It looked as if some group of either Protestants or Freemasons had organised a conspiracy against me. I shall narrate a few short examples.
One evening, I was amidst the boys teaching school when two men called me to hurry to a man who was dying at the Golden Heart. I went immediately, but I wanted to take some of the bigger boys with me.
There’s no need, they explained, to bother your pupils. We’ll take you to the sick man and bring you back home. Their presence might upset the patient.
Don’t worry, I replied, my pupils will take a little stroll and then wait downstairs while I attend to the sick man.
When we arrived at the house where the Golden Heart was, they told me, Wait here a minute; relax a bit while we go to let the patient know you’re here.
They showed me into a ground-floor room where some good-time Charlies were eating chestnuts after their supper. They welcomed me profusely with praise and applause, and they wanted me to help myself and eat some of their chestnuts. I would not taste them, alleging that I had just finished my supper.
Then at least drink a glass of our wine, they insisted. You’ll like it. It comes from around Asti.
I don’t feel like it. I’m not accustomed to drinking outside of meals. It doesn’t agree with me.
A small glass certainly won’t upset you.
With that they poured wine for everyone. But when they came to mine, they took a bottle and glass that had been put to the side. Then I understood their ruse; never the less I accepted the glass and joined in their toast, but instead of drinking, I tried to put the wine back down on the table.
You can’t do that, one said. That’s offensive.
It’s an insult, another chimed in. You can’t put us off like that.
I don’t feel like, I cannot, and I will not drink.
You’ll drink it for sure! One exclaimed as he grabbed my left shoulder. An accomplice grabbed my right shoulder and added,
We can’t let this insult pass. Drink it by choice or by force.
If you really insist that I drink, I’ll oblige you. But let me go. And since I can’t drink it myself, I’ll get one of my sons to drink it in my place.
With this misleading remark, I moved towards the door, opened it, and invited my young men to come in.
There’s no need for anybody else to drink it, none at all! they cried.
Never mind, then. Let’s go right away to see the sick man. These boys can stay downstairs.
I certainly would never have given that glass to anybody else, but I acted as I did the better to expose their treachery in trying to get me to drink the poisoned wine.
I was then taken to a room on the second floor, where instead of a sick man I discovered lying there the very fellow who had come to the Oratory to fetch me. He put up with some of my questions but then burst out laughing. I’ll go to Confession tomorrow morning, he said.
I left promptly to get back to my own business.
A friend of mine made some enquiries about the people who had summoned me and about their intention. I was assured that a certain individual had treated them to a big meal on the understanding that they should try to get me to drink a little wine that he had prepared.