It’s quite astounding. He’s taking the political risk of a lifetime. If the electorate buys it, he’s in; if they don’t, he can kiss his political career goodbye.

This is the only card he’s got. He is playing it for all he’s worth. It hasn’t been easy. Dion is no gifted orator, even less of a stump politician, and he still can’t speak English worth two cents after more than 11 years in Ottawa.

But he knows his stuff and believes in what he says, and loves to take audience questions.

Meanwhile, back in Ottawa, Stephen Harper is holed up in his office, silent as a carp, watching and noting every false move Dion makes.

Two weeks ago Dion was in Alberta, in the kingdom of the great petroleum polluters where oil is God and Green is a swear word. He spoke to surprisingly big crowds, 500 people at one stop, and got a fair hearing in the heartland of the tar sands.

Then it was off to the Maritimes where the worry is about winter home heating costs. He was blunt. Conserve energy. But if you’re poor you’ll get some carbon tax money back.

Last Wednesday Dion showed up at a Holiday Inn in Kanata on the western edge of Ottawa. It wasn’t even 8 a.m. and well over 100 people were already there in a second floor hall, prime up with coffee and sugary pastries.

They were curious, not converted, so when he entered the room, all he got was polite applause. He would have to prove himself to this audience.

As usual he began like the professor he is, standing before his class and this time speaking in English.

”Why are we here today?” he asked. He almost added the word “class.”

Silence (Pause)

“We are here for our children,” he said, answering his own question and flashing a big smile, so proud of himself.

The lecture had begun -- professor in the trappings of a politician.

Dion’s talk was good. He didn’t fudge. His message was concise and logical and clear. After all, wasn’t he the Father of the Clarity Act of 1995? Same style, same approach. Should work again, say some Liberals. Others are not so sure. The polls show people are warming up to his message, but not to him.

Dion’s biggest problem on this day, as usual, will be his English. Shakespeare he is not.

He chooses to quote a passage from that morning’s La Presse newspaper. But for some reason he decides to warn them the quotation will be in French.

“For those of you who know how to read French,” he adds with a chuckle. Okay, so they are Anglophones, and yes, most of them are not bilingual. But they are not total idiots.

Elitist joke? Yes, definitely. Arrogant? No. There is a difference. Sometimes though, audiences mistake the one for the other.

Language is not a new problem in Ottawa.

One of the finest foreign affairs ministers we ever had, Lloyd Axworthy, spent 30 years in Ottawa and still had trouble with French.

Brian Mulroney’s immigration minister Benoît Bouchard was far from bilingual. His written speech would have him saying “The government will focus on this” but his French tongue had him saying: “The government will %^#-us on this.”

The champion was John Diefenbaker. Back during the 1957 campaign he was at a rally in the village of Sainte-Perpétue.

Dief wanted to say “J’espère que mes vœux sont appréciés” (a conventional greeting) but the French that came out sounded more like “I hope my calves have been pooping.” The audience laughed.

A farmer shouted in French from the back of the hall: “Mine too.”

The crowd went wild. The Conservatives won the riding.

It became known in political circles as “the miracle of Sainte-Perpétue.”

It would be nice if Dion’s language flubs were as quaint or as charming, not merely puzzling to his audiences, interrupting comprehension of the intelligent things he has to say about greenhouse gases, carbon taxes and his Green Shift.

Language, not content, remains the major stumbling block on this Grand Crusade.

Mr. Cléroux can be reached at richardcleroux@rogers.com