Fifty Years in the Church of Rome

by Charles Paschal Telesphore Chiniquy

Bishop of Chicago.

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 thought 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?”