PREPARATIONS FOR THE LAST CONFLICT—WISE COUNSEL, TEARS AND DISTRESS OF
FATHER MATHEW—LONGUEUIL THE FIRST TO ACCEPT THE GREAT REFORM OF
TEMPERANCE—THE WHOLE DISTRICT OF MONTREAL, ST. HYACINTHE AND THREE
RIVERS CONQUERED—TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND TEETOTALERS—THE CITY OF MONTREAL
WITH THE SUPLICIANS TAKE THE PLEDGE—GOLD MEDAL—OFFICIALLY NAMED
APOSTLE OF TEMPERANCE OF CANADA—GIFT OF £500 FROM PARLIAMENT.
Our adorable Saviour said: “What king, going to make war against another
king sitteth not down first, and consulteth whether he be able, with ten
thousand, to meet him that cometh against him with twenty thousand?”
(Luke 14: 31.) To follow that advice, how often had I fallen on my knees
before my God, to implore the necessary strength and wisdom to meet that
terrible enemy which was marching against me and my brethren! Many times
I was so discouraged by the sense of personal incapacity, that I came
near fainting and flying away at the sight of the power and resources of
the foe! But the dear Saviour’s voice has as many times strengthened me,
saying: “Fear not, I am with thee!” He seemed, at every hour, to whisper
in my ears: “Cheer up, I have overcome the world!” Trusting, then, in my
God, alone, for victory, I nevertheless understood that my duty was to
arm myself with the weapons which the learned and the wise men of the
past ages had prepared. I again studied the best works written on the
subject of wine, from the learned naturalist, Pleny, to the celebrated
Sir Astley Cooper. I not only compiled a multitude of scientific notes,
arguments and facts from these books, but prepared a “Manual of
Temperance,” which obtained so great a success for such a small country
as Canada, that it went through four editions of twenty-five thousand
copies in less than four years. But my best source of information and
wisdom was from letters received from Father Mathew, and my personal
interviews with him, when he visited the United States.
The first time I met him, in Boston, he told me how he regretted his
having, at first, too much relied on the excitement and enthusiasm of
the multitudes. “Those fits,” he said, “pass away as quickly as the
clouds of the storm; and they, too often, leave no more traces of their
passage. Persevere in the resolution you have taken in the beginning,
never to give the pledge, except when you give a complete course of
lectures on the damning effects of intoxicating drinks. How can we
expect that the people will forever give up beverages which they
honestly, though ignorantly, believe to be beneficial and necessary to
their body? The first thing we do we must demonstrate to them that these
alcoholic drinks are absolutely destructive of their temporal as well as
of their eternal life. So long as the priest and the people believe, as
they do to-day, that rum, brandy, wine, beer and cider give strength to
help man to keep up his health in the midst of his hard labors; that
they warm his blood in winter and cool it in the summer; all our
efforts, and even our successes, will be like the burning bundle of
straw, which makes a bright light, attracts the attention for a moment,
and leaves nothing but smoke and cinders.
“Hundreds of times, I have seen my Irish countrymen honestly taking the
pledge for life; but before a week had elapsed, they had obtained a
release from their priest, under the impression that they were unable to
earn their own living and support their families, without drinking those
detestable drugs. Very few priests in Ireland have taken the pledge, and
still fewer have kept it. In New York, only two Irish priests have given
up their intoxicating glass, and the very next week I met both of them
drunk! Archbishop Hughes turned my humble efforts into ridicule, before
his priests, in my own presence, and drank a glass of brandy to my
health with them at his own table, to mock me. And here in Boston the
drinking habits of the Bishop and his priest are such, that I have been
forced, through self-respect, to quietly withdraw from his palace and
come to this hotel. This bad conduct paralyzes and kills me.”
In saying these last words, that good and noble man burst into a fit of
convulsive sobs and tears; his breast was heaving under his vain efforts
to suppress his sighs. He concealed his face in his hands, and for
nearly ten minutes he could not utter a word.
The spectacle of the desolation of a man whom God had raised so high,
and so much blessed, and the tears of one who had himself dried up so
many tears, and brought so much joy, peace and comfort, to so many
desolate homes, has been one of the most solemn lessons my God ever gave
me. I then learned more clearly than ever, that all the glory of the
world is _Vanity_, and that one of the greatest acts of folly is to
rely, for happiness, on the praises of men, and the success of our own
labors. For who had received more merited praises, and who had seen his
own labors more blessed by God and man, than Father Mathew, whom all
ages will call “The Apostle of Temperance of Ireland?”
My gratitude to Mr. Brassard caused me to choose his parish, near
Montreal, for the first grand battle-field of the impending struggle
against the enemy of my God and my country; and the first week of Advent
determined upon for the opening of the campaign. But the nearer the day
chosen to draw the sword against the modern Goliath the more I felt the
solemnity of my position, and the more I needed the help of Him on whom
alone we can trust for light and strength.
I had determined never to lecture on temperance in any place, without
having previously inquired, from the most reliable sources, about:
1st. The number of deaths and accidents caused by drunkenness the last
fifteen or twenty years.
2d. The number of orphans and widows made by drunkenness.
3d. The number of rich families ruined, and the number of poor families
made poorer by the same cause.
4th. The approximate sum of money expended by the people during the last
twenty years.
As the result of my inquiries, I learned that during that short period,
that 32 men had lost their lives when drunk; and through their
drunkenness 25 widows and 37 orphans had been left in the lowest degree
of poverty; 72 rich families had been entirely ruined and turned out of
their once happy homes by the demon of intemperance, and 90 kept poor.
More than three hundred thousand dollars ($300,000) had been paid in
cash, without counting the loss of time, for the intoxicating beverages
drank by the people of Longueuil during the last twenty years.
For three days, I spoke twice a day to crowded houses. My first text
was: “Look not upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth its color in
the cup: when it moveth itself aright. At last, it biteth like a serpent
and stingeth like an adder” (Prov. 33: 31-32).
The first day I showed how alcoholic beverages were biting like a
serpent and stinging like an adder, by destroying the lungs, the brains,
and the liver; the nerves and the muscles; the blood and the very life
of man.
The second day I proved that intoxicating drinks were the most
implacable and cruel enemies of the fathers, the mothers, the children;
of the young and the old; of the rich and the poor; of the farmers, the
merchants and the mechanics; the parish and the country.
The third day I proved, clearly, that those intoxicating liquors were
the enemy of intelligence, and the soul of man; the gospel of Christ and
of His holy church; the enemy of all the rights of man and the laws of
God.
My conclusion was, that we were all bound to raise our hands against
that gigantic and implacable foe, whose arm was raised against every one
of us. I presented the thrilling tableau of our friends, near and dear
relations, and neighbors, fallen and destroyed around us; the thousands
of orphans and widows, whose fathers and husbands had been slaughtered
by strong drink. I brought before their minds the true picture of the
starving children, the destitute widows and mothers, whose life had to
be spent in tears, ignominy, desolation and unspeakable miseries, from
the daily use of strong drink. I was not half through my address when
tears flowed from every eye. The cries and sobs so much drowned my
voice, that I had several times to stop speaking for a few minutes.
Then holding the crucifix, blessed and given to me by the Pope, I showed
what Christ had suffered on the cross for sins engendered by the use of
intoxicating drinks. And I requested them to listen to the voices of the
thousands of desolate orphans, widows, wives, and mothers, coming from
every corner of the land; the voices of their priests and their church;
the voices of the angels, the Virgin Mary and the saints in heaven; the
voice of Jesus Christ their Saviour, calling them to put an end to the
deluge of evils and unspeakable iniquities caused by the use of those
cursed drinks; “for,” said I, “those liquors are cursed by millions of
mothers and children, widows and orphans, who owe to them a life of
shame, tears, and untold desolation. They are cursed by the Virgin Mary
and the angels who are the daily witnesses of the iniquities with which
they deluge the world.
“They are cursed by the millions of souls which they have plunged into
eternal misery.
“They are cursed by Jesus Christ, from whose hands they have wrenched
untold millions of souls, for whom he died on Calvary.”
Every one of those truths, incontrovertible for Roman Catholics, were
falling with irresistible power on that multitude of people. The
distress and consternation were so profound and universal, that they
reacted, at last, on the poor speaker, who several times could not
express what he himself felt except with his tears and his sobs.
When I hoped that, by the great mercy of God, all resistances were
subdued, the obstacles removed, the intelligences enlightened, the wills
conquered, I closed the address, which had lasted more than two hours,
by an ardent prayer to God, to grant us the grace to give up forever the
use of those cursed poisons, and I requested every one to repeat with
me, in their hearts, the solemn pledge of temperance in the following
words:
“Adorable and dear Saviour, Jesus Christ, who died on the cross to take
away my sins and save my guilty soul, for thy glory, the good of my
brethren and of my country, as well as for my own good, I promise, with
thy help, never to drink, nor to give to anybody any intoxicating
beverages; except when ordered by an honest physician.”
Our merciful God had visibly blessed the work and his unprofitable
servant. The success was above our sanguine expectations. Two thousand
three hundred citizens of Longueuil enrolled under the banners of
temperance. Instead of inviting them to sign any written pledge, I asked
them to come to the foot of the altar and kiss the crucifix I was
holding, as the public and solemn pledge of their engagement.
The first thing done by the majority of the intelligent farmers of
Longueuil, on the return from the church, was to break their decanters
and their barrels, and spill the last drop of the accursed drink on the
ground.
Seven days later, there were eighty requests in my hands to go and show
the ravages of alcoholic liquors to many other parishes.
Boucherville, Chambly, Varennes, St. Hyacinthe, etc., Three Rivers, the
great city of Montreal, with all the priests of St. Sulpice, the
parishes along the Chambly river, Laprairie, Lachine. In a word, the
vast diocese of Montreal, Three Rivers and St. Hyacinthe, one after the
other, raised the war cry against the usages of intoxicating drinks,
with a unanimity and determination which seemed to be more miraculous
than natural.
During the four years, I gave 1,800 public addresses, in 200 parishes,
with the same fruits, and enrolled more than 200,000 people under the
banners of temperance. Everywhere, the taverns, the distilleries and
breweries were shut, and their owners forced to take other trades to
make a living; not on account of any stringent law, but by the simple
fact that the whole people had ceased drinking their beverages, after
having been fully persuaded that they were injurious to their bodies,
opposed to their happiness, and ruinous to their souls.
The convictions were so unanimous and strong on that subject, that, in
many places, the last evening I spent in their midst, the merchants used
to take all their barrels of rum, beer, wine and brandy to the public
squares, make a pyramid of them, to which I was invited to set fire. The
whole population, attracted by the novelty and sublimity of that
spectacle, would then fill the air with their cries and shouts of joy.
When the husbands and wives, the parents and children of the redeemed
drunkards rent the air with their cries of joy at the destruction of
their enemy, and the fire was in full blaze, one of the merchants would
give me an ax to stave in the last barrel of rum. After the last drop
was emptied, I usually stood on it to address some parting words to the
people.
Such a spectacle baffles any description. The brilliant lights of the
pine and cedar trees, mixed with all kinds of inflammable materials
which every one had been invited to bring, changed the darkest hour of
that time into the brightest of days. The flames, fed by the fiery
liquids, shot forth their tongues of fire towards Heaven, as if to
praise their great God, whose merciful hand had brought the marvellous
reformation we were celebrating. The thousand faces, illuminated by the
blaze, beamed with joy. The noise of the cracking barrels, mixed with
that of a raging fire; the cries and shouts of that multitude, with the
singing of the Te Deum, formed a harmony which filled every soul with
sentiments of unspeakable happiness. But where shall I find words to
express my feelings, when I had finished speaking! The mothers and wives
to whom our blessed temperance had given back a loving husband and some
dear children, were crowding around me with their families and redeemed
ones, to thank me, press my hands to their lips, and water them with
their grateful tears.
The only thing which marred that joy were the exaggerated honors and
unmerited praises with which I was really overwhelmed.
I was, at first, forced to receive an ovation from the curates and
people of Longueuil, and the surrounding parishes, when they presented
to me my portrait, painted by the artist Hamel, which filled me with
confusion, for I felt so keenly that I did not deserve such honors! But
it was still worse at the end of May, 1849. Judge Mondelet was deputed
by the bishop and the priests and the city of Montreal, accompanied by
15,000 people, to present me with a gold medal, and a gift of $400.
But the greatest surprise my God had in store for me, was kept for the
end of June, 1850. At that time, I was deputed by 40,000 teetotalers, to
present a petition to the Parliament of Toronto, in order to make the
rumsellers responsible for the ravages caused to the families of the
poor drunkards to whom they had sold their poisonous drugs. The House of
Commons having kindly appointed a committee of ten members to help me to
frame that bill, it was an easy matter to have it pass through the three
branches. I was present when they discussed and accepted that bill.
Napoleon was not more happy when he won the battle of Austerlitz, than I
was when I heard that my pet bill had become a law, and that hereafter,
the innocent victims of the drunken father or husband would receive an
indemnity from the landsharks who were fattening on their poverty and
unspeakable miseries.
But what was my surprise and consternation, when, immediately after the
passing of that bill, the Hon. Dewitt rose and proposed that a public
expression of gratitude should be given me by Parliament, under the form
of a large pecuniary gift!
His speech seemed to me filled with such exaggerated eulogiums, that I
would have been tempted to think it was mockery, had I not known that
the Protestant gentleman was one of my most sincere friends. He was
followed by the Honorables Baldwin and Lafontaine, Prime Minister at the
time, and half a dozen other members, who went still further into what I
so justly consider the regions of exaggeration.
It seemed to me bordering on blasphemy to attribute to Chiniquy, a
reformation which was so clearly the work of my merciful God.
The speeches on that subject lasted two hours, and were followed by a
unanimous vote to present me with £500, as a public testimony of the
gratitude of the people for my labors in the temperance reform of
Canada. Previous to that, the bishops of Quebec and Montreal had given
me tokens of their esteem which, though unmerited, had been better
appreciated by me.
When in May, 1850, the Archbishop of Quebec, my Lord Turgeon, sent the
Rev. Charles Baillargeon, curate of Quebec, to Rome, to become his
successor, he advised him to come to Longueuil and get a letter from me,
which he might present to the Pope, with a volume of my “Temperance
Manual.” I complied with his request, and wrote to the Pope. Some months
later, I received the following lines:
ROME, AUG. 10TH, 1850.
REV. MR. CHINIQUY:
SIR AND DEAR FRIEND:—Monday the 12th, was the first opportunity given me
to have a private audience with the Sovereign Pontiff. I presented him
your book, with your letter, which he received, I will not say with that
goodness which is so eminently characteristic of him, but with all
special marks of satisfaction and approbation, while charging me to
state to you that he accords his apostolic benediction to you and to the
holy work of temperance you preach. I consider myself happy to have had
to offer on your behalf, to the Vicar of Jesus Christ, a book which,
after it had done so much good to my countrymen, had been able to draw
from his venerable lips, such solemn words of approbation of the
temperance society and of blessings on those who are its apostles; and
it is also, from my heart, a very sweet pleasure to transmit them to
you.
Your Friend,
CHARLES BAILLARGEON,
_Priest_.
A short time before I received that letter from Rome, my Lord Bourget,
Bishop of Montreal, had officially given me the title of “Apostle of
Temperance;” in the following documents, which, on account of their
importance, the readers will probably like to have its original Latin:
“IGNATIUS BOURGET, MISERATIONE DIVINA ET STÆ. SEDIS APOSTOLICÆ GRATIA,
EPISCOPUS MARIANOPOLITANENSIS, ETC., ETC., ETC.”
“UNIVERSIS præsentes litteras inspecturis, notum facimus et attestamur
Venerabilem Carolum Chiniquy, Temperantiæ Apostolum, Nostræ Diocœcis
Sacerdotem, Nobis optime notum esse, exploratumque habere illum vitam
laudabilem et professione Ecclesiastica consonam agere, nullisque
ecclesiasticis censuris, saltem quæ ad nostram devenerunt Notitiam
innodiatum: qua propter, per viscera Misericordiæ Dei Nostri, obsecramus
omnes et Singulos Archiepiscopos, Episcopos, cœteras que Ecclesiæ
dignitates ad quos ipsum declinare contingent, ut eum, pro Christi
Amore, benigne tractare dignentur, et quando cumque ab eo fuerint
requisiti, Sacrum Missæ Sacrificium ipsi celebrare, nec non alia munia
Ecclesiastica, et pietatis opera exercere permittant, paratos nos ad
similia et majora exhibentes: In quorum fidem, præsentes litteras signo
sigilloque nostris, ac Secretarii Episopatus nostri subscriptione
communitas expediri mandavimus Marianopoli, in [OE]dibus Nostris Beati
Jacobi, anno millesimo quinquagesimo. Die vero mensis Junii Sexta.”
“✠IG. EPUS. MARIANOPOLITANENSIS.”
“J. O. PARE, CAN. SECRIUS.”
TRANSLATION.
IGNATIUS BOURGET, BY THE DIVINE MERCY AND GRACE OF THE HOLY APOSTOLIC
SEE, BISHOP OF MONTREAL.
To all who would inspect the present letters, we make known and certify
that the venerable Charles Chiniquy, “Apostle of Temperance,” Priest of
our Diocese, is very well known to us, and we regard him as proved, to
lead a praiseworthy life, and agreeable to his ecclesiastical
profession. Through the tender mercies of our God, he is under no
ecclesiastical censures, at least, which have come to our knowledge.
We entreat each and all, Archbishop, Bishop and other dignitaries of the
church, to whom it may happen that he may go, that they, for the love of
Christ, entertain him kindly and courteously, and as often as they may
be asked by him, permit him to celebrate the holy sacrifice of the mass,
and exercise other ecclesiastical privileges of piety. Being ourselves
ready to grant him these and other greater privileges. In proof of this
we have ordered the present letters to be prepared under our sign and
seal, and with subscription of our secretary, in our palace of the
blessed James, in the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty, on the
sixth day of the month of June.
✠IGNATIUS. BISHOP OF MARIANOPOLIS.
By order of the most illustrious and most Reverend Bishops of
Marianopolis, D. D.
J. O. PARE, Canon,
Secretary.
No words from my pen can give an idea of the distress and shame I felt
when these unmerited praises and public honors began to flow upon me.
For, when the siren voice of my natural pride was near to deceive me,
there was the noise of a sudden storm in my conscience, crying with a
louder voice: “Chiniquy, thou art a sinner, unworthy of such honors.”
This conflict made me very miserable. I said to myself. “Are those great
successes due to my merits, my virtues and my eloquence? No! Surely No!
They are due to the great mercy of God for my dear country. Will I not
forever be put to shame if I consent to these flattering voices which
come to me from morning till night, to make me forget that to my God
alone, and not to me, must be given the praise and glory of that
marvellous reform?”
These praises were coming every day, thicker and thicker, through the
thousand trumpets of the press, as well as through the addresses daily
presented to me from the places which had been so thoroughly reformed.
Those unmerited honors were bestowed on me by multitudes who came in
carriages and on horseback, bearing flags, with bands of music, to
receive me on the borders of their parishes, where the last parishes had
just brought me with the same kind of ovations.
Sometimes, the roads were lined on both sides, by thousands and
thousands of maple, pine or spruce trees, which they had carried from
distant forests, in spite of all my protests.
How many times the curates, who were sitting by me in the best
carriages, drawn by the most splendid horses, asked me: “Why do you look
so sad, when you see all these faces beaming with joy?” I answered, “I
am sad, because these unmerited honors these good people do me, seems to
be the shortest way the Devil has found to destroy me.”
“But the reform you have brought about is so admirable and so
complete—the good which is done to the individuals, as well as to the
whole country, is so great and universal, that the people want to show
you their gratitude.”
“Do you know, my dear friends,” I answered, “that that marvellous change
is too great to be the work of man? Is it not evidently the work of God?
To Him, and Him alone, then we ought to give the praise and the glory.”
My constant habit, after these days of ovation, was to pass a part of
the night in prayer to God, to the Virgin Mary, and to all the saints in
heaven, to prevent me from being hurt by these worldly honors. It was my
custom then to read the passion of Jesus Christ, from his triumphant
entry into Jerusalem to his death on the cross, in order to prevent this
shining dust from adhering to my soul. There was a verse of the gospel,
which I used to repeat very often in the midst of those exhibitions of
the vanities of this world: “What is a man profited if he should gain
the whole world and lose his own soul?” (Matt. 16:26).
Another source of serious anxiety for me, was then coming from the large
sums of money constantly flowing from the hands of my too kind and
grateful reformed countrymen into mine.
It was very seldom that the public expression of gratitude presented me
in their rhetorical addresses were not accompanied by a gift of from $50
to $500, according to the means and importance of the place. Those sums
multiplied by the 365 days of the year would have soon made of me one of
the richest men of Canada.
Had I been able to trust to my own strength against the hungers of
riches, I should have been able, easily, to accumulate a sum of at least
$70,000, with which I might have done a great amount of good.
But I confess, that when in the presence of God, I went to the bottom of
my heart, to see if it were strong enough to carry such a glittering
weight, I found it, by far, too weak. I knew so many who, though
evidently stronger than I was, had fallen on the way and perished under
too heavy burden of their treasures, that I feared for myself at the
sight of such unexpected and immense fortune. Besides, when only 18
years old, my venerable and dear benefactor, the Rev. Mr. Leprohon,
director of the College of Nicolet, had told me a thing I never had
forgotten: “Chiniquy,” he said, “I am sure you will be what we call a
successful man in the world. You will easily make your way among your
contemporaries; and, consequently, it is probable that you will have
many opportunities of becoming rich. But when the silver and gold flow
into your hands, do not pile and keep it. For, if you set your
affections on it, you will be miserable in this world and damned in the
next. You must not do like the fattened hogs, which give their grease
only after their death. Give it while you are living. Then you will not
be blessed only by God and man, but you will be blessed by your own
conscience. You will live in peace and die in joy.”
These solemn warnings from one of the wisest and best friends God had
ever given me when young, has never gone out of my mind. I found them
corroborated in every page of that Bible which I loved so much and
studied every day. I found them also written, by God, on my heart. I
then, on my knees, took the resolution, without making an absolute vow
of it, to keep only what I wanted for my daily support and give the rest
to the poor, or some Christian or patriotic object. I kept my promise.
The £500 given me by parliament did not remain three weeks in my hands.
I never put a cent in Canada in the vaults of any bank; and when I left
for Illinois, in the fall of 1851, instead of taking with me $70,000, as
it would have been very easy, had I been so minded, I had hardly $1,500
in hand, the price of a part of my library, which was too heavy to be
carried so far away.