It seemed to me, though pretty long after that, that my duty was to go and pay my respects to my new bishop, and open to him my heart as to my best friend, and the guide whom God Himself had chosen to heal the wounds of my soul, by pouring the oil and wine of charity into them.
I will never forget the day (the 11th day of December, 1854) when I saw Bishop O’Regan, for the first time, nor the painful impressions I received from that first interview.
He was of medium stature, with a repugnant face, and his head always in motion: all its motions seemed the expression of insolence, contempt, tyranny, and pride; there was absolutely nothing pleasant, either in his words, or in his manners. I fell on my knees to ask his benediction, when I had given him my name and kissed his hand, which seemed as cold as that of a corpse.
“Ah! ah! you are Father Chiniquy,” he said, “I am glad to see you, though you have deferred your visit a long time; please sit down, I want some explanation from you about a certain very strange document, which I have just read to-day;” and he went, at the double quick, to his room to get the document. There were two Irish priests in the room, who came a few minutes before me. When we were alone, one of them said: “We had hoped that we would gain by changing Bishop Vandeveld, for this one. But my fear is that we have only passed from Charybdis to Scylla,” and they laughed outright. But I could not laugh. I was more inclined to weep. After less than ten minutes of absence, the bishop returned, holding in his hand a paper, which I understood, at once, to be the deed of the eleven acres of land, which I had bought, and on which I had built my chapel of St. Anne.
“Do you known this paper?” he asked me in an angry manner.
“Yes, my lord, I know it,” I answered.
“But, then,” he quickly replied, “you must know that that title is a nullity; a fraud, which you ought never to have signed.”
“Your venerable and worthy predecessor has accepted it,” I answered, “and what might have been incorrect has been made valid, I hope, by his acceptation.”
“I do not care a straw about what my predecessor has done,” he abruptly answered, “he is not here to defend himself; neither are we here to discuss his merits or demerits. We have not to deal with my lord Vandeveld, but with a document which is a nullity, a deception, which must be thrown into the fire; you must give me another title of that property!”
And saying this, he flung my deed on the floor. I calmly picked it up, and said: