“Is it possible,” he said, “Mr. Chiniquy, that your hand has written and signed such a perfidious document? How could you so cruelly pierce the bosom of your own country, after her dealing so nobly with you? Do you not see that your treasonable letter will give such an impetus to emigration that our most thriving parishes will soon be turned into solitude? Though you do not say it, we feel at every line of that letter, that you also will leave your country, to give help and comfort to our natural enemies.”
Surprised by this unexpected burst of bad feelings, I kept my sang froid, and answered:
“My lord, your lordship has surely misunderstood me, if you have found in my letter any treasonable plan to ruin our country. Please read it again, and you will see that every line has been inspired by the purest motives of patriotism, and the highest views of religion. How is it possible that the worthy Bishop of Toronto should have told me that the Spirit of God Himself had dictated every line of that letter, when my good bishop’s opinion is so completely opposite?”
The abrupt answer the bishop gave to these remarks, clearly indicated that my absence would be more welcome than my presence. I left him, after asking his blessing, which he gave me in the coldest manner possible.
On the 25th of August, I was back at Longueuil, from my voyage to Quebec, which I had extended as far as Kamouraska, to see again the noble-hearted parishioners, whose unanimity in taking the pledge of temperance, and admirable fidelity in keeping it then, had filled my heart with such joy.
I related my last interview with Bishop Bourget to my faithful friend Mr. Brassard. He answered me:
“The present bad feelings of the Bishop of Montreal against you, are no secret to me. Unfortunately the low-minded men who surround and council him, are as unable as the bishop himself, to understand your exalted views in directing the steps of the Roman Catholics towards the splendid valley of the Mississippi. They are beside themselves, because they see that you will easily succeed in forming a grand colony of French-speaking people in Illinois. Now, I am sure of what I say, though I am not free to tell you how it came to my knowledge; there is a plot somewhere to dishonor and destroy you, at once. Those who are at the head of that plot, hope that if they can succeed in destroying your popularity, nobody will be tempted to follow you to Illinois. For, though you have concealed it as well as you could, it is evident to every one now, that you are the man selected by the bishops of the west to direct the uncertain steps of the poor emigrants towards those rich lands.”
“Do you mean, my dear Mr. Brassard,” I replied, “that there are priests around the Bishop of Montreal, cruel and vile enough to forge calumnies against me, and spread them before the country in such a way that I shall be unable to refute them.”
“It is just what I mean,” answered Mr. Brassard. “Mind what I tell you; the bishop has made use of you to reform his diocese. He likes you for that work. But your popularity is too great, to-day, for your enemies; they want to get rid of you, and no means will be too vile or criminal to accomplish your destruction, if they can attain their object.”
“But, my dear Mr. Brassard, can you give me any details of the plots which are in store against me?” I asked.