University of Virginia Library

Chapter XLVII.

LETTER FROM THE REV. BISHOP VANDEVELD, OF CHICAGO
VAST PROJECT OF THE BISHOPS OF THE UNITED STATES
TO TAKE POSSESSION OF THE RICH VALLEY OF THE MISSISSIPPI
AND THE PRAIRIES OF THE WEST, TO RULE THAT
GREAT REPUBLIC—THEY WANT TO PUT ME AT THE HEAD
OF THE WORK—MY LECTURES ON TEMPERANCE AT DETROIT—INTEMPERANCE
OF THE BISHOP AND PRIESTS OF
THAT CITY.

ON the 15th of December, 1850, I received the following
letter:

Apostle of Temperance of Canada.

Dear Sir:—When I was in Canada, last fall, I intended to confer with
you on a very important subject. But you were then working in the diocese
of Boston, and my limited time prevented me from going so far to meet
you. You are aware that the lands of the State of Illinois and the whole
valley of the Mississippi are among the richest and most fertile of the
world. In a near future, those regions, which are now a comparative wilderness,
will be the granary, not only of the United States, but of the whole
world; and those who will possess them, will not only possess the very
heart and arteries of this young and already so great republic, but will become
its rulers.

It is our intention, without noise, to take possession of those vast and
magnificent regions of the west in the name and for the benefit of our holy
church. Our plan to attain that object is as sure as easy. There is, every
year, an increasing tide of emigration from the Roman Catholic regions of
Europe and Canada towards the United States. Unfortunately, till now,
our emigrants have blindly scattered themselves among the Protestant
populations, which too often absorb them and destroy their faith.

Why should we not direct their steps to the same spot? Why should
we not, for instance, induce them to come and take possession of these fertile
States of Illinois, Missouri, Iowa, Kansas, etc. They can get those lands
now at a nominal price. If we succeed, as I hope we will, our holy church

will soon count her children here by ten and twenty millions, and through
their numbers, their wealth and unity, they will have such a weight in the
balance of power that they will rule everything.

The Protestants, always divided among themselves, will never form
any strong party without the help of the united vote of our Catholic people;
and that party alone which will ask and get our help by yielding to our
just demands, will rule the country. Then, in reality, though not in appearance,
our holy church will rule the United States, as she is called by
our Saviour Himself to rule the whole world. There is, to-day, a wave of
emigration from Canada towards the United States which, if not stopped or
well directed, is threatening to throw the good French Canadian people into
the mire of Protestantism. Your countrymen, when once mixed with the
numberless sects which try to attract them, are soon shaken in their faith.
Their children sent to Protestant schools, will be unable to defend themselves
against the wily and united efforts made to pervert them.

But put yourself at the head of the emigrants from Canada, France
and Belgium; prevent them from settling any longer among the Protestants,
by inducing them to follow you to Illinois, and with them you will
soon see here a Roman Catholic people, whose number, wealth and influence
will amaze the world. God Almighty has wonderfully blessed your
labors in Canada, in that holy cause of temperance. But now the work is
done, the same Great God presents to your Christian ambition a not less
great and noble work for the rest of your life. Make use of your great
influence over your countrymen to prevent them from scattering any longer
among Protestants, by inducing them to come here, in Illinois. You will
then lay the foundation of a Roman Catholic French people whose piety,
unity, wealth and number will soon renew and revive, on this continent, the
past and fading glories of the Church of France.

We have already, at Bourbonnais, a fine colony of French Canadians.
They long to see and hear you. Come and help me to make that comparatively
small, though thriving people, grow with the emigrants from the
French-speaking countries of Europe and America, till it covers the whole
territory of Illinois with its sturdy sons and pious daughters. I will ask
the pope to make you my coadjutor, and you will soon become my successor,
for I already feel too weak and unhealthy to bear alone the burden
of my too large diocese.

Please consider what I propose to you before God, and answer me.
But be kind enough to consider this overture as strictly confidential between
you and me, till we have brought our plans into execution.

I answered him that the bishops of Boston, Buffalo and
Detroit had already advised me to put myself at the head of the

French Canadian emigration, in order to direct its tide towards
the vast and rich regions of the West. I wrote him that I felt
as he did, that it was the best way to prevent my countrymen
from falling into the snares laid before them by Protestants,
among whom they were scattering themselves. I told him that
I would consider it a great honor and privilege to spend the last
part of my life in extending the power and influence of our holy
church over the United States, and that I would, in June next,
pay my respects to him in Chicago, when on my way towards
the colony of my countrymen at Bourbonnais Grove. I added
that after I should have seen those territories of Illinois and the
Mississippi valley with my own eyes it would be more easy to
give him a definite answer. I ended my letter by saying: "But
I respectfully request your lordship to give up the idea of selecting
me for your coadjutor or successor. I have already twice
refused to become a bishop. That high dignity is too much
above my merits and capacities to be ever accepted by me. I am
happy and proud to fight the battles of our holy church; but let
my superiors allow me to continue to remain in her ranks simply
as a soldier to defend her honor and extend her power. I may,
then, with the help of God, do some good. But I feel and know
that I would spoil everything, if raised to an elevated position,
for which I am not fit."

Without speaking to anybody of the proposition of the
Bishop of Chicago, I was preparing to go and see the new field
where he wanted me to work, when, in the beginning of May,
1851, I received a very pressing invitation from my Lord Lefebre,
Bishop of Detroit, to lecture on temperance to the French
Canadians, who were then forming the majority of the Roman
Catholics of that city.

That bishop had taken the place of Bishop Rese, whose
public scandals and infamies had covered the whole Catholic
church of America with shame. During the last years he had
spent in his diocese, very few weeks had been passed without his
being picked up beastly drunk in the lowest taverns, and even in
the streets of Detroit, and dragged, unconscious to his palace.

After long and vain efforts to reform him, the pope and the

bishops of America had happily succeeded in persuading him to
go to Rome, and pay his respects to the so-called vicar of Jesus
Christ. This was a snare too skilfully laid to be suspected by
the drunken bishop. He had hardly set his feet in Rome when
the inquisitors threw him into one of their dungeons, where he
remained till the republicans set him at liberty, in 1848, after
Pope Pius IX. had fled to Civita Vecchia.

In order to blot out from the face of his church the black
spots with which his predecessor had covered it, my Lord Lefebre
made the greatest display of zeal for the cause of temperance.
As soon as he was inducted, he invited his people to follow
his example and enroll themselves under its banners, in a
very powerful address on the evils caused by the use of intoxicating
drinks. At the end of his eloquent sermon, laying his right
hand on the altar, he made a solemn promise never to drink any
alcoholic liquors.

His telling sermon on temperance, with his solemn and public
promise, were published through nearly all the papers of that
time, and I read it many times to the people with good effect.
When on my way to Illinois, I reached the city of Detroit to
give the course of lectures demanded by the bishop, in the first
week in June. Though the bishop was absent, I immediately
began to preach to an immense audience in the Cathedral. I
had agreed to give five lectures, and it was only during the third
one that Bishop Lefebre arrived. After paying me great compliments
for my zeal and success in the temperance cause, he
took me by the hand to his dining-room and said: "Let us go
and refresh ourselves."

I shall never forget my surprise and dismay, when I perceived
the long dining table covered with bottles of brandy,
wine, beer, etc., prepared for himself and his six or seven priests,
who were already around it, joyfully emptying their glasses.
My first thonght was to express my surprise and indignation
and leave the room in disgust, but by a second and better
thought I waited a little to see more of that unexpected spectacle.
I accepted the seat offered me by the bishop at his right
hand.

"Father Chiniquy," he said, "this is the sweetest claret you
ever drank." And before I could utter a word, he had filled my
large glass with the wine and drank his own to my health.

Looking at the bishop in amazement, I said: "What does
this mean, my lord?"

"It means that I want to drink with you the best claret you
ever tasted."

"Do you take me for a comedian? and have you called me
here to play such a strange comedy?" I replied, with lips trembling
with indignation.

"I did not invite you to play a comedy," he answered. "I
invited you to lecture on temperance to my people, and you have
done it in a most admirable way these last three days. Though
you did not see me, I was present at this evening's address. I
never heard anything so eloquent on that subject as what you
said. But now that you have fulfilled your duty, I must do
mine, which is to treat you as a gentleman and drink that bottle
of wine with you."

"But, my lord, allow me to tell you that I would not deserve
to be called or treated as a gentleman were I vile enough to
drink wine after the address I gave this evening."

"I beg your pardon for differing from you," answered the
bishop. "Those drunken people to whom you spoke so well
against the evils of intemperance are in need of the stringent
and bitter remedies you offer them in your teetotalism. But here
we are sober men and gentlemen, we do not want such remedies.
I never thought that the physicians were absolutely bound to
take the pills they administer to their patients."

"I hope your lordship will not deny me the right you claim
for yourself, to differ with me in this matter. I entirely differ
from you, when you say that men who drink as you do with
your priests, have a right to be called sober men."

"I fear, Mr. Chiniquy, that you forget where you are, and to
whom you speak just now," replied the bishop.

"It may be that I have made a blunder, and that I am guilty
of some grave error in coming here and speaking to you as I am
doing, my lord. In that case, I am ready to ask your pardon.

But before I retract what I have said, please allow me to respectfully
ask you a very simple question."

Then taking from my pocket-book his printed address, and
his public and solemn promise never to drink, neither to offer
any intoxicating drinks to others, I read it aloud, and said:

"Are you the same Bishop of Detroit, called Lefebre, who
has made this solemn promise? If you are not the same man, I
will retract and beg your pardon, but if you are the same, I have
nothing to retract."

My answer fell upon the poor bishop as a thunderbolt.

He lisped some unintelligible and insignificant explanation,
which, however, he ended by a coup d'etat, in saying:

"My dear Mr. Chiniquy, I did not invite you to preach to
the bishop, but only to the people of Detroit."

"You are right, my lord, I was not called to preach to the
bishop, but allow me to tell you that if I had known sooner that
when the Bishop of Detroit, with his priests, solemnly, publicly,
and with their right hand on the altar, promised that they would
never drink any intoxicating drinks, it means that they will drink
and fill themselves with those detestable liquors till their brains
shiver with their poisonous fumes, I would not have troubled you
with my presence or my remarks here. However, allow me to
tell your lordship to be kind enough to find another lecturer for
your temperance meetings; for I am determined to take the
train to-morrow morning for Chicago."

There is no need to say that during that painful conversation
the priests (with only one exception) were as full of indignation
against me as they were full of wine. I left the table and went
to my sleeping apartment, overwhelmed with sadness and shame.

Half an hour later, the bishop was with me, conjuring me to
continue my lectures, on account of the fearful scandals which
would result from my sudden and unexpected exit from Detroit,
when the whole people had the assurance from me that very
night that I would continue to lecture the two following evenings.
I acknowledged that there would be a great scandal, but
I told him that he was the only one responsible for it, by his
want of faith and consistency.

He, at first, tried to persuade me that he was ordered to drink
by his own physicians, for his health; but I showed him that
this was a miserable illusion. He then said that he regretted
what had occurred, and confessed that it would be better if the
priests practiced what they preached to the people. After which,
he asked me, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, to forget
the errors of the bishop and priests of Detroit, in order to think
only of the good which the conversion of the numberless drunkards
of that city would do to the people.

He spoke to me with such earnestness of the souls saved, the
tears dried, the happiness restored to hundreds of families by
temperance, that he touched the most sensitive chords of my
heart, and got from me the promise that I would deliver the
other two expected lectures. He was so glad that he pressed me
on his bosom and gave me, what we call in French, Le baiser
de paix (kiss of peace), to show me his esteem and gratitude.

When alone, I tried to drown in a sound sleep the sad emotions
of that evening; but it was impossible. That night was to
be again a sleepless one to me. The intemperance of that high
dignitary and his priests filled me with an unspeakable horror
and disgust. Many times during the dark hours of that night,
I heard as if it were a voice, saying to me: "Do you not see
that the bishops and priests of your church do not believe a word
of their religion? Their only object is to throw dust in the eyes
of the people, and live a jolly life. Do you not see that you do
not follow the Word of God, but only the vain and lying traditions
of men, in the Church of Rome? Come out of it; break
the heavy yoke which is upon you, and follow the simple, pure
religion of Jesus Christ."

I tried to silence that voice by saying to myself: "These
sins are not the sins of my holy church—they are the sins of
individuals. It was not the fault of Christ if Judas was a thief!
It is not more the fault of my holy church if this bishop and
his priests are drunkards and worldly men. Where will I go if
I leave my church? Will I not find drunkards and infidels
everywhere I may go in search of a better religion?"

The dawn of the next day found me feverish, and unable to

get any rest in my bed. Hoping that the first fresh air of the
morning would do me good, I went to the beautiful garden,
covered with fruit trees of all kinds, which was then around the
Episcopal residence. But what was my surprise to see the
bishop leaning on a tree, with his handkerchief over his face, and
bathed in tears. I approached him with the least noise possible.
I saw that he did not perceive me. By the motion of his head
and shoulders, it became evident to me that he was in anguish of
soul. I said to him: "My dear bishop, what is the matter?
Why do you weep and cry at such an early hour?"

Pressing my hand convulsively in his, he answered:

"Dear Father Chiniquy, you do not yet know the awful
calamity which has befallen me this night."

"What calamity?" I asked.

"Do you not remember," he answered, "that young priest
who was sitting at your right hand, last evening? Well! he
went away, during the night, with the wife of a young man,
whom he had seduced, and stole $4,000 from me before he left."

"I am not at all surprised at that, when I remember how that
priest emptied his glasses of beer and wine last night," I answered.
"When the blood of a man is heated by those fiery liquors,
it is sheer absurdity to think that he will keep his vow of
chastity."

"You are right! You are right! God Almighty has punished
me for breaking the public pledge I had taken never to
drink any intoxicating drinks. We want a reform in our midst,
and we will have it," he answered. "But what horrible scandal!
One of my young priests gone with that young wife, after
stealing $4,000 from me! Great God! Must we not hide our
face now, in this city?"

I could say nothing to alleviate the sorrow of the poor bishop,
but to mingle my tears of shame and sorrow with his, I went
back to my room, where I wept a part of the day, to my heart's
content, on the unspeakable degradation of that priesthood of
which I had been so proud, and about which I had such exalted
views when I entered its ranks, before I had an inside view of
its dark mysteries.

Of course, the next two days that I was the guest of Bishop
Lefebre, not a single drop of intoxicating drink was seen on the
table. But I know that not long after, that representative of the
pope forgot again his solemn vows and continued with his
priests drinking, till he died a most miserable death in 1875.