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.