PUBLIC ACTS OF SIMONY—THEFTS AND BRIGANDAGE OF BISHOP O’REGAN—GENERAL
CRY OF INDIGNATION—I DETERMINE TO RESIST HIM TO HIS FACE—HE EMPLOYS
MR. SPINK AGAIN TO SEND ME TO GAOL, AND HE FAILS—DRAGS ME AS A
PRISONER TO URBANA IN THE SPRING OF 1856 AND FAILS AGAIN—ABRAHAM
LINCOLN DEFENDS ME—MY DEAR BIBLE BECOMES MORE THAN EVER MY LIGHT AND
MY COUNSELOR.
A month had hardly 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 having, 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, 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 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 they came thicker, day after day, I thought my duty was to go to
Chicago, and see for myself, to what extent those rumors 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 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
inferior 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 they had taken a
solemn oath to use it only for burying 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 fulfil 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 that 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 us all Catholics,
by his conduct.
“My lord,” I said, “I will 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, to-day, my lord.”
“Very well, very well,” he replied, “as you have the reputation of
having 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 at the _head_ of my enemies. You take sides
with them against me. You approve of their libellous 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 to-day.”
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 every thing 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 had 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 $50 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 was 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 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 favor.
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 Padcock, 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 have,
surely, 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 into the hand of my foes. But I
was mistaken. That merciful God was near me, in that 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 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 look 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 objections 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 honor 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 honor 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 and help you, Father Chiniquy. Continue to fight
fearlessly for truth and righteousness, against our mitred tyrant; and
God will help you to 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 of
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 had 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 inquiry, 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 where-ever 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 county, who was
obliged by Spink to take me prisoner, and deliver me as a criminal in to
the hands of the sheriff of Champaign county, on the 19th of May, 1856.
It was then that I met 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 the 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 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 & Paddock,
acquainted me with the fact that your bishop employs 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, when I had Abraham
Lincoln for my defence. “The best lawyer and the most honest man of
Illinois,” and the learned and upright David Davis for my judge. The
latter became Vice-President of the United States in 1882, and the
former its most honored 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
Carthevel, 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, while 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 a 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 of men had
I not had my dear Bible, which I was meditating and studying day and
night, in those dark days of trial.
But, though 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 and 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 fearlessly face 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 lion’s 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 soul in its
divine light, I heard my merciful heavenly Father’s voice saying, “Fear
not, for I am with thee.”