On the 20th of May, 1852, I received the following letter from Bishop
Vandeveld:
REV. MR. CHINIQUY.
MY DEAR MR. CHINIQUY:—The Rev. Mr. 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 $500 which the girl asked, in
order to prevent Mr Courjeault from being dragged before the civil
tribunal and sent to jail.
The malice of that priest against you has received its just reward. But
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 emigration towards this country, to secure it to our holy
church, he was in favor 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 1: 6).
1 agree with what you wrote me 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 emigrants. But there
is no help; the only thing I can promise, is to relieve you as soon as
possible. I have no 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
labors 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 labors
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 23d 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
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 rumor
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 $400 among the
people of Bourbonnais, to which I added $300 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 frame-work was all made of the
splendid black oak of Bourbonnais, polished and varnished by most
skillful men, and it 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 at night when, with my fellow-laborers,
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 any 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 songs 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, the 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 half-paralyzed 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
delay, a stone church. In less than one hour, $4,000 in money, and more
than $5,000 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 that 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 the 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:
“My 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 can not remain any longer Bishop of
Illinois! No! I cannot any longer assume 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 for 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 to 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 to-day, 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 months. The whole of which he had drank during the night!
I had been told that Bishop Vandeveld (as well as the greater number of
the Bishops of the United States) was a drunkard, 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 odor 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 honored 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 forever 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 the 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 earnestly
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 view 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 $100,000 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 $100,000, 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 struck 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
emigrants, 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 day 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 to-day;” 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 to 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 known 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
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 I then 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 to 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 offence 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 $5,000 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, though 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 a foot in my house again.
But what was my surprise and sadness, not long before these 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
neighboring 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 neighbors, 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
speculations. He said to the bishop, “if you pay the expenses 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 speculator 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 his 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, to-day, will deal with
these two priests, as if they were worthy of the honorable 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
dining-room.”
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 to ask
for a bottle of the 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 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 for 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 labor, 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 can not 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 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.