Our adorable Saviour said: “What king, going to make war against another king sitteth not down first, and consulteth whether he be able, with ten thousand, to meet him that cometh against him with twenty thousand?” (Luke 14: 31.) To follow that advice, how often had I fallen on my knees before my God, to implore the necessary strength and wisdom to meet that terrible enemy which was marching against me and my brethren! Many times I was so discouraged by the sense of personal incapacity, that I came near fainting and flying away at the sight of the power and resources of the foe! But the dear Saviour’s voice has as many times strengthened me, saying: “Fear not, I am with thee!” He seemed, at every hour, to whisper in my ears: “Cheer up, I have overcome the world!” Trusting, then, in my God, alone, for victory, I nevertheless understood that my duty was to arm myself with the weapons which the learned and the wise men of the past ages had prepared. I again studied the best works written on the subject of wine, from the learned naturalist, Pleny, to the celebrated Sir Astley Cooper. I not only compiled a multitude of scientific notes, arguments and facts from these books, but prepared a “Manual of Temperance,” which obtained so great a success for such a small country as Canada, that it went through four editions of twenty-five thousand copies in less than four years. But my best source of information and wisdom was from letters received from Father Mathew, and my personal interviews with him, when he visited the United States.

The first time I met him, in Boston, he told me how he regretted his having, at first, too much relied on the excitement and enthusiasm of the multitudes. “Those fits,” he said, “pass away as quickly as the clouds of the storm; and they, too often, leave no more traces of their passage. Persevere in the resolution you have taken in the beginning, never to give the pledge, except when you give a complete course of lectures on the damning effects of intoxicating drinks. How can we expect that the people will forever give up beverages which they honestly, though ignorantly, believe to be beneficial and necessary to their body? The first thing we do we must demonstrate to them that these alcoholic drinks are absolutely destructive of their temporal as well as of their eternal life. So long as the priest and the people believe, as they do to-day, that rum, brandy, wine, beer and cider give strength to help man to keep up his health in the midst of his hard labors; that they warm his blood in winter and cool it in the summer; all our efforts, and even our successes, will be like the burning bundle of straw, which makes a bright light, attracts the attention for a moment, and leaves nothing but smoke and cinders.

“Hundreds of times, I have seen my Irish countrymen honestly taking the pledge for life; but before a week had elapsed, they had obtained a release from their priest, under the impression that they were unable to earn their own living and support their families, without drinking those detestable drugs. Very few priests in Ireland have taken the pledge, and still fewer have kept it. In New York, only two Irish priests have given up their intoxicating glass, and the very next week I met both of them drunk! Archbishop Hughes turned my humble efforts into ridicule, before his priests, in my own presence, and drank a glass of brandy to my health with them at his own table, to mock me. And here in Boston the drinking habits of the Bishop and his priest are such, that I have been forced, through self-respect, to quietly withdraw from his palace and come to this hotel. This bad conduct paralyzes and kills me.”

In saying these last words, that good and noble man burst into a fit of convulsive sobs and tears; his breast was heaving under his vain efforts to suppress his sighs. He concealed his face in his hands, and for nearly ten minutes he could not utter a word.

The spectacle of the desolation of a man whom God had raised so high, and so much blessed, and the tears of one who had himself dried up so many tears, and brought so much joy, peace and comfort, to so many desolate homes, has been one of the most solemn lessons my God ever gave me. I then learned more clearly than ever, that all the glory of the world is Vanity, and that one of the greatest acts of folly is to rely, for happiness, on the praises of men, and the success of our own labors. For who had received more merited praises, and who had seen his own labors more blessed by God and man, than Father Mathew, whom all ages will call “The Apostle of Temperance of Ireland?”

My gratitude to Mr. Brassard caused me to choose his parish, near Montreal, for the first grand battle-field of the impending struggle against the enemy of my God and my country; and the first week of Advent determined upon for the opening of the campaign. But the nearer the day chosen to draw the sword against the modern Goliath the more I felt the solemnity of my position, and the more I needed the help of Him on whom alone we can trust for light and strength.

I had determined never to lecture on temperance in any place, without having previously inquired, from the most reliable sources, about:

1st. The number of deaths and accidents caused by drunkenness the last fifteen or twenty years.

2d. The number of orphans and widows made by drunkenness.

3d. The number of rich families ruined, and the number of poor families made poorer by the same cause.

4th. The approximate sum of money expended by the people during the last twenty years.

As the result of my inquiries, I learned that during that short period, that 32 men had lost their lives when drunk; and through their drunkenness 25 widows and 37 orphans had been left in the lowest degree of poverty; 72 rich families had been entirely ruined and turned out of their once happy homes by the demon of intemperance, and 90 kept poor. More than three hundred thousand dollars ($300,000) had been paid in cash, without counting the loss of time, for the intoxicating beverages drank by the people of Longueuil during the last twenty years.

For three days, I spoke twice a day to crowded houses. My first text was: “Look not upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth its color in the cup: when it moveth itself aright. At last, it biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder” (Prov. 33: 31-32).

The first day I showed how alcoholic beverages were biting like a serpent and stinging like an adder, by destroying the lungs, the brains, and the liver; the nerves and the muscles; the blood and the very life of man.

The second day I proved that intoxicating drinks were the most implacable and cruel enemies of the fathers, the mothers, the children; of the young and the old; of the rich and the poor; of the farmers, the merchants and the mechanics; the parish and the country.

The third day I proved, clearly, that those intoxicating liquors were the enemy of intelligence, and the soul of man; the gospel of Christ and of His holy church; the enemy of all the rights of man and the laws of God.

My conclusion was, that we were all bound to raise our hands against that gigantic and implacable foe, whose arm was raised against every one of us. I presented the thrilling tableau of our friends, near and dear relations, and neighbors, fallen and destroyed around us; the thousands of orphans and widows, whose fathers and husbands had been slaughtered by strong drink. I brought before their minds the true picture of the starving children, the destitute widows and mothers, whose life had to be spent in tears, ignominy, desolation and unspeakable miseries, from the daily use of strong drink. I was not half through my address when tears flowed from every eye. The cries and sobs so much drowned my voice, that I had several times to stop speaking for a few minutes.

Then holding the crucifix, blessed and given to me by the Pope, I showed what Christ had suffered on the cross for sins engendered by the use of intoxicating drinks. And I requested them to listen to the voices of the thousands of desolate orphans, widows, wives, and mothers, coming from every corner of the land; the voices of their priests and their church; the voices of the angels, the Virgin Mary and the saints in heaven; the voice of Jesus Christ their Saviour, calling them to put an end to the deluge of evils and unspeakable iniquities caused by the use of those cursed drinks; “for,” said I, “those liquors are cursed by millions of mothers and children, widows and orphans, who owe to them a life of shame, tears, and untold desolation. They are cursed by the Virgin Mary and the angels who are the daily witnesses of the iniquities with which they deluge the world.

“They are cursed by the millions of souls which they have plunged into eternal misery.

“They are cursed by Jesus Christ, from whose hands they have wrenched untold millions of souls, for whom he died on Calvary.”

Every one of those truths, incontrovertible for Roman Catholics, were falling with irresistible power on that multitude of people. The distress and consternation were so profound and universal, that they reacted, at last, on the poor speaker, who several times could not express what he himself felt except with his tears and his sobs.

When I hoped that, by the great mercy of God, all resistances were subdued, the obstacles removed, the intelligences enlightened, the wills conquered, I closed the address, which had lasted more than two hours, by an ardent prayer to God, to grant us the grace to give up forever the use of those cursed poisons, and I requested every one to repeat with me, in their hearts, the solemn pledge of temperance in the following words:

“Adorable and dear Saviour, Jesus Christ, who died on the cross to take away my sins and save my guilty soul, for thy glory, the good of my brethren and of my country, as well as for my own good, I promise, with thy help, never to drink, nor to give to anybody any intoxicating beverages; except when ordered by an honest physician.”

Our merciful God had visibly blessed the work and his unprofitable servant. The success was above our sanguine expectations. Two thousand three hundred citizens of Longueuil enrolled under the banners of temperance. Instead of inviting them to sign any written pledge, I asked them to come to the foot of the altar and kiss the crucifix I was holding, as the public and solemn pledge of their engagement.

The first thing done by the majority of the intelligent farmers of Longueuil, on the return from the church, was to break their decanters and their barrels, and spill the last drop of the accursed drink on the ground.

Seven days later, there were eighty requests in my hands to go and show the ravages of alcoholic liquors to many other parishes.

Boucherville, Chambly, Varennes, St. Hyacinthe, etc., Three Rivers, the great city of Montreal, with all the priests of St. Sulpice, the parishes along the Chambly river, Laprairie, Lachine. In a word, the vast diocese of Montreal, Three Rivers and St. Hyacinthe, one after the other, raised the war cry against the usages of intoxicating drinks, with a unanimity and determination which seemed to be more miraculous than natural.

During the four years, I gave 1,800 public addresses, in 200 parishes, with the same fruits, and enrolled more than 200,000 people under the banners of temperance. Everywhere, the taverns, the distilleries and breweries were shut, and their owners forced to take other trades to make a living; not on account of any stringent law, but by the simple fact that the whole people had ceased drinking their beverages, after having been fully persuaded that they were injurious to their bodies, opposed to their happiness, and ruinous to their souls.

The convictions were so unanimous and strong on that subject, that, in many places, the last evening I spent in their midst, the merchants used to take all their barrels of rum, beer, wine and brandy to the public squares, make a pyramid of them, to which I was invited to set fire. The whole population, attracted by the novelty and sublimity of that spectacle, would then fill the air with their cries and shouts of joy. When the husbands and wives, the parents and children of the redeemed drunkards rent the air with their cries of joy at the destruction of their enemy, and the fire was in full blaze, one of the merchants would give me an ax to stave in the last barrel of rum. After the last drop was emptied, I usually stood on it to address some parting words to the people.

Such a spectacle baffles any description. The brilliant lights of the pine and cedar trees, mixed with all kinds of inflammable materials which every one had been invited to bring, changed the darkest hour of that time into the brightest of days. The flames, fed by the fiery liquids, shot forth their tongues of fire towards Heaven, as if to praise their great God, whose merciful hand had brought the marvellous reformation we were celebrating. The thousand faces, illuminated by the blaze, beamed with joy. The noise of the cracking barrels, mixed with that of a raging fire; the cries and shouts of that multitude, with the singing of the Te Deum, formed a harmony which filled every soul with sentiments of unspeakable happiness. But where shall I find words to express my feelings, when I had finished speaking! The mothers and wives to whom our blessed temperance had given back a loving husband and some dear children, were crowding around me with their families and redeemed ones, to thank me, press my hands to their lips, and water them with their grateful tears.

The only thing which marred that joy were the exaggerated honors and unmerited praises with which I was really overwhelmed.

I was, at first, forced to receive an ovation from the curates and people of Longueuil, and the surrounding parishes, when they presented to me my portrait, painted by the artist Hamel, which filled me with confusion, for I felt so keenly that I did not deserve such honors! But it was still worse at the end of May, 1849. Judge Mondelet was deputed by the bishop and the priests and the city of Montreal, accompanied by 15,000 people, to present me with a gold medal, and a gift of $400.

But the greatest surprise my God had in store for me, was kept for the end of June, 1850. At that time, I was deputed by 40,000 teetotalers, to present a petition to the Parliament of Toronto, in order to make the rumsellers responsible for the ravages caused to the families of the poor drunkards to whom they had sold their poisonous drugs. The House of Commons having kindly appointed a committee of ten members to help me to frame that bill, it was an easy matter to have it pass through the three branches. I was present when they discussed and accepted that bill. Napoleon was not more happy when he won the battle of Austerlitz, than I was when I heard that my pet bill had become a law, and that hereafter, the innocent victims of the drunken father or husband would receive an indemnity from the landsharks who were fattening on their poverty and unspeakable miseries.

But what was my surprise and consternation, when, immediately after the passing of that bill, the Hon. Dewitt rose and proposed that a public expression of gratitude should be given me by Parliament, under the form of a large pecuniary gift!

His speech seemed to me filled with such exaggerated eulogiums, that I would have been tempted to think it was mockery, had I not known that the Protestant gentleman was one of my most sincere friends. He was followed by the Honorables Baldwin and Lafontaine, Prime Minister at the time, and half a dozen other members, who went still further into what I so justly consider the regions of exaggeration.

It seemed to me bordering on blasphemy to attribute to Chiniquy, a reformation which was so clearly the work of my merciful God.

The speeches on that subject lasted two hours, and were followed by a unanimous vote to present me with £500, as a public testimony of the gratitude of the people for my labors in the temperance reform of Canada. Previous to that, the bishops of Quebec and Montreal had given me tokens of their esteem which, though unmerited, had been better appreciated by me.

When in May, 1850, the Archbishop of Quebec, my Lord Turgeon, sent the Rev. Charles Baillargeon, curate of Quebec, to Rome, to become his successor, he advised him to come to Longueuil and get a letter from me, which he might present to the Pope, with a volume of my “Temperance Manual.” I complied with his request, and wrote to the Pope. Some months later, I received the following lines:

Rev. Mr. Chiniquy:

Sir and Dear Friend:—Monday the 12th, was the first opportunity given me to have a private audience with the Sovereign Pontiff. I presented him your book, with your letter, which he received, I will not say with that goodness which is so eminently characteristic of him, but with all special marks of satisfaction and approbation, while charging me to state to you that he accords his apostolic benediction to you and to the holy work of temperance you preach. I consider myself happy to have had to offer on your behalf, to the Vicar of Jesus Christ, a book which, after it had done so much good to my countrymen, had been able to draw from his venerable lips, such solemn words of approbation of the temperance society and of blessings on those who are its apostles; and it is also, from my heart, a very sweet pleasure to transmit them to you.

A short time before I received that letter from Rome, my Lord Bourget, Bishop of Montreal, had officially given me the title of “Apostle of Temperance;” in the following documents, which, on account of their importance, the readers will probably like to have its original Latin:

“IGNATIUS BOURGET, Miseratione Divina et StÆ. Sedis ApostolicÆ Gratia, Episcopus Marianopolitanensis, etc., etc., etc.”

“Universis prÆsentes litteras inspecturis, notum facimus et attestamur Venerabilem Carolum Chiniquy, TemperantiÆ Apostolum, NostrÆ Diocoecis Sacerdotem, Nobis optime notum esse, exploratumque habere illum vitam laudabilem et professione Ecclesiastica consonam agere, nullisque ecclesiasticis censuris, saltem quÆ ad nostram devenerunt Notitiam innodiatum: qua propter, per viscera MisericordiÆ Dei Nostri, obsecramus omnes et Singulos Archiepiscopos, Episcopos, coeteras que EcclesiÆ dignitates ad quos ipsum declinare contingent, ut eum, pro Christi Amore, benigne tractare dignentur, et quando cumque ab eo fuerint requisiti, Sacrum MissÆ Sacrificium ipsi celebrare, nec non alia munia Ecclesiastica, et pietatis opera exercere permittant, paratos nos ad similia et majora exhibentes: In quorum fidem, prÆsentes litteras signo sigilloque nostris, ac Secretarii Episopatus nostri subscriptione communitas expediri mandavimus Marianopoli, in Œdibus Nostris Beati Jacobi, anno millesimo quinquagesimo. Die vero mensis Junii Sexta.”

“J. O. PARE, Can. Secrius.”

IGNATIUS BOURGET, by the Divine Mercy and Grace of the Holy Apostolic See, Bishop of Montreal.

To all who would inspect the present letters, we make known and certify that the venerable Charles Chiniquy, “Apostle of Temperance,” Priest of our Diocese, is very well known to us, and we regard him as proved, to lead a praiseworthy life, and agreeable to his ecclesiastical profession. Through the tender mercies of our God, he is under no ecclesiastical censures, at least, which have come to our knowledge.

We entreat each and all, Archbishop, Bishop and other dignitaries of the church, to whom it may happen that he may go, that they, for the love of Christ, entertain him kindly and courteously, and as often as they may be asked by him, permit him to celebrate the holy sacrifice of the mass, and exercise other ecclesiastical privileges of piety. Being ourselves ready to grant him these and other greater privileges. In proof of this we have ordered the present letters to be prepared under our sign and seal, and with subscription of our secretary, in our palace of the blessed James, in the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty, on the sixth day of the month of June.

By order of the most illustrious and most Reverend Bishops of Marianopolis, D. D.

No words from my pen can give an idea of the distress and shame I felt when these unmerited praises and public honors began to flow upon me. For, when the siren voice of my natural pride was near to deceive me, there was the noise of a sudden storm in my conscience, crying with a louder voice: “Chiniquy, thou art a sinner, unworthy of such honors.”

This conflict made me very miserable. I said to myself. “Are those great successes due to my merits, my virtues and my eloquence? No! Surely No! They are due to the great mercy of God for my dear country. Will I not forever be put to shame if I consent to these flattering voices which come to me from morning till night, to make me forget that to my God alone, and not to me, must be given the praise and glory of that marvellous reform?”

These praises were coming every day, thicker and thicker, through the thousand trumpets of the press, as well as through the addresses daily presented to me from the places which had been so thoroughly reformed.

Those unmerited honors were bestowed on me by multitudes who came in carriages and on horseback, bearing flags, with bands of music, to receive me on the borders of their parishes, where the last parishes had just brought me with the same kind of ovations.

Sometimes, the roads were lined on both sides, by thousands and thousands of maple, pine or spruce trees, which they had carried from distant forests, in spite of all my protests.

How many times the curates, who were sitting by me in the best carriages, drawn by the most splendid horses, asked me: “Why do you look so sad, when you see all these faces beaming with joy?” I answered, “I am sad, because these unmerited honors these good people do me, seems to be the shortest way the Devil has found to destroy me.”

“But the reform you have brought about is so admirable and so complete—the good which is done to the individuals, as well as to the whole country, is so great and universal, that the people want to show you their gratitude.”

“Do you know, my dear friends,” I answered, “that that marvellous change is too great to be the work of man? Is it not evidently the work of God? To Him, and Him alone, then we ought to give the praise and the glory.”

My constant habit, after these days of ovation, was to pass a part of the night in prayer to God, to the Virgin Mary, and to all the saints in heaven, to prevent me from being hurt by these worldly honors. It was my custom then to read the passion of Jesus Christ, from his triumphant entry into Jerusalem to his death on the cross, in order to prevent this shining dust from adhering to my soul. There was a verse of the gospel, which I used to repeat very often in the midst of those exhibitions of the vanities of this world: “What is a man profited if he should gain the whole world and lose his own soul?” (Matt. 16:26).

Another source of serious anxiety for me, was then coming from the large sums of money constantly flowing from the hands of my too kind and grateful reformed countrymen into mine.

It was very seldom that the public expression of gratitude presented me in their rhetorical addresses were not accompanied by a gift of from $50 to $500, according to the means and importance of the place. Those sums multiplied by the 365 days of the year would have soon made of me one of the richest men of Canada.

Had I been able to trust to my own strength against the hungers of riches, I should have been able, easily, to accumulate a sum of at least $70,000, with which I might have done a great amount of good.

But I confess, that when in the presence of God, I went to the bottom of my heart, to see if it were strong enough to carry such a glittering weight, I found it, by far, too weak. I knew so many who, though evidently stronger than I was, had fallen on the way and perished under too heavy burden of their treasures, that I feared for myself at the sight of such unexpected and immense fortune. Besides, when only 18 years old, my venerable and dear benefactor, the Rev. Mr. Leprohon, director of the College of Nicolet, had told me a thing I never had forgotten: “Chiniquy,” he said, “I am sure you will be what we call a successful man in the world. You will easily make your way among your contemporaries; and, consequently, it is probable that you will have many opportunities of becoming rich. But when the silver and gold flow into your hands, do not pile and keep it. For, if you set your affections on it, you will be miserable in this world and damned in the next. You must not do like the fattened hogs, which give their grease only after their death. Give it while you are living. Then you will not be blessed only by God and man, but you will be blessed by your own conscience. You will live in peace and die in joy.”

These solemn warnings from one of the wisest and best friends God had ever given me when young, has never gone out of my mind. I found them corroborated in every page of that Bible which I loved so much and studied every day. I found them also written, by God, on my heart. I then, on my knees, took the resolution, without making an absolute vow of it, to keep only what I wanted for my daily support and give the rest to the poor, or some Christian or patriotic object. I kept my promise. The £500 given me by parliament did not remain three weeks in my hands. I never put a cent in Canada in the vaults of any bank; and when I left for Illinois, in the fall of 1851, instead of taking with me $70,000, as it would have been very easy, had I been so minded, I had hardly $1,500 in hand, the price of a part of my library, which was too heavy to be carried so far away.