THE SOLEMN RESPONSIBILITIES OF MY NEW POSITION—WE GIVE UP THE NAME OF
ROMAN CATHOLIC TO CALL OURSELVES CHRISTIAN CATHOLICS—DISMAY OF THE
ROMAN CATHOLIC BISHOPS—MY LORD DUGGAN, COADJUTOR OF ST. LOUIS, HURRIED
TO CHICAGO—HE COMES TO ST. ANNE TO PERSUADE THE PEOPLE TO SUBMIT TO
HIS AUTHORITY—HE IS IGNOMINIOUSLY TURNED OUT AND RUNS AWAY IN THE
MIDST OF THE CRIES OF THE PEOPLE.
Where shall I find words to express the sentiments of surprise,
admiration and joy I felt when, after divine service, alone in my humble
study, I considered, in the presence of God, what His mighty hand had
just wrought under my eyes. The people who surrounded the Saviour when
he cried to Lazarus to come forth, were not more amazed at seeing the
dead coming out of his grave than I was when I had seen not one, but
more than a thousand, of my countrymen so suddenly and unexpectedly
coming out from the grave of the degrading slavery in which they were
born and brought up. No, the heart of Moses was not filled with more joy
than mine, when on the shores of the Red Sea, he sang his sublime hymns:
“I will sing unto the Lord: for He hath triumphed gloriously. The horse
and his rider, hath he thrown into the sea. The Lord is my strength and
song, and he is become my salvation. He is my God and I will prepare him
an habitation: My fathers’ God and I will exalt him.”—Ex. 15:1, 2.
My joy was, however, suddenly changed into confusion, when I considered
the unworthiness of the instrument which God had chosen to do that work.
I felt this was only the beginning of the most remarkable religious
reform which had ever occurred on this continent of America, and I was
dismayed at the thought of such a task! I saw, at a glance, that I was
called to guide my people into regions entirely new and unexplored. The
terrible difficulties which Luther, Calvin and Knox had met, at almost
every step, were to meet me! Though giants, they had, at many times,
been brought low and almost discouraged in their new positions. What
would become of me, seeing that I was so deficient in knowledge, wisdom
and experience!
Many times, during the first night, after the deliverance of my people
from the bondage of the Pope, I said to my God in tears:
“Why hast not thou chosen a more worthy instrument of thy mercies
towards my brethren?” I would have shrank before the task, had not God
said to me in his Word: “For ye see your calling, brethren, how that not
many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble are
called; but God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound
the wise. And God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound
the things which are mighty, and base things of the world and things
which are despised, hath God chosen; yea, the things which are not, to
bring to naught the things which are, that no flesh should glory in his
presence.”—1 Cor. 1:26-30.
These words calmed my fears and gave me new courage. Next morning, I
said to myself: “Is it not God alone, who has done the great things of
yesterday? Why should I not rely upon him for the things which remain to
be done?
“I am weak, it is true, but he is strong and mighty. I am unwise, but he
is the God of light and wisdom: I am sinful, but he is the God of
holiness: He wants the world to know that He is the worker.”
It would make the most interesting book, were I to tell all the
marvellous episodes of the new battle my dear countrymen and I had to
fight against Rome, in those stormy but blessed days. Let me ask my
readers to come with me to that Roman Catholic family and see the
surprise and desolation of the wife and children when the father
returned from public service and said: “My dear wife and children, I
have, forever, left the Church of Rome, and hope that you will do the
same. The ignominious chains by which we were tied, as the slaves of the
bishops and of the Pope, are broken. Christ Jesus alone will reign over
us now. His Holy Word alone will rule and guide us. Salvation is a gift.
I have accepted it and am happy in its possession.”
In another house, the husband had not been able to come to church, but
the wife and children had. It was now the wife who announced to her
husband that she had, forever, renounced the usurped authority of the
bishops and the Pope: and that it was her firm resolution to obey no
other master than Christ, and accept no other religion than the one
taught in the Gospel.
At first, this was considered only as a joke; but as soon as it was
realized to be a fact, there were, in many places, confusion, tears,
angry words and bitter discussions. But the God of truth, light and
salvation was there; and as it was His work, the storms were soon
calmed, the tears dried, and peace restored.
A week had scarcely passed, when the Gospel cause had achieved one of
the most glorious victories over its implacable enemy, the Pope. In a
few days, 405 out of 500 families which were around me in St. Anne, had
not only accepted the Gospel of Christ, as their only authority in
religion; but had publicly given up the name of Roman Catholics, to call
themselves Christian Catholics.
A few months later, a Romish priest, legally questioned on the subject,
by the Judge of Kankakee, had to swear that only fifteen families had
remained Roman Catholics in St. Anne.
A most admirable feature of this religious movement, was the strong
determination of those who had never been taught to read, to lose no
time in acquiring the privilege of reading for themselves the Divine
Gospel which had made them free from the bondage of man. Half of the
people had never been taught to read while in Canada; but as their
children were attending the schools we had established in different
parts of the colony, every house, as well as our chapel, on Sabbath
days, was soon turned into a school house, where our school boys and
girls were the teachers, and the fathers and mothers, the pupils. In a
short time, there were but few, except those who refused to leave Rome,
who could not read for themselves the Holy Word of God.
But, however great the victory we had gained over the Pope, it was not
yet complete. It was true that the enemy had received a deadly wound.
The beast, with the seven heads, had its principal one severed. The
usurped authority of the bishops had been destroyed, and the people had
determined to accept none, but the authority of Christ. But many false
notions, drank with the milk of their mothers, had been retained. Many
errors and superstitions still remained in their minds, as a mist after
the rising of the sun, to prevent them from seeing clearly the saving
light of the Gospel.
It was my duty to destroy those superstitions, and root out these
noxious weeds. But, I knew the formidable difficulties the reformers of
the 15th century had met, the deplorable divisions which had spread
among them, and the scandals which had so seriously retarded and
compromised the reformation.
I cried to God for wisdom and strength. Never had I understood so
clearly, as I did at that most solemn and difficult epoch of my life,
the truth that prayer is to the troubled mind what oil is to the raging
waves of the sea.
My people and I, as are all Roman Catholics, were much given to the
worship of images and statues. There were fourteen beautiful pictures
hung on the walls of our chapel called: “The Way of the Cross,” on which
the circumstances of the passion of Jesus Christ were represented, each
surmounted with a cross. One of our favorite devotional exercises, was
to kneel, three or four times a week, before them, prostrate ourselves
and say, with a loud voice: “Oh! holy cross we adore thee.”
We used to address our most fervent prayers to them, as if they could
hear us, asking them to change our hearts and purify our souls! Our
blind devotions were so sincere that we used to bow our heads to the
ground before them. I may say the same of a beautiful statue, or rather
idol, of the Virgin Mary, represented as a child learning to read at the
feet of her mother, St. Anne.
The group was a masterpiece of art, sent to me by some rich friends from
Montreal, not long after I had left that city to form the colony of St.
Anne, in 1852. We had frequently addressed our most fervent prayers to
those statues, but after the blessed pentecost on which we had broken
the yoke of the Pope, I never entered my church without blushing at the
sight of those idols on the altar.
I would have given much to have the pictures, crosses and images
removed, but dare not lay hands suddenly on them. I was afraid, lest I
should do harm to some of my people who, it seemed to me, were yet too
weak in their religious views to bear it. I was just then reading how
Knox and Calvin had made bonfires of all those relics of old Paganism,
and I wished I could do the same; but I felt like Jacob, who could not
follow the rapid march of his brother, Esau, towards the land of Seir.
“The children were tender and the flocks and herds were young. If men
had overdriven them one day, all the flocks would have died.”—Gen.
33:13.
Our merciful God saw the perplexity in which I was, and taught me how to
get rid of those idols without harming the weak.
One Sabbath, on which I preached on the 2nd Commandment: “Thou shalt not
make unto thyself any graven image,” etc., I remained in the chapel to
pray after the people had left. I looked up to the group of statues on
the altar, and said to them: “My good ladies, you must come down from
that high position. God Almighty alone is worshipped here now; if you
could walk out of this place, I would politely invite you to do it. But
you are nothing but mute, deaf, blind and motionless idols. You have
eyes, but you cannot see; ears, but you cannot hear; feet, but you
cannot walk. What will I do with you now? Your reign has come to an
end.”
It suddenly came to my mind that when I had put these statues on their
high pedestal, I had tied them with a very slender, but strong silk
cord, to prevent them from falling. I said to myself: “If I were to cut
that string, the idols would surely fall, the first day the people would
shake the floor when entering or going out.” Their fall and destruction
would then scandalize no one. I took my knife and scaled the altar, cut
the string, and said: “Now, my good ladies, take care of yourself,
especially when the chapel is shaken by the wind, or the coming in of
the people.”
I never witnessed a more hearty laugh than, at the beginning of the
religious services, on the next Sabbath. The chapel, being shaken by the
action of the whole people who fell on their knees to pray, the two
idols, deprived of their silk support, after a couple of jerks which, in
former days, we might have taken for a friendly greeting, fell down with
a loud crash, and broke into fragments. Old and young, strong and weak,
and even babes in the faith, after laughing to their heart’s content, at
the sad end of their idols, said to each other: “How foolish and blind
were we, to put our trust in and pray to these idols, that they might
protect us when they cannot take care of themselves!”
The last vestige of idol worship among our dear converts, disappeared
for ever with the dust and broken fragments of these poor helpless
statues. The very next day, the people themselves took away all the
images before which they had so often abjectly prostrated themselves,
and destroyed them.
From the beginning of this movement, it had been my plan to let the
people draw their own conclusions as much as possible from their own
study of the Holy Scriptures. I used to direct their steps, in such a
way that they might understand that I was myself led with them by the
mighty and merciful arm of God, in our new ways.
It was also evident to me that, from the beginning, the great majority,
after searching the Scriptures with prayerful attention, had found out
that Purgatory was a diabolical invention used by the priests of Rome,
to enrich themselves, at the expense of their poor blind slaves. But I
was also convinced that quite a number were not yet altogether free from
that imposture.
I did not know how to attack and destroy that error without wounding and
injuring some of the weak children of the Gospel. After much praying, I
thought that the best way to clear the clouds which were still hovering
around the feeblest intelligences, was to have recourse to the following
device:
The All-Souls Day (1st Nov.) had come, when it was the usage to take up
collections for the sake of having prayers and masses said for the souls
in purgatory. I then said to the people, from the pulpit: “You have been
used from your infancy, to collect money, to-day, in order to have
prayers said for the souls in purgatory. Since we have left the Church
of Rome, for the Church of Christ, we have spent many pleasant hours
together in reading and meditating upon the Gospel. You know that we
have not found in it a single word about purgatory. From the beginning
to the end of that divine book, we have learned that it was only through
the blood of the Lamb, shed on the cross, that our guilty souls could be
purified from their sins. I know, however, that a few of you have
retained something of the views taught to you, when in the Church of
Rome, concerning purgatory. I do not want to trouble them by useless
discussions on the subject, or by refusing the money they want to give
for the souls of their dear departed parents and friends. The only thing
I want to do is this: You used to have a small box passed to you to
receive that money. To-day, instead of one box, two boxes will be
passed, one white, the other black. Those who, like myself, do not
believe in purgatory, will put their donations in the white box, and the
money will be given to the poor widows and orphans of the parish, to
help them to get food and clothing for next winter. Those of you who
still believe in purgatory, will put their money into the black box, for
the benefit of the dead. The only favor I ask of them is, that they
should tell me how to convey their donations to their departed friends.
I tell you frankly that the money you give to the priests, never goes to
the benefit of the souls of purgatory. The priests, everywhere, keep
that money for their own bread and butter.”
My remarks were followed by a general smile. Thirty-five dollars were
put in the white box for the orphans and widows, and not a cent fell
into the box for the souls of purgatory.
From that day, by the great mercy of God, our dear converts were
perfectly rid of the ridiculous and sacrilegious belief in purgatory.
That is the way I have dealt with all the errors and idolatries of Rome.
We had two public meetings every week, when our chapel was as well
filled as on Sabbath. After the religious exercises, every one had the
liberty to question me and argue on the various subjects announced at
the last meeting.
The doctrines of auricular confession, prayers in an unknown language,
the mass, holy water and indulgences were calmly examined, discussed and
thrown overboard, one after the other, in a very short time. The good
done in those public discussions was incalculable. Our dear converts not
only learned the great truths of Christianity, but they learned also how
to defend and preach them to their relations, friends and neighbors.
Many would come from long distances to see for themselves that strange
religious movement which was making so much noise all over the country.
It is needless to say that few of them went back without having received
some rays of the saving light which the Sun of Righteousness was so
abundantly pouring upon me and my dear brethren of St. Anne.
Three months after our exit from the land of bondage, we were not less
than six thousand French Canadians marching towards the promised land.
How can I express the joy of my soul, when, under cover of the darkness
of night, I was silently pacing the streets of our town, I heard, from
almost every house, sounds of reading the Holy Scriptures, or the
melodies of our delightful French hymns! How many times did I then,
uniting my feeble voice with that old prophet, say in the rapture of my
joy: “Bless the Lord, O! my soul: and all that is within me, bless his
holy name.”
But it was necessary that such a great and blessed work should be tried.
Gold cannot be purified without going through the fire.
On the 27th of July, a devoted priest, through my friend, Mr. Dunn, of
Chicago, sent me the following copy of a letter, written by the Roman
Catholic Bishop of Illinois, my lord Duggan, to several of his
co-bishops:
“The schism of the apostate, Chiniquy, is spreading with an incredible
and most irresistible velocity. I am told that he has not less than ten
thousand followers from his countrymen. Though I hope that this number
is an exaggeration, it shows that the evil is great; and that we must
not lose any time in trying to open the eyes of the deluded people he is
leading to perdition. I intend (D. V.) to visit the very citadel of that
deplorable schism, next Tuesday, the 3rd of August. As I speak French
almost as well as English, I will address the deluded people of St. Anne
in their own language. My intention is to unmask Chiniquy, and show what
kind of a man he is. Then I will show the people the folly of believing
that they can read and interpret the Scriptures by their own private
judgment. After which, I will easily show them that out of the Church of
Rome, there is no salvation. Pray to the blessed Virgin Mary, that she
may help me reclaim that poor deceived people.”
Having read that letter to the people on the first Sabbath of August, I
said:
“We know man only after he has been tried. So we know the faith of a
Christian only after it has been through the fire of tribulations. I
thank God that next Tuesday will be the day chosen by Him to show the
world that you are worthy of being in the front rank of the great army
Jesus Christ is gathering to fight his implacable enemy, the Pope, on
this continent.
“Let every one of you come and hear what the bishop has to say. Not only
those who are in good health, must come; but even the sick must be
brought and hear and judge for themselves. If the bishop fulfills his
promise to show you that I am a depraved and wicked man, you must turn
me out. You must give up or burn your Bibles, at his bidding, if he
proves that you have neither the right to read, nor the intelligence to
understand them; and if he shows you that, out of the Church of Rome,
there is no salvation, you must, without an hour’s delay, return to that
church and submit yourselves to the Pope’s bishops. But if he fails (as
he surely will do), you know what you have to do. Next Tuesday will be a
most glorious day for us all. A great and decisive battle will be fought
here, such as this continent has never witnessed, between the great
principles of Christian truth and liberty, and the principles of lies
and tyranny of the Pope. I have only one word more to say: From this
moment to the solemn hour of the conflict, let us humbly, but fervently
ask our great God, through His beloved and eternal Son, to look down
upon us in his mercy, enlighten and strengthen us, that we may be true
to Him, to ourselves and to His Gospel; and then the angels of heaven
will unite with all the elects of God on earth to bless you for the
great and glorious victory you will win.”
Never had the sun shone more brightly on our beautiful hill than on the
3rd of August, 1858. The hearts had never felt so happy, and the faces
had never been so perfectly the mirrors of joyful minds, as on that day,
among the multitudes which began to gather from every corner of the
colony, a little after 12 o’clock, noon.
Seeing that our chapel, though very large, would not be able to contain
half the audience, we had raised a large and solid platform, ten feet
high, in the middle of the public square, in front of the chapel. We
covered it with carpets and put a sofa, with a good number of chairs,
for the bishop, his long suite of priests, and one for myself, and a
large table for the different books of references I wanted to have at
hand, to answer the bishop.
At about 2 o’clock P. M., we perceived his carriage, followed by several
others filled with priests. He was dressed in his white surplices, and
his official “bonnet quarre” on his head, evidently to more surely
command the respect and awe of the multitude.
I had requested the people to keep silence and show him all the respect
and courtesy due a gentleman who was visiting them for the first time.
As soon as his carriage was near the chapel, I gave a signal, and up
went the American flag to the top of a mast put on the sacred edifice.
It was to warn the ambassador of the Pope that he was not treading the
land of the holy inquisition and slavery, but the land of Freedom and
Liberty. The bishop understood it. For, raising his head to see that
splendid flag of stripes and stars, waving to the breeze, he became pale
as death. And his uneasiness did not abate, when the thousands around
him rent the air with the cry: “Hurrah! for the flag of the free and the
brave!” The bishop and his priests thought this was the signal I had
given to slaughter them; for they had been told several times, that I
and my people were so depraved and wicked that their lives were in great
danger among us. Several priests who had not much relish for the crown
of martyrdom, jumped from their carriages and ran away, to the great
amusement of the crowd. Perceiving the marks of the most extreme terror
on the face of the bishop, I ran to tell him that there was not the
least danger, and assured him of the pleasure we had to see him in our
midst.
I offered my hand to help him down from his carriage, but he refused it.
After some minutes of trembling and hesitation, he whispered a few words
in the ear of his grand vicar, Mailloux, who was well known by my
people, and of whom I have already spoken. I knew that it was by his
advice that the bishop was among us, and it was by his instigation that
Bishop Smith had refused the submission we had given him.
Rising slowly, he said with a loud voice: “My dear French Canadian
countrymen: Here is your holy bishop. Kneel down and he will give you
his benediction.”
But to the great disgust of the poor grand vicar, this so well laid plan
for beginning the battle, failed entirely. Not a single one of that
immense multitude cared for the benediction. Nobody knelt.
Thinking that he had not spoken loud enough, he raised his voice to the
highest pitch, and cried:
“My dear fellow countrymen: This is your holy bishop. He comes to visit
you. Kneel down and he will give you his benediction.”
But nobody knelt, and what was worse, a voice from the crowd answered:
“Do you not know, sir, that here, we no longer bend the knee before any
man? It is only before God we kneel.”
The whole people cried: “Amen!” to that noble answer. I could not
restrain a tear of joy from falling down my cheeks, when I saw how this
first effort of the ambassador of the Pope to entrap my people, had
signally failed. But, though I thanked God from the bottom of my heart
for this first success He had given to his soldiers, I knew the battle
was far from being over.
I implored him to abide with us, to be our wisdom and our strength to
the end. I looked at the bishop, and seeing his countenance as
distressed as before, I offered him my hand again, but he refused it the
second time with supreme disdain: However, he accepted the invitation I
gave him to come to the platform.
When half way up the stairs, he turned, and seeing me following him, he
put forth his hand to prevent me from ascending any further, and said:
“I do not want you on this platform. Go down and let my priests alone
accompany me.”
I answered him: “It may be that you do not want me there. But I want to
be at your side, to answer you. Remember that you are not on your own
ground here; but on mine!”
He then, silently and slowly, walked up. When on the platform, I offered
him a good arm chair, which he refused, and sat on one of his own
choice, with his priests around him. I then addressed him as follows:
“My lord, the people and pastor of St. Anne are exceedingly pleased to
see you in their midst. We promise to listen attentively to what you
have to say, on condition that we have the privilege of answering you.”
He answered, angrily: “I do not want you to say a word, here.”
Then, stepping to the front, he began his address in French, with a
trembling voice. But it was a miserable failure from beginning to end.
In vain did he try to prove that out of the Church of Rome, there is no
salvation. He failed still more miserably to prove that the people have
neither the right to read the Scriptures, nor the intelligence to
understand them. He said such ridiculous things on that point, that the
people went into fits of laughter, and some said:
“That is not true. You do not know what you are talking about. The Bible
says the very contrary.”
But I stopped them by reminding them of the promise they had made of not
interrupting him.
A little before closing his address, he turned to me and said:
“You are a wicked, rebel priest against your holy church. Go from here
into a monastery to do penance for your sins. You say that you have
never been excommunicated in a legal way! Well, you will not say that
any longer, for I excommunicate you now before this whole people.”
I interrupted him and said: “You forget that you have no right to
excommunicate a man who has publicly left your church long ago.”
He seemed to realize that he had made a fool of himself in uttering such
a sentence, and stopped speaking, for a moment. Then, recalling his lost
courage, he took a new and impressive manner of speaking. He told the
people how their friends, their relatives, their very dear mothers and
fathers, in Canada, were weeping over their apostacy. He spoke for a
time, with great earnestness, of the desolation of all those who loved
them, at the news of their defection from their holy mother church.
Then, resuming, he said:
“My dear friends: Please tell me what will be your guide in the ways of
God, after you have left the holy church of your fathers, the church of
your country; who will lead you in the ways of God?”
Those words, which had been uttered with great emphasis and earnestness,
were followed by a most complete and solemn silence. Was that silence
the result of a profound impression made on the crowd, or was it the
silence which always precedes the storm? I could not say.
But I must confess that, though I had not lost confidence in God, I was
not without anxiety. Though silent and ardent prayers were going to the
mercy-seat, from my heart, I felt that that poor heart was troubled and
anxious, as it had never been before. I could have easily answered the
bishop and confounded him, in a few words; but I thought that it was
much better to let the answer and rebuke come from the people.
The bishop, hoping that the long and strange silence was a proof that he
had successfully touched the sensitive chords of the hearts, and that he
was to win the day, exclaimed a second time with still more power and
earnestness:
“My dear French Canadian friends: I ask you, in the name of Jesus
Christ, your Saviour and mine, in the name of your desolated mothers,
fathers and friends, who are weeping along the banks of your beautiful
St. Lawrence River. I ask it in the name of your beloved Canada! Answer
me! now that you refuse to obey the holy Church of Rome, who will guide
you in the ways of salvation?”
Another solemn silence followed that impassionate and earnest appeal.
But this silence was not to be long. When I had invited the people to
come and hear the bishop, I requested them to bring their Bibles.
Suddenly, we heard the voice of an old farmer, who, raising his Bible
over his head, with his two hands, said:
“This Bible is all we want to guide us in the ways of God. We do not
want anything but the pure Word of God to teach us what we must do to be
saved. As for you, sir, you had better go away and never come here any
more.”
And more than 5,000 voices said: “Amen!” to that simple and yet sublime
answer. The whole crowd filled the air with cries: “The Bible! the Holy
Bible, the Holy Word of God is our only guide in the ways of eternal
life! Go away, sir, and never come again!”
These words, time and again repeated by the thousands of people who
surrounded the platform, fell upon the poor bishop’s ears as formidable
claps of thunder. They were ringing as his death knell in his ears. The
battle was over, and he had lost it.
Bathed in his tears, suffocated by his sobs, he sat, or to speak more
correctly, he fell into the arm chair, and I feared, at first, lest he
should faint. When I saw that he was recovering, and strong enough to
hear what I had to say, I stepped to the front of the platform. But I
had scarcely said two words, when I felt as if the claws of a tiger were
on my shoulders. I turned and found that it was the clenched fingers of
the bishop, who was shaking me, while he was saying with a furious
voice:
“No! no! not a word from you.”
As I was about to show him that I had a right to refute what he had
said, my eyes fell on a scene which baffles all description. Those only
who have seen the raging waves of the sea, suddenly raised by the
hurricane, can have an idea of it. The people had seen the violent hand
of the bishop raised against me, they had heard his insolent and furious
words forbidding me to say a single word in answer; and a universal cry
of indignation was heard:
“The infamous wretch! Down with him! He wants to enslave us again! he
denies us the right of free speech! he refuses to hear what our pastor
has to reply! Down with him!”
At the same time, a rush was made by many toward the platform, to scale
it, and others were at work to tear it down. That whole multitude,
absolutely blinded by their uncontrollable rage, were as a drunken man
who does not know what he does. I had _read_ that such things had
occurred before, but I hope I shall never see it again. I rushed to the
head of the stairs and, with great difficulty, repulsed those who were
trying to lay their hands on the bishop. In vain, I raised my voice to
calm them, and make them realize the crime they wanted to commit. No
voice could be heard in the midst of such terrible confusion. It was
very providential that we had built the scaffold with strong materials,
so that it could resist the first attempt to break it.
Happily, we had in our midst a very intelligent young man, called
Bechard, who was held in great esteem and respect. His influence, I
venture to say, was irresistible over the people. I called him to the
platform, and requested him, in the name of God, to appease the blind
fury of that multitude. Strange to say, his presence, and a sign from
his hand, acted like magic.
“Let us hear what Bechard has to say,” whispered every one to his
neighbor, and suddenly, the most profound calm succeeded the most awful
noise and confusion I had ever witnessed. In a few appropriate and
eloquent words, that young gentleman, showed the people that, far from
being angry, they ought to be glad at the exhibition of the tyranny and
cowardice of the bishop. Had he not confessed the wickedness of his
address when he refused to hear the answer? Had he not confessed that he
was the vilest and most impudent of tyrants, when he had come into their
very midst to deny them the sacred right of speech and reply? Had he not
proved, before God and man, that they had done well to reject, forever,
the authority of the Bishop of Rome, when he was giving them such an
unanswerable proof that that authority meant the most unbounded tyranny
on his part, and the most degraded and ignominious moral degradation on
the part of his blind slaves.”
Seeing that they were anxious to hear me; I then told them:
“Instead of being angry, you ought to bless God for what you have heard
and seen from the Bishop of Chicago. You have heard: and you are
witnesses that he has not given us a single argument to show that we
were wrong, when we give up the words of the Pope to follow the Words of
Christ. Was he not right when he told you that there was no need, on my
part, to answer him! Do you not agree that there was nothing to answer,
nothing to refute in his long address! Has not our merciful God brought
that bishop into your midst, to-day, to show you the truthfulness of
what I have so often told you, that there was nothing manly, nothing
honest, or true in him? Have you heard from his lips a single word which
could have come from the lips of Christ? A word which could have come
from that great God who so loved the world that he sent his eternal Son
to save it, on the simple condition that we should repent, love and
trust in Him. Was there a single sentence in all you have heard which
would remind you that salvation through Christ was a gift? that eternal
life was a free gift offered to all those who accepted him as their true
and only Saviour? Have you heard anything from him to make you regret
that you are no longer his obedient and abject slaves?”
“No! no!” they replied.
“Then, instead of being angry with that man, you ought to thank him and
let him go in peace,” I added.
“Yes! yes!” replied the people, “but on condition that he shall never
come again.”
Then Mons. Bechard stepped to the front, raised his hat, and cried with
his powerful, melodious voice:
“People of St. Anne! you have just gained the most glorious victory
which has ever been won by a people against their tyrants. Hurrah for
St. Anne, the grave of the tyranny of the Bishops of Rome in America!”
That whole multitude, filled with joy, rent the air with the cry:
“Hurrah for St. Anne, the grave of the tyranny of the Bishops of Rome in
America!”
I then turned towards the poor bishop and his priests, whose distress
and fear were beyond description, and told them:
“You see that the people forgive you the indignity of your conduct, by
not allowing me to answer you; but I counsel you not to repeat that
insult here. Please take the advice they gave you; go away as quickly as
possible. I will go with you to your carriage, through the crowd, and I
pledge myself that you will be safe, provided you do not insult them
again.”
Opening their ranks, the crowd made a passage, through which I led the
bishop and his long suite of priests, to their carriages.
This was done in a most profound silence. Only a few women whispering to
the prelate, as he was hurrying by:
“Away with you, and never come here again. Henceforward we follow
nothing but Christ.”
Crushed by waves of humiliation, such as no bishop had ever met with on
this continent, the weight of the ignominy which he had reaped in our
midst completely overpowered his mind, and ruined him. He left us to
wander every day nearer the regions of lunacy. That bishop, whose
beginning had been so brilliant, after his shameful defeat at St. Anne,
on the 3rd of August, 1858, was soon to end his broken career in the
lunatic asylum at St. Louis, where he is still confined to-day.