that I was one of his best priests, that
he wanted to give me my letters to go and perform the functions of my ministry
in Kahokia: above all, knowing the unanimous will of my people that I should
remain with them and continue the great and good work so providentially
entrusted to me in my colony, and regarding this as an indication of the Divine
will, I determined to remain, in spite of the Bishop of Chicago. All the
councils of my church were telling me that he had no power to injure me, and
that all his official acts were null.
But if he were spiritually powerless against me, it was not so in temporal
matters. His power and his desire to injure us had increased with his hatred,
since he had read our letters and seen them in all the papers of Chicago. The
first thing he did was to reconcile himself to the priest Lebel, whom he had
turned out ignominiously from his diocese some time before. The priest had
since that obtained a fine situation in the diocese of Michigan. He invited him
to his palace, and petted him several days. I felt that the reconciliation of
those two men meant nothing good for me. But my hope was, more than ever, that
the merciful God who had protected me so many times against them, would save me
again from their machinations. The air was, however, filled with the strangest
rumours against me. It was said everywhere that Mr. Lebel was to bring such
charges against my character that I would be sent to the penitentiary. What
were the new iniquities to be laid to my charge? No one could tell. But the few
partisans and friends of the bishop, Messrs. Label and Spink, were jubilant and
sure that I was to be for ever destroyed.
At last the time arrived when the sheriff of Kankakee had to drag me again as a
criminal and a prisoner to Urbana, and deliver me into the hands of the sheriff
of that city. I arrived there on the 20th of October, with my lawyers, Messrs.
Osgood and Paddock, and a dozen witnesses. Mr. Abraham Lincoln had preceded me
only by a few minutes from Springfield. He was in the company of Judge David
Davis, since Vice-President of the United States, when I met him.
The jury having been selected and sworn, the Rev. Mr. Lebel was the first
witness called to testify and say what he knew against my character.
Mr. Lincoln objected to that kind of testimony, and tried to prove that Mr.
Spink had no right to bring his new suit against me by attacking my character.
But Judge Davis ruled that prosecution had the right in the case that was
before him. Mr. Lebel had, then, full liberty to say anything he wanted, and he
availed himself of his privilege. His testimony lasted nearly an hour, and was
too long to be given here. I will only say that he began by declaring that
"Chiniquy was one of the bilest men of the day that every kind of bad
rumours were constantly circulating against him." He gave a good number of
those rumours, though he could not positively swear if they were founded on
truth or not, for he had not investigated them. But he said there was one of
which he was sure, for he had authenticated it thoroughly. He expressed a great
deal of apparent regret that he was forced to reveal to the world such things
which were not only against the honour of Chiniquy, but, to some extent,
involved the good name of a dear sister, Madame Bossey. But as he was to speak
the truth before God, he could not help it the sad truth was to be told. "Mr.
Chiniquy," he said, "had attempted to do the most infamous things
with my own sister, Madame Bossey. She herself has told me the whole story
under oath, and she would be here to unmask the wicked man today before the
world, if she were not forced to silence at home from a severe illness."
Though every word of that story was a perjury, there was such a colour of truth
and sincerity in my accuser, that his testimony fell upon me and my lawyers and
all my friends as a thunderbolt. A man who has never heard such a calumny
brought against him before a jury in a court-house packed with people, composed
of friends and foes, will never understand what I felt in this the darkest hour
of my life. My God only knows the weight and bitterness of the waves of
desolation which then passed over my soul.
After that testimony was given, there was a lull, and a most profound silence
in the court-room. All the eyes were turned upon me, and I heard many voices
speaking of me, whispering, "The villain!" Those voices passed through
my soul as poisoned arrows. Though innocent, I wished that the ground would
open under my feet and bring me down to the darkest abysses, to conceal me from
the eyes of my friends and the whole world.
However, Mr. Lincoln soon interrupted the silence by addressing to Lebel such
cross-questions that his testimony, in the minds of many, soon lost much of its
power. And he did still more destroy the effect of his (Lebel's) false oath,
when he brought my twelve witnesses, who were among the most respectable citizens
of Bourbonnais, formerly the parishioners of Mr. Lebel. Those twelve gentlemen
swore that Mr. Lebel was such a drunkard and vicious man, that he was so
publicly my enemy on account of the many rebukes I had given to his private and
public vices, that they would not believe a word of what he said, even upon his
oath.
At ten p.m. the court was adjourned, to meet again the next morning, and I went
to the room of Mr. Lincoln, with my two other lawyers, to confer about the
morning's work. My mind was unspeakable sad. Life had never been such a burden
to me as in that hour. I was tempted, like Job, to curse the hour when I was
born. I could see in the face of my lawyers, though they tried to conceal it,
that they were also full of anxiety.
"My dear Mr. Chiniquy," said Mr. Lincoln, "though I hope,
tomorrow, to destroy the testimony of Mr. Lebel against you, I must concede
that I see great dangers ahead. There is not the least doubt in my mind that
every word he has said is a sworn lie; by my fear is that the jury thinks
differently. I am a pretty good judge in these matters. I feel that our jurymen
think that you are guilty. There is only one way to perfectly destroy the power
of a false witness it is by another direct testimony against what he has said, or
by showing from his very lips that he has perjured himself. I failed to do that
last night, though I have diminished, to a great extent, the force of his
testimony. Can you not prove an alibi, or can you not bring witnesses who were
there in the same house that day, who would flatly and directly contradict what
your remorseless enemy has said against you?"
I answered him: "How can I try to do such a thing when they have been
shrewd enough not to fix the very date of the alleged crime against me?"
"You are correct, you are perfectly correct, Mr. Chiniquy," answered
Mr. Lincoln, "as they have refused to precise the date, we cannot try
that. I have never seen two such skillful rogues as those two priests. There is
really a diabolical skill in the plan they have concocted for your destruction.
It is evident that the bishop is at the bottom of the plot. You remember how I
have forced Lebel to confess that he was now on the most friendly terms with
the Bishop of Chicago, since he has become the chief of your accusers. Though I
do not give up the hope of rescuing you from the hands of your enemies, I do
not like to conceal from you that I have several reasons to fear that you will
be declared guilty, and condemned to a heavy penalty, or to the penitentiary,
though I am sure you are perfectly innocent. It is very probable that we will
have to confront that sister of Lebel to-morrow. Her sickness is probably a
feint, in order not to appear here except after the brother will have prepared
the public mind in her favour. At all events, if she does not come, they will
send some justice of the peace to get her sworn testimony, which will be more
difficult to rebut than her own verbal declarations. That woman is evidently in
the hands of the bishop and her brother priest, ready to swear anything they
order her, and I know nothing so difficult as to refute such female
testimonies, particularly when they are absent from the court. The only way to
be sure of a favourable verdict to-morrow is, that God Almighty would take our part
and show your innocence! Go to Him and pray, for He alone can save you."
Mr. Lincoln was exceedingly solemn when he addressed those words to me, and
they went very deep into my soul.
I have often been asked if Abraham Lincoln had any religion? But I never had
any doubt about his profound confidence in God, since I heard those words
falling from his lips in that hour of anxiety. I had not been able to conceal
my deep distress. Burning tears were rolling on my cheeks when he was speaking,
and there was on his face the expression of friendly sympathy which I shall
never forget. Without being able to say a word, I left him to go to my little
room. It was nearly eleven o'clock. I locked the door and fell on my knees to
pray, but I was unable to say a single word. The horrible sworn calumnies
thrown at my face by a priest of my own church were ringing in my ears! my
honour and my good name so cruelly and for ever destroyed! all my friends and
my dear people covered with an eternal confusion! and more than that, the
sentence of condemnation which was probably to be hurled against me the next
day in the presence of the whole country, whose eyes were upon me! All those
things were before me, not only as horrible phantoms, but as heavy mountains,
under the burdens of which I could not breathe. At last the fountains of tears
were opened, and it relieved me to weep; I could then speak and cry: "Oh,
my God! have mercy upon me! Thou knowest my innocence! hast Thou not promised
that those who trust in Thee cannot perish! Oh! do not let me perish, when Thou
art the only One in whom I trust! Come to my help! Save me!"
From eleven p.m. to three in the morning I cried to God, and raised my
supplicating hands to His throne of mercy. But I confess, to my confusion, it
seemed to me in certain moments, that it was useless to pray and cry, for
though innocent, I was doomed to perish. I was in the hands of my enemies. My
God had forsaken me!
What an awful night I spent! I hope none of my readers will ever know by their
own experience the agony of spirit I endured. I had no other expectation than
to be for ever dishonoured, and sent to the penitentiary next morning! But God
had not forsaken me! He had again heard my cries, and was once more to show me
His infinite mercy!
At three o'clock a.m. I heard three knocks at my door, and I quickly went to
open it. "Who was there?" Abraham Lincoln, with a face beaming with
joy! I could hardly believe my eyes. But I was not mistaken. It was my
noble-hearted friend, the most honest lawyer of Illinois! one of the noblest
men Heaven had ever given to earth! it was Abraham Lincoln. On seeing me bathed
in tears, he exclaimed, "Cheer up, Mr. Chiniquy, I have the perjured
priests in my hands. Their diabolical plot is all known, and if they do not fly
away before dawn of day, they will surely be lynched. Bless the Lord, you are
saved!"
The sudden passage of extreme desolation to an extreme joy came near killing
me. I felt as if suffocated, and unable to utter a single word. I took his
hand, pressed it to my lips, and bathed it with tears of joy. I said: "May
God for ever bless you, dear Mr. Lincoln. But please tell me how you can bring
me such glorious news!"
Here is the simple but marvelous story, as told me by that great and good man,
whom God had made the messenger of His mercies towards me: "As soon as
Lebel had given his perjured testimony against you yesterday," said Mr.
Lincoln, "one of the agents of the Chicago press telegraphed to some of
the principal papers of Chicago: 'It is probable that Mr. Chiniquy will be
condemned; for the testimony of the Rev. Mr Lebel seems to leave no doubt that
he is guilty.' And the little Irish boys, to sell their papers, filled the
streets with cries: 'Chiniquy will be hung! Chiniquy will be hung!' The Roman
Catholics were so glad to hear that, that ten thousand extra copies have been
sold. Among those who bought those papers was a friend of yours, called
Terrien, who went to his wife and told her that you were to be condemned, and
when the woman heard that, she said, 'It is too bad, for I know Mr. Chiniquy is
not guilty.'
"'How do you know that?' said the husband. She answered: 'I was there when
the priest Lebel made the plot, and promised to give his sister two eighties of
good land if she would swear a false oath and accuse him of a crime which that
woman said he had not even thought of with her.'
"'If it be so,' said Terrien, 'we cannot allow Mr. Chiniquy to be
condemned. Come with me to Urbana.'
"But that woman being quite unwell, said to her husband, 'You know well I
cannot go; but Miss Philomene Moffat was with me then. She knows every
particular of that wicked plot as well as I do. She is well: go and take her to
Urbana. There is no doubt that her testimony will prevent the condemnation of
Mr. Chiniquy. Narcisse Terrien started immediately: and when you were praying
God to come to your help, He was sending your deliverer at the full speed of
the railroad cars. Miss Moffat has just given me the details of that diabolical
plot. I have advised her not to show herself before the Court is opened. I
will, then, send for her, and when she will have given, under oath, before the
Court, the details she has just given me, I pity Spink with his perjured
priests. As I told you, I would not be surprised if they were lynched: for
there is a terrible excitement in town among many people, who from the
beginning suspect that the priests have perjured themselves to destroy you. Now
your suit is gained, and, to-morrow, you will have the greatest triumph a man
ever got over his confounded foes. But you are in need of rest as well as
myself. Good bye." After thanking God for that marvelous deliverance, I
went to bed and took the needed rest.
But what was the priest Lebel doing in that very moment? Unable to sleep after
the awful perjury he had just made, he had watched the arrival of the trains
from Chicago with an anxious mind; for he was aware, through the confessions he
had heard, that there were two persons in that city who knew his plot and his
false oath; and though he had the promises from them that they would never
reveal it to anybody, he was not without some fearful apprehension that I
might, by some way or other, become acquainted with his abominable conspiracy.
Not long after the arrival of the trains from Chicago, he came down from his
room to see in the book where travelers register their names, if there were any
new comers from Chicago, and what was his dismay when he saw the first name
entered was "Philomene Moffat!" That very name, Philomene Moffat, who
some time before, had gone to confess to him that she had heard the whole plot
from his own lips, when he had promised 160 acres of land to persuade his
sister to perjure herself in order to destroy me. A deadly presentiment chilled
the blood in his veins! "Would it be possible that this girl is here to
reveal and prove my perjury before the world?"
He immediately sent for her, when she was just coming from meeting Mr. Lincoln.
"Miss Philomene Moffat here!" he exclaimed, when he saw her.
"What are you coming here for this night?" he said.
"You will know it, sir, to-morrow morning," she answered.
"Ah! wretched girl! you come to destroy me?" he exclaimed.
She replied: "I do not come to destroy you, for you are already destroyed.
Mr. Lincoln knows everything."
"Oh! my God! my God!" he exclaimed, striking his forehead with his
hands. Then taking a big bundle of bank-notes from his pocket-book, he said:
"Here are one hundred dollars for you if you take the morning train and go
back to Chicago."
"If you would offer me as much gold as this house could contain, I would
not go," she replied.
He then left her abruptly, ran to the sleeping-room of Spink, and told him:
"Withdraw your suit against Chiniquy; we are lost; he knows all."
Without losing a moment, he went to the sleeping-room of his co-priest, and
told him: "Make haste dress yourself and let us take the train; we have no
business here: Chiniquy knows all our secrets."
When the hour of opening the court came, there was an immense crowd, not only
inside, but outside its walls. Mr. Spink, pale as a man condemned to death,
rose before the Judge and said: "Please the court, allow me to withdraw my
prosecution against Mr. Chiniquy. I am now persuaded that he is not guilty of
the faults brought against him before this tribunal."
Abraham Lincoln, having accepted that reparation in my name, made a short, but
one of the most admirable speeches I have ever heard, on the cruel injustices I
had suffered from my merciless persecutors, and denounced the rascality of the
priests who had perjured themselves with such terrible colours, that it had
been very wise on their part to fly away and disappear before the opening of
the court, for the whole city was ransacked for them by hundreds, who blamed me
for forgiving them and refusing to have my revenge for the wrong they had done
me. But I really thought that my enemies were sufficiently punished by the
awful public disclosures of their infernal plot. It seemed that the dear
Saviour, who had so visibly protected me, was to be obeyed, when He was
whispering in my soul, "Forgive them and love them as thyself."
Was not Spink sufficiently punished by the complete ruin which was brought upon
him by the loss of the suit? For having gone to Bishop O'Regan to be
indemnified for the enormous expenses of such a long prosecution, at such a
distance, the bishop coldly answered him: "I had promised to indemnify if
you would put Chiniquy down, as you promised me. But as it is Chiniquy who has
put you down, I have not a cent to give you."
Abraham Lincoln had not only defended me with the zeal and talent of the ablest
lawyer I have ever known, but as the most devoted and noblest friend I ever
had. After giving more than a year of his precious time to my defense, when he
had pleaded, during two long sessions of the Court of Urbana, without receiving
a cent form me, I considered that I was owing him a great sum of money. My two
other lawyers, who had not done the half of his work, asked me a thousand
dollars each, and I had not thought that too much. After thanking him for the
inappreciable services he had rendered me, I requested him to show me his bill,
assuring him that, thought I would not be able to pay the whole cash, I would
pay him to the last cent, if he had the kindness to wait a little for the balance.
He answered me with a smile and an air of inimitable kindness, which was
peculiar to him: "My dear Mr. Chiniquy, I feel proud and honoured to have
been called to defend you. But I have done it less as a lawyer than as a
friend. The money I should receive from you would take away the pleasure I feel
at having fought your battle. Your case is unique in my whole practice. I have
never met a man so cruelly persecuted as you have been, and who deserves it so
little. Your enemies are devils incarnate. The plot they had concocted against
you is the most hellish one I ever knew. But the way you have been saved from
their hands, the appearance of that young and intelligent Miss Moffat, who was
really sent by God in the very hour of need, when, I confess it again, I
thought everything was nearly lost, is one of the most extraordinary
occurrences I ever saw. It makes me remember what I have too often forgotten,
and what my mother often told me when young that our God is a prayer-hearing
God. This good thought, sown into my young heart by that dear mother's hand,
was just in my mind when I told you, 'Go and pray, God alone can save you.' But
I confess to you that I had not faith enough to believe that your prayer would
be so quickly and so marvelously answered by the sudden appearance of that
interesting young lady, last night. Now let us speak of what you owe me. Well!
Well! how much do you owe me? You owe me nothing! for I suppose you are quite
ruined. The expenses of such a suit, I know, must be enormous. Your enemies
want to ruin you. Will I help them to finish your ruin, when I hope I have the
right to be put among the most sincere and devoted of your friends?"
"You are right," I answered him; "you are the most devoted and
noblest friend God ever gave me, and I am nearly ruined by my enemies. But you
are the father of a pretty large family; you must support them. Your traveling
expenses in coming twice here for me from Springfield; your hotel bills during
the two terms you have defended me, must be very considerable. It is not just
that you should receive nothing in return for such work and expenses."
"Well! well!" he answered, "I will give you a promissory note
which you will sign." Taking then a small piece of paper, he wrote:
Urbana, May 23, 1853
Due A. Lincoln fifty dollars, for value received.
C. Chiniquy
[Above shown in handwriting]
He
handed me the note, saying, "Can you sign that?"
After reading it, I said, "Dear Mr. Lincoln, this is a joke. It is not
possible that you ask only fifty dollars for services which are worth at least
two thousand dollars."
He then tapped me with the right hand on the shoulders and said: "Sign
that, it is enough. I will pinch some rich men for that, and make them pay the
rest of the bill," and he laughed outright.
When Abraham Lincoln was writing the due-bill, the relaxation of the great
strain upon my mind, and the great kindness of my benefactor and defender in
charging me so little for such a service, and the terrible presentiment that he
would pay with his life what he had done for me caused me to break into sobs
and tears.
As Mr. Lincoln had finished writing the due-bill, he turned round to me, and
said, "Father Chiniquy, what are you crying for? Ought you not to be the
most happy man alive? you have beaten your enemies and gained the most glorious
victory, and you will come out of all your troubles in triumph."
"Dear Mr. Lincoln," I answered, "allow me to tell you that the
joy I should naturally feel for such a victory is destroyed in my mind by the
fear of what it may cost you. There were then in the crowd not less than ten or
twelve Jesuits from Chicago and St. Louis, who came to hear my sentence of
condemnation to the penitentiary. But it was on their heads that you have
brought the thunders of heaven and earth! nothing can be compared to the
expression of their rage against you, when you not only wrenched me from their
cruel hands, but you were making the walls of the court-house tremble under the
awful and superhumanly eloquent denunciation of their infamy, diabolical
malice, and total want of Christian and human principle, in the plot they had
formed for my destruction. What troubles my soul just now and draws my tears,
is that it seems to me that I have read your sentence of death in their
fiendish eyes. How many other noble victims have already fallen at their feet!
He tried to divert my mind, at first, with a joke, "Sign this," said
he, "it will be my warrant of death."
But after I had signed, he became more solemn, and said, "I know that
Jesuits never forget nor forsake. But man must not care how and where he dies,
provided he dies at the post of honour and duty," and he left me.
Here is the sworn declaration of Miss Philomene Moffat, now Mrs. Philomene
Schwartz.
"State of Illinois, Cook County, ss.
"Philomene Schwartz, being first duly sworn, deposes and says: That she is
of the age of forty-three years, and resides at 484, Milwaukee Avenue, Chicago;
that her maiden name was Philomene Moffat; that she knew Father Lebel, the
Roman Catholic priest of the French Catholics of Chicago during his lifetime,
and knows Rev. Father Chiniquy; that about the month of May, A.D. 1854, in
company with Miss Eugenia Bossey, the housekeeper of her uncle, the Rev. Mr.
Lebel, who was then living at the parsonage on Clark Street, Chicago, while we
were sitting in the room of Miss Bossey, the Rev. Mr. Lebel was talking with
his sister, Mrs. Bossey, in the adjoining room, not suspecting that we were
there hearing his conversation, through the door, which was partly opened;
though we could neither see him nor his sister, we heard every word of what
they said together, the substance of which is as follows Rev. Mr. Lebel said in
substance, to Mr. Bossey, his sister: "'You know that Mr. Chiniquy is a
dangerous man, and he is my enemy, having already persuaded several of my
congregation to settle in his colony. You must help me to put him down, by
accusing him of having tried to do a criminal action with you.'
"Madame Bossey answered: 'I cannot say such a thing against Mr. Chiniquy,
when I know it is absolutely false.'
"Rev. Mr. Lebel replied: 'If you refuse to comply with my request, I will
not give you the one hundred and sixty acres of land I intended to give you;
you will live and die poor.'
"Madame Bossey answered: 'I prefer never to have that land, and I like
better to live and die poor, than to perjure myself to please you.'
"The Rev. Mr Lebel, several times, urged his sister, Mrs. Bossey, to
comply with his desires, but she refused. At last, weeping and crying, she
said: 'I prefer never to have an inch of land than to damn my soul for swearing
to a falsehood.'
"The Rev. Mr. Lebel then said:
"'Mr. Chiniquy will destroy our holy religion and our people if we do not
destroy him. If you think the swearing I ask you to do is a sin, you will come
to confess to me, and I will pardon it in the absolution I will give you.'
"'Have you the power to forgive a false oath?' replied Mrs. Bossey to her
brother, the priest.
"'Yes,' he answered, 'I have that power; for Christ has said to all His
priests, "What you shall bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and what
you shall loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven."'
Mrs. Bossey then said: 'If you promise that you will forgive that false oath,
and if you give me the one hundred and sixty acres of land you promised, I will
do what you want.'
"The Rev. Mr. Lebel then said: 'All right!' I could not hear any more of
that conversation, for in that instant Miss Eugenia Bossey, who had kept still
and silent with us, made some noise and shut the door.
"Affiant further states: That, some time later, I went to confess to Rev.
Mr. Lebel, and I told him that I had lost confidence in him. He asked me why? I
answered: 'I lost my confidence in you since I heard your conversation with
your sister, when you tried to persuade her to perjure herself in order to
destroy Father Chiniquy.
"Affiant further says: That in the month of October, A.D. 1856, the Rev.
Mr. Chiniquy had to defend himself, before the civil and criminal court of
Urbana, Illinois, in an action brought against him by Peter Spink; some one
wrote from Urbana to a paper of Chicago, that Father Chiniquy was probably to
be condemned. The paper which published that letter was much read by the Roman
Catholics, who were glad to hear that that priest was to be punished. Among
those who read that paper was Narcisse Terrien. He had lately been married to
Miss Sara Chaussey, who told him that Father Chiniquy was innocent; that she
was present with me when Rev. Lebel prepared the plot with his sister, Mrs. Bossey,
had promised her a large piece of land if she would swear falsely against
Father Chiniquy. Mr. Narcisse Terrien wanted to go with his wife to the help of
Father Chiniquy, but she was unwell and could not go. He came to ask me if I
remembered well the conversation of Rev. Mr. Lebel, and if I would consent to
go to Urbana to expose the whole plot before the court, and I consented.
"We started that same evening for Urbana, where we arrived late at night.
I immediately met Mr. Abraham Lincoln, one of the lawyers of Father Chiniquy,
and told him all that I knew about the plot.
"That very same night the Rev. Mr. Lebel, having seen my name on the hotel
register, came to me much excited and troubled, and said, 'Philomene, what are
you here for?'
"I answered him: 'I cannot exactly tell you that; but you will probably
know it to-morrow at the court-house?'
"'Oh, wretched girl!' he exclaimed, 'you have come to destroy me.'
"'I do not come to destroy you,' I replied 'for you are already
destroyed!'
"Then drawing from his porte-mnnaie-book a big bundle of bank-notes, which
he said was worth one hundred dollars, he said: 'I will give you all this money
if you will leave by the morning train and go back to Chicago.'
"I answered him; 'Though you would offer me as much gold as this room can
contain, I cannot do what you ask.'
"He then seemed exceedingly distressed, and he disappeared. The next
morning Peter Spink requested the court to allow him to withdraw his
accusations against Father Chiniquy, and stop his prosecutions, having, he
said, found out that he, Father Chiniquy, was innocent of the things brought
against him, and his request was granted. Then the innocence and honesty of
Father Chiniquy was acknowledged by the court after it had been proclaimed by Abraham
Lincoln, who was afterwards elected President of the United States.
"(Signed) Philomene Schwartz.
"I, Stephen R. Moore, a Notary Public in the County of Kankakee, in the
State of Illinois, and duly authorized by law to administer oaths, do hereby certify
that, on this 21st day of October, A.D. 1881, Philomene Schwartz personally
appeared before me, and made oath that the above affidavit by her subscribed is
true, as therein stated. In witness whereto, I have hereunto set my hand and
notarial seal.
"STEPHEN R. MOORE,
"Notary Public."
.