Truly yours,
✠ Flav. Turgeon.
One hour after, I was with the two bishops. My Lord Signaie said:
“Monseigneur Turgeon will tell you why we have sent for you in such haste.”
“Mons. Chiniquy,” said Bishop Turgeon, “is not Kamouraska your birthplace?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Do you like that place, and do you interest yourself much in its welfare?”
“Of course, my lord, I like Kamouraska; not only because it is my birthplace, and the most happy years of my youth were spent in it, but also because, in my humble opinion, the beauties of its scenery, the purity of its atmosphere, the fine manners and proverbial intelligence of its people, make it the very gem of Canada.”
“You know,” rejoined the bishop, “that Rev. Mons. Varin has been too infirm, these last years, to superintend the spiritual interest of that important place, it is impossible to continue putting a young vicar at the head of such a parish, where hundreds of the best families of the aristocracy of Quebec and Montreal resort every summer. We have, too long, tried that experiment of young priests in the midst of such a people. It has been a failure. Drunkenness, luxury and immoralities of the most degrading kind are eating up the very life of Kamouraska to-day. Not less than thirty illegitimate births are known and registered in different places from Kamouraska these last twelve months. It is quite time to stop that state of affairs, and you are the only one, Mons. Chiniquy, on whom we can rely for that great and difficult work.”
These words passed through my soul as a two-edged sword. My lips quivered, I felt as if I were choking, and my tongue, with difficulty muttered: “My lord, I hope it is not your intention to remove me from my dear parish of Beauport.”