Chapter II.

The People.

The actual State of the People.

Their good and bad Qualities.

The People in large Cities.

The People in small Towns.

The People in rural Districts.

How to benefit these Three Classes of People.

One powerful Means is to act upon the People through.

the upper Classes, and upon the latter through the former.

We shall now assume that you love the people. But, besides that,

in order to address them pertinently, you must understand them

well, know their good qualities, their failings, instincts,

passions, prejudices, and their way of looking at things; in a

word, you must know them by heart. To a profound acquaintance

with religion must be joined a profound knowledge of humanity as

it exists at the present day. But, to speak frankly, the people

are not known; not even by the most keen-sighted, not even by our

statesmen. They are only studied superficially, in books, in

romances, in the newspapers, or else they are not studied at all.

{41}

Judgment is mostly formed from appearances. One sees a man mad

with rage, who insults, blasphemes, or who staggers through the

streets, and he says: "There; behold the people!" Another sees

one who risks his own life to save a fellow-creature, or who

finds and restores a purse or a pocket-book to its owner, and he

exclaims exultingly, "Behold the people!" Both are mistaken, for

both substitute an exception for the rule.

In order to understand the people well, we must probe beyond the

surface, and take them as they are when they are most themselves.

They must be studied in the spirit, as it were, and not on the

outside; for they often appear worse than they actually are.

Still less should we arrest our researches, as is frequently

done, at a point where they clash against ourselves. On the other

hand, I feel bound to state that if we do not know the people,

they, in turn, do not know the classes of society above them; and

it is on that account that we do not love each other as we ought.

At first sight, the French people--the lower orders--are a real

mystery: an inconceivable medley of weakness and of courage, of

goodness and ill-will, of delicacy and rudeness, of generosity

and egotism, of seriousness and of frivolity. It may be said that

they possess two natures: one endowed with good sense, which is

generous, feeling, and contrite; the other unreflecting, which

raves and drinks, curses and swears. On one side they are

frivolous, vain, weak, scornful, sceptical, credulous,

headstrong.

{42}

In their frivolity they jeer at every thing; at what is frivolous

and what is serious, at what is profane and what is sacred. Their

weakness under temptation is lamentable: they have no restraint

over themselves. But, above all, their credulity is unbounded.

This is their weak, their bad side; the source of one portion of

our evils.

Alas! what may not this people be led to believe? There is no lie

so great, no absurdity so gross, the half of which they may not

be made to swallow when their passions dictate that any thing may

be gained thereby, or they conceive that their interests are

assailed. At certain seasons of blind infatuation they may be

made to believe any thing; even that which is incredible, even

what is impossible. Unfortunately this is to some extent the case

among the higher classes. The people surrender themselves to the

first comer who has a glib tongue and can lie adroitly.

Their credulity, as already stated, knows no bounds; especially

as respects the rich and the clergy, whom they regard as the

cause of all the ills which befall them. Accidents wholly

independent of human volition are placed to their account. Is

there a dearth? They create the scarcity of corn. Is there

stagnation in trade? They restrain the capitalists. Undoubtedly

they had some hand in the cholera; and it is not quite certain

but that there exists some damnable connivance between them and

the caterpillars and weevils. ... Poor people! yet how they are

deceived! Thereupon their good sense disappears, their heads

reel, reflection abandons them, and then they rise up in anger:

strike, pillage, kill. ... They become terrible.

{43}

But I hasten to say that if there is evil in the French people,

there is also good: much good. They are witty, frank, logical,

generous, amiable, and above all, _they have hearts_. This is

undeniable; and we should never despair of a man who has a heart,

for there is always something in him to fall back upon. When all

else is lost to this people, their heart survives, for it is the

last thing which dies within them.

It has been said that frivolity is the basis of the French

character; but that judgment is incorrect. More truly it should

be said that the French character is frivolous outwardly, but at

the bottom it is generous, combined with exquisite good sense.

Very few are aware how much generosity and sympathy toward all

suffering are hid under the jerkin and smock-frock. The people

possess an inexhaustible store of sentiment, of the spirit of

self-sacrifice and devotedness. Why, then, are they not better

understood? The mischievous, indeed, know them too well; for when

they would mislead or stir them up, they appeal to their sense of

justice, to their love of humanity. They point out to them

grievances which should be redressed, oppressions to be avenged.

{44}

Then are their passions lit up, and they are carried away ... we

need not tell the rest. The motive on their part was almost

always praiseworthy at the outset, in some measure at least; but

once led beyond themselves they hurried headlong into extremes.

The heart, then, is the better side of the French people; their

honorable and glorious side; their genius. Others may claim the

genius of extensive speculations in science and industry; to them

belongs the genius of heart, of love, of sympathy, of charity.

Endowed with so goodly a portion, what have they to complain of;

for is not dominion over mankind achieved thereby? Hence, when

Providence designs to spread an idea throughout the world, it

implants it in a Frenchman's breast. There it is quickly

elaborated; and then that heart so magnanimous and communicative,

so fascinating and attractive, gives it currency with electric

speed.

If noble aspirations spring from the heart, they nowhere find a

more fertile soil; and, strange to say, this excellent gift is

found in all classes, and under all conditions. A man may be

worse than a nonentity in a moral point of view, but he has a

heart still. Would you do him good? aim at that.

But you will say: "Look at those coarse fellows, those besotted

clowns sunk in materialism, those men stained with crime and

degraded by debauchery, where is their heart? They have none." I

say they have a heart still: go direct to the soul, pierce

through that rough and forbidding crust of vices and evil

passions, and you will find a treasure.

{45}

Proof in point is to be met with everywhere; even in the

theatres, where its manifestation has been noticed by observant

spectators. The galleries are generally occupied by persons of

all conditions; mechanics, profligates, vagabonds, loose women,

and even men, who, to use their own indulgent expression, _have

had a weakness_: that is, have spent some years in prison, or at

the treadmill. It is gratifying to witness the conduct of that

mass during the performance of some touching scene or generous

action. They are often moved even to tears--they applaud and

stamp with enthusiasm. On the contrary, when mean or heinous

actions are represented, they can not hoot or execrate enough:

they shake the fist at the scoundrel or traitor, hurl abuse at

him, and not unfrequently more substantial missiles.

It will be said that all this feeling is transitory. So it may

be; still it shows that there remain in such breasts, chords

which may be made to vibrate, hearts not yet dead, good

sentiments which are capable of cultivation.

Such are the French people taken in the mass; such their merits

and defects. The head is not their better part, and they might

almost be described as having a good heart but a bad head.

{46}

In order to lead them, they must be seized where they present the

best hold. To do this effectually requires sound sense and a

kindly heart, moderate reasoning, and very little metaphysics. An

opposite course, however, is too frequently pursued. Crotchets,

fancies, theories, vapid ideas--such is the stuff wherewith

attempts have been made to influence them. Is it surprising that

they have not always yielded to such guidance?

On points of wit, argument, and right, the Frenchman is acute,

punctilious, headstrong. On points of generosity and devotedness

he is tractable, liberal, admirable. Demand any thing from him as

a right, and he will refuse it. Ask the same thing of him,

appealing to his heart, and he will often grant it with the best

possible grace. But, above all, if you wish to restore him to

equanimity and a right mind, get him to perform an act of

charity.

To prove that the heart rarely disappears, and that it always

retains a hold on the mind, I must be permitted to cite an

example combining the good and the bad qualities which are to be

met with in the lower grades of society. I shall frequently refer

to facts; for in morals, as in many other matters, they bring us

sooner to the point aimed at.

{47}

It was in one of the most wretched quarters of Paris that a

priest went to visit a rag-woman who was dangerously ill. She was

lying on straw so damp that it was fit only for the dung-hill.

The visitor had reached the landing-place, and was reflecting how

he might best minister to the poor woman's wants, when he heard

the cry of another female from the end of a dark corridor,

exclaiming: "Help! murder!"

He ran toward the spot, and pushing open a door saw two young

children crying. Extended on the floor lay the unfortunate woman,

while a tall man with a sinister countenance, and clad only in a

pair of pantaloons and a ragged shirt, stood over her, kicking

her. Her face was already black and blue from his violence.

The priest sprang towards the man and said: "Wretch! what are you

about? Will you not desist?" He did desist, but it was to attack

the speaker. He seized him suddenly by the breast, thrust two

fingers under his cassock, and then, without uttering a word,

lifted him as if he had been an infant, and carried him to an

open window. There he angrily told him that he would not have

priests intermeddling with his affairs, and _disturbing the peace

of his household_, and that he intended to pitch him out of the

window forthwith. In fact, he was preparing to put the threat

into execution; but, as if wishing to gloat over his victim, he

continued to glare at him with the eyes of a tiger, holding him

all the while as with an arm of steel.

{48}

The priest was alarmed, but God enabled him not to betray it. He

regarded his antagonist calmly, and said almost with a smile:

"Gently, my friend; you are much too hasty. Do you really mean to

throw me out of the window? Is that the most pressing business on

hand? You who are always talking about fraternity and charity; do

you know what was taking place while you were beating your wife?

Another woman was dying on a dung-heap in your house. I am sure

you would be horrified at such a thing. Now, let us both see what

we can do on her behalf; for you are by no means such a bad

fellow as you wish to appear. I will pay for some clean straw, if

you will go and fetch it." Terror, combined with the desire of

winning over his assailant, made the priest eloquent, and he had

hardly ended his appeal before the lion was tamed. The man's

countenance rapidly changed, and he relaxed his hold at once;

then taking off his shabby cap and placing it under his arm, he

assumed a respectful attitude, like that of a soldier in presence

of a superior officer, and replied:--"If you talk in that style,

sir, the case is different. I have always been humane, and will

readily help you to assist the poor woman. I will, in fact, do

any thing you please; for it won't do to let a fellow-creature

die in that plight." Thereupon the priest gave him the money, and

he went out to purchase two bundles of clean straw.

{49}

In the mean time the women of the neighborhood, attracted by the

altercation, had rushed to the spot, and on seeing the priest

expostulated with him in these terms:--"What are you about? Do

you know where you are? You are in the clutches of the worst man

in the quarter. He is so outrageous that even cut-throats are

afraid of him, and he has often said that nothing would give him

more pleasure than to break a man's neck, especially if that man

were a priest." These remonstrances were by no means encouraging;

but those who urged them little knew the power of charity.

The sturdy fellow soon returned with the bundles on his shoulder.

He was calm, and his countenance had become almost honest. On

entering the room where the poor woman lay, he took half a bundle

of straw and spread it on the floor. The most touching part of

the scene followed. He lifted the sufferer in his arms with the

tenderness of a mother, placed her on the clean straw, then made

her bed, and finally laid her upon it, just as a mother would her

child. A female wished to help him, but he pushed her aside,

remarking that he was well able to do a humane act unassisted.

The man was in tears, and the priest perceiving that he wished to

address him, retired toward the window. But his new acquaintance

could not utter a word; emotion choked him. The priest gave him

his hand, and the stalwart workman squeezed it as in a vice, in

token of his affection.

{50}

"Well done, my friend," said the priest, "well done; I quite

understand you. I knew full well that you were not as bad as you

wanted to make me believe. I knew you were capable of doing a

good action." "You have done it all," was the reply; "four men

could not master me, and yet you have overcome me with as many

words. _You must be a true pastor_."

The priest hastened to turn this favorable opportunity to profit,

by pleading the cause of the wife, and rejoined:--"But, my

friend, you have done something which is not becoming. You have

ill-used your wife; and a man does not marry a woman to beat her.

I have no doubt she has her failings, and you also have yours.

You should bear with one another. Come, promise me that you will

never strike her again." At these words, his face assumed

somewhat of its former sullenness, and dropping the priest's hand

he said frankly:--"I am very sorry that I cannot do as you wish.

I will not promise because I should not keep my word." ... The

priest returned to the charge, and among other remarks which made

some impression on the man, he was quite brought to bay by the

following:--"So you won't promise not to beat your wife? That is

simply because you don't reflect. Surely, you who have just done

an act of kindness to a strange woman, cannot, with any decency,

continue to beat your own wife."

{51}

After much hesitation, he pledged his word, backing it with a

tremendous oath. Since then, he has never been intoxicated,

neither has he once struck his wife. You should have seen with

what gratitude the woman welcomed her preserver on his next

visit. "What a blessing my acquaintance with you has proved,"

said she. "Since your last visit you have saved me from two

_floorers_. My husband does not drink now, but he still goes into

violent passions. He raises his fist, and I fear he is about to

strike me; but he forbears. He calms down at once, and says: 'Tis

well for you that that abbé came, otherwise I would have floored

you again."

Not long after, he was reclaimed to a Christian life; he

confessed and communicated, and it is now rare to find a man of

more exalted sentiments. He refused assistance from every one,

saying that he was able to earn his own livelihood, and to

provide for his family. To do this, he worked all day and part of

the night also. Peace and comfort were restored to his home,

which his wife now likens to a paradise.

To give an instance of his noble disposition, I may mention that

toward the end of last December he called on the priest, to whom

he had become greatly attached, and said to him with his

characteristic frankness:--"I am very sad to-day, Monsieur

l'Abbé."

{52}

"Why, my friend?"

"Because I am poor. In the course of my lifetime I have suffered

misery enough. I have cursed the rich, and that Providence which

gave them their wealth. Nevertheless, I don't believe I ever felt

the wretchedness of being poor as much as I do to-day; although

it is for a different reason."

"What is it, then, my good friend?"

"Well, it is this. Here we are close upon the beginning of a new

year, and I wished to make you a small present--for you have been

very kind to me and I have no money. However, be assured of this,

at least, that you have in me a devoted friend, and that I am

always at your service. Send me wherever you please; I would walk

barefoot and beat a steam-engine to serve you." Then, taking the

priest's hand, he added with unspeakable kindness and

energy:--"Monsieur l'Abbé, should there ever be another

revolution, and any assault be made on the clergy, come and take

refuge with me; come and hide in our quarter, and I vow that many

heads shall be broken before a hair of yours is touched."

Such are the people, taken as they are with the good and the bad

which is in them. I have again selected my illustrations from

among the least favorable specimens, and I may further add that

it rarely happens that a priest meets even with abuse from the

most depraved. The instance above adduced is exceptional, and

arose out of the anger of the moment.

{53}

Such, then, are the people generally; but their characteristics

are modified by circumstances of locality, intercourse, and

education. There are the people of the large cities, those of

small towns, and the people in rural districts. There are also

the people who work, and those who are always looking for work

and never find it; with whom the true people are often

confounded.

The People in large Cities.

The people in large cities possess, in a high degree, all the

merits and defects which we are about to notice.

They are fickle, vain, braggart, improvident, mad after

pleasures, and not very moral.

The ease with which they may be duped is astounding. They are

readily excited, they clamor, are carried away, strike for

nothing whatever, and then they reflect. They live from hand to

mouth. When work is plentiful, they squander; when it is scarce,

they fast and suffer.

They love money for the pleasures which it procures; and in their

estimation a debauch is one of the greatest enjoyments of life.

{54}

This latter tendency they have borrowed from the present age;

which is somewhat sensual, not to say gluttonous--that term would

not be parliamentary--as it would have been called in former

times. Nowadays a good dinner is not a matter of indifference to

others besides men of high standing. A person of exalted rank was

once told that his cook had the talent of adding considerably to

his own wages. "I know it," was the reply; "but I hold that we

cannot pay a man too handsomely for making us happy twice a day."

In fact, in these times, one who can thus serve you out two

rations of happiness _per diem_ is regarded as a treasure.

Despite the vices, however, which exist in large cities, there

are many virtues also to be found among the resident people. They

are sincere, generous, disinterested, amiable, and withal

extremely witty. In the midst of their hardships, or when exposed

to danger, they will often utter sparkling sallies, or laugh

good-naturedly at their miseries. They are not rich; but what

matters that? They are ever ready to help those who are poorer

than themselves. In case of an accident, they will run, work,

expose themselves to save others at the risk of their own lives.

They are ready to sacrifice themselves for whatever they deem

just and right. Unfortunately, in their opinion, the authorities

are always in the wrong, and they are never backward to take part

against the law.

{55}

The more I study the people, the more incomprehensible they

appear to me. They are at once sceptical and religious. Watch

them in a public-house there they curse and swear, and indulge

freely in ribald talk; but if a funeral happens to pass by, they

immediately doff their caps, and make the sign of the cross.

To-day they will thrash one of their comrades unmercifully; the

day after they will adopt an orphan. No class ever had so much

need of guidance; of benevolent sympathizing guidance. They drift

with the wind under the influence of good or evil counsels. They

may become sublime or atrocious, angels of heaven or demons.

The people themselves feel their own weakness and fickleness, and

are occasionally dismayed at it. Some time back, one of them,

while looking at the stains of blood which had been shed in a

church in the month of September, 1792, was seized with a sudden

horror, and, laying hold of the arm of the priest who accompanied

him, exclaimed with a shudder:--"I fear those times may return;

for, you see, we are unfortunate. We are ill-advised, and are as

ready to kill with one hand as we are to embrace with the other."

They require, then, to be under constant guidance They always

need to have some one near who will sustain and keep them in the

right way by appealing to the better dictates of their hearts.

{56}

In one respect, such guidance is easier here than elsewhere. You

tread on ground which is perfectly well-known. These people can

hide nothing. As the saying is, when an idea tickles them, they

must scratch it until it finds utterance. Their frankness is

occasionally foul-mouthed, and they do not hesitate to blurt it

out to your face. Nevertheless, such a style rather pleases me

than otherwise. You know, at least, with whom you have to deal;

and when such an one says that he is attached to you, he is

sincere. God grant that the feeling in every case may be abiding!

They are not tenacious either of their errors, their prejudices,

or their passions. It is true that they are disposed to assume

airs, to repine, and to threaten. They declare that they will do

this and that; but it is by no means difficult to prevent them

from doing it at all. Ridicule their prejudices and their foibles

fairly, and with sound sense, and they will surrender them, and

you will overcome them all. Moreover, they will not be the last

to laugh at their own folly.

Some weeks after the revolution of February, when men's brains

were all in a whirl, and every one fancied himself called upon to

present us with a better world than that which Providence has

given us, Monseigneur D'Amata, Bishop of Oceania, happened to be

in Paris. One day he passed by a club in full session. The

attendance was numerous, and all ears were bent and all eyes

fixed on an orator who was dilating on the benefits of communism.

{57}

He wound up with the usual phrases: No more poor nor rich; no

more great nor small; no more palaces nor hovels; but perfect

equality and happiness for all. After which peroration there was

a tremendous outburst of applause.

The bishop then asked leave to speak, which being granted, he

mounted on a table which served for a rostrum, and spoke to the

following effect: "Citizens, you have just been hearing about

communism, and a great deal of good has been attributed to it. I

am entitled as much as any man to have my say on the subject. For

a long time past I have resided in a country where communism is

carried out into practice thoroughly." (Increased attention.)

"There every thing is common: the land, the forests, rivers,

fish, game, and women. But let me tell you how matters go on

there. Nobody works; the fields are untilled; and the inhabitants

live on fish and game. When these fail, as the people must eat,

they hunt one another. The stronger catches the weaker, roasts

him on a spit, and then eats him. Reflect, therefore, before

establishing communism, whether such a state of existence would

suit you. Should you persist, I would advise you to lay in a good

supply of spits, and to sharpen them well, for they will be the

most valuable stock under the reign of communism." Whereat there

followed an outcry of "Down with communism! Away with communism!"

{58}

_The People in small Towns._

In small towns, the scene changes and assumes smaller

proportions. Little things play the part of great things. A small

town is the home, the real classical soil of petty ideas, petty

vanities, petty triumphs, and gross backbiting. They all know,

salute, and criticise each other. None is more slanderous than

the male resident in a small town, except it be his wife. The

chief authority of the place is neither the mayor, nor the

sub-prefect, nor even the prefect himself. It is public opinion,

flanked by its inseparable companion, routine.

The local virtue is not independence of character, but timidity.

Every one fears his friends as well as his enemies, neighbors as

well as strangers; he fears for his own _amour propre_, and he

fears to give others cause for talking about him.

All this has exercised a pernicious influence over the people in

such localities. They are extremely timid, niggardly, insincere,

rather hypocritical, and inordinately obsequious. They may be

well-disposed to discharge their religious duties; but should

there happen to be a free-thinker among them, one who takes the

lead in the finance or trade of the place, who might traduce or

turn such conduct into ridicule, or bespatter it with some of the

blasphemies picked up from among the off-scourings of the

eighteenth century, they do not dare to perform them; they

tremble at the idea, so abject is their state of dependence: they

have not even the courage to brave sarcasm.

{59}

This servile deference, which has been ignominiously expelled

from our great cities, has taken refuge in our small towns and

country districts, where it exercises a tyrannical sway.

On the other hand, the people in small towns are more moral, more

provident, less turbulent, and more faithful to family

obligations than those in large cities. They, above all others,

should not be judged by appearances: by that cold and lifeless

indifference which characterizes them. Hence it is that they are

so little understood, even by those who come into closest contact

with them.

In order to win them, you must attack them boldly. Promote

concurrence toward some benevolent object, by grouping your men

together, so that they may not feel isolated. Then they will take

courage, and will get to understand that it is no disgrace to

practise religious duties; or, at least, that in attending to

them, they are in fair and goodly company.

To that end, organize a society of St. Vincent de Paul; or,

should one exist already, develop it still further. It is no

longer allowable that a small town, or even a village, should be

without a branch of that institution. The attempt has succeeded

in many hamlets; and, surely, there is no inhabited locality so

unfortunate as not to possess at least three zealous Christians.

{60}

If so, they must be created forthwith; otherwise, what are we

good for? Have also a Society of Saint Francis Xavier, and an

Apprentices Association. Occupy yourself chiefly with the men;

leave the faithful flock in order to seek after the lost sheep;

and, above all, let it not be said of you as it is said of

certain small towns, that _religion there is engrossed with the

distaff_.

_The People in Rural Districts._

The people in the country are the reverse of the people in large

cities. There, every thing moves slowly. Results are tardily

obtained, but they are more durable.

The peasant is bound to routine; he is diffident, dissembling,

susceptible, cunning, and somewhat avaricious.

Above all others, usage and custom are a law to him. He never

risks any thing novel, or trusts to new faces, but with reserve.

He possesses few ideas; but those he has he adheres to as

tenaciously as he does to his little bit of land.

He seldom comes straight to the point; he is incapable of saying

yes or no frankly, and he must be very acute who can penetrate

his thoughts. He will listen to you, and appear to approve all

you say; but in fact, he disagrees with you.

{61}

He has, moreover his grain of vanity; why should he not? Is he

not a child of Adam, like the rest of mankind? Has he not, like

them, preserved the tradition of his noble origin?

Hence he is prouder of being mayor of his _commune_, or an

officer in the National Guard, than either a prefect or a marshal

of France is of his dignity. And as regards deference, no man is

more exacting than a peasant who has risen to the rank mayor, or

become an enriched shopkeeper.

Lastly, the peasant does not possess much acquired knowledge; but

he makes up for the deficiency by consummate shrewdness. He must

be a sharp person indeed, who can overreach him where money is

concerned; unless he can manage to play upon his credulity or his

dread of spells and witchcraft.

Nothing can be more perverse, more astute, or more cunning than

an old peasant of Normandy or Lorraine. He will expend more craft

in disposing of an unsound horse than our diplomats would in

formulating one of those protocols destined to preserve the

balance of power in Europe. He will haggle for half-an-hour to

gain sixpence on a sheep which he wants to buy or to sell. In

other respects, the peasant is generally good-natured, laborious,

sober, full of good sense, and religious as well as moral, up to

a certain point; were it not for the public house. His life is

capable of easy adaptation to precepts of the Gospel.

{62}

In order to lead him, you must first secure his confidence, take

hold of him by his better side, or even by his weak side--which

is, his vanity. Ought we not to become little with the little,

that we may save all?

But the best way of gaining that confidence is to do him a good

turn. The peasant, undoubtedly, relishes kind words, but he likes

kindly actions still better; and therein I agree with him.

In other respects, he is by no means exacting. A little

forethought on his behalf, a little politeness, a salutation, a

manifestation of interest, or a trifling present to his child,

will be enough to open his heart, and to make him well-disposed.

When he is bent on doing a thing, never oppose him directly,

otherwise he will become restive and obstinate; and if you

attempt to lead him to the right, he will show a malicious

pleasure in going to the left. Beware still more of pushing him

to extremes; for he may become obstreperous, spiteful, pitiless,

and perchance atrocious. Take the peasant by the heart; for,

after all, it is the most healthy part of the community

generally.

{63}

_On the Way of doing some little Good to these Three

Classes of the People._

Such are the people, with whom we have to deal, and who need to

be restored to vital Christianity; seeing that they are,

unfortunately, sadly deficient in practical religion, and their

manner of life is often far removed from evangelical morality.

Still, let us beware of judging that the religious sentiment is

extinct among them. The people in France are naturally Christian.

There is more religion in the little finger of the people than in

the superb bodies of our _demi-savants_.

The people, I say, are still capable of comprehending and of

appreciating religion; and whenever their hearts are brought into

contact with the Gospel, they allow themselves to be penetrated,

ruled, elevated by its influence. Look at them in the presence of

a preacher who speaks to the souls of his hearers. Their

attention is suddenly riveted, their countenances become

animated, their eyes glisten. They listen with an attention and

good-will, which one often wishes to see in the most pious

audiences. They welcome without a frown the severest truths, and

even applaud those passages which bear most against themselves.

Those are, therefore, mistaken who think that religion has no

longer any influence over the masses. It is true that at first,

owing to the prejudices and sarcasms of a past age, the cassock

is a scarecrow to certain classes.

{64}

They begin by suspecting. But when the same persons come to know

the priest well, when they are once won over by his address,

there is no man in the world--neither tribune, nor popular

orator, nor demagogue--who ever acquires so powerful a hold over

them. It is on that very account that those who distrust the

clergy express their apprehensions, and say:--"Their influence is

excessive; their preaching should be interdicted; otherwise they

may proceed to abuse it, and then we shall all be upset."

This ascendency is often obtained over the most stubborn and

vicious. Condemned felons, despite their vices and their crimes,

have been amazed to find themselves amenable to its power. Those

who had been confided to the mission of Toulon, remarked:--"How

strange it is that we who require armed soldiers to make us obey,

nevertheless cheerfully do whatever the priests bid us!" And when

the mission referred to terminated, no less than 2800 of the

prisoners partook of the holy communion.

No, the people are not so much estranged from God and

Christianity as is thought. We were made to understand each

other; but evil passions have interposed between us and them.

They still possess good sense and an inward instinct which draws

them toward religion. They feel their need of it, because they

feel the need of hope. Religion belongs preeminently to them;

they are linked to it by their sympathies. Let us, moreover, do

them this justice: they, the people, did not give up religious

practices till long after the other classes.

{65}

They held out for more than a century. Errors and scandals

descended upon them from a sphere above them, yet they did not

succumb. The churches were closed to them, their priests were

driven away, even their God was hunted, yet they did not yield.

They were pursued even into their cottages, their huts, and their

workshops with licentious books and pamphlets, and they resisted

still.

At length, religion was covered with ridicule, the mantle of

derision was thrown over it, as it was over Christ, and they were

bade in scorn to behold their religion! Then they gave way. ...

But the crash did not come till 1830, as the whole world can

testify. The people were assailed on their weak side, with taunts

and sneers which they were the least capable of withstanding.

But though deficient in evangelical morality, religious sentiment

has still clung to them. As a pious and illustrious prelate,

[Footnote 9] who knows the people well, who loves them, and is

beloved in return, remarked to the Emperor, on his way to

Moulins:--"I thank your Majesty for having understood that the

French nation, left to its natural tendencies, preserves the

character of the most Christian nation, and that, in spite of

many rude shocks, the faith of their fathers is the first want of

their hearts."

[Footnote 9: Monseigneur de Dreux-Brézé, Bishop of Moulins.]

{66}

A dignitary of religion is always venerated by the people. They

run to see him and to solicit his benediction.

The visits of Monseigneur the late Archbishop of Paris to the

faubourgs, tenanted by a population regarded as the most

irreligious and immoral of the capital, may be adduced in

illustration of this statement. Crowds of men and women flocked

to him, bent under his paternal hand, and held up their squalid

and half naked children to receive his blessing. In like manner,

they brought him from all sides chaplets, images, and medals;

while those who did not possess such pious articles brought

halfpence, that he might bless them; and these they afterward

preserved as sacred relics.

The same soothing influence followed the devout prelate in the

streets, the workshops, and the public places. His words had a

magic effect everywhere among those hardened and redoubtable

denizens of the faubourgs.

It was in a quarter as poor in spiritual as in temporal things

that an immense crowd thronged to him, and like the Good

Shepherd--like the blessed Saviour--unwilling to send them away

fasting, that is, without a few affectionate words, he mounted

some steps, and stood on a landing, which served him for a

pulpit. Among the crowd was a group of those men who are at

perpetual war with society, keepers of smoking-dens, and worse

places too; blacklegs, and setters-up of barricades. They looked

at him without removing their caps, and with a sneer on their

lips.

{67}

No sooner had the prelate begun to speak than there was silence.

As he proceeded, one cap was doffed, then two or three more, and

soon all heads were bared, in accordance with the rules of French

politeness. When the sermon was ended, these men shouted louder

than the rest:--"Vive Monseigneur! Vive la Religion!"

It cannot be denied that the manners of the people are often

painful in the extreme; but, then, they have so little to fall

back upon, and are surrounded by so many temptations. Ignorance

frets them, debauchery degrades them, and, besides, having

constantly to struggle against the pinchings of want, it is not

surprising that they become, as it were, linked to a necessity

which weighs upon them so heavily.

Even we, with all our education, our science, the superior moral

atmosphere which we breathe,--are we always blameless? When the

people look above them, do they always find good examples in the

higher classes of society? What would you have them think when

they see men who ought to be patterns of virtue, when they see,

to use their own expression, _respectable scoundrels_, with money

in their hands and lying words on their lips, endeavoring to

seduce their wives or their daughters?

{68}

Nevertheless, they have not lost the courage of truthfulness: a

rare thing nowadays. They have still moral energy enough to

condemn themselves, to condemn their own mode of life, and to

admit that they are wrong-doers. A notorious reprobate, after

hearing a sermon, remarked to his companion: "All right;

religion, after all, is not such a humbug as it has been

represented." Scarcely any but the people retain such

ingenuousness. Elsewhere the truth is not relished, is not

recognized, is rather thrust aside as an intruder. Where, I

should like to know, among other classes, will you hear the

admission:--"I am misled; I am in the wrong?"

The people scarcely ever attempt to justify their failings by

reasoning, or to reduce their vices to a system; for there exists

in them a sense of justice and integrity which, when they are

calm, leads them to confess that they are unworthy to live.

A man [Footnote 10] who was in the habit of mixing with the least

moral class in Paris, relates that he one day had the following

conversation with the father of a family whose union had not been

blessed by religion.

[Footnote 10: M. Gossin, _Manuel de la Société

de Saint-François Régis_, p. 143.]

{69}

"I must apologize," he remarks, "for reproducing this colloquy in

all its original crudity; but I shall invent nothing; I shall

merely repeat what was actually said by both parties the first

time this _argmnentum ad hominem_ was employed.

"'I regret to find that we cannot understand each other. What!

you persist in maintaining that in seducing the woman at your

side eighteen years ago you did nothing wrong?'

"'Nothing at all. I am an honest man; I have never stolen nor

committed murder. I was rather gay when young; but there is no

harm in that. As to the woman, I did not compel her. Why did she

allow herself to be enticed?'

"'Let us speak on another subject. ... Are all these your

children?'

"No, sir; we have another at home, a young lass named Seraphine.'

"'I am sorry you have not produced her. I should have been very

glad to see her.'

"'It is very civil of you to say so, sir.'

"'Is she grown-up?'

"'Tolerably: she is twelve years old. She is getting on nicely

with the Sisters, which is very satisfactory. She sews well

already, and is a promising girl.'

"'Your boys here are comely and well-behaved, and do credit to

the mother's care.'

{70}

"'Yes, it cannot be denied that what she does for them she does

thoroughly. She keeps them well washed, and one hears nothing in

the morning but "let me comb you; let me wash you." You should

see how she souses and scrubs them.'

"'Is Seraphine as comely as her brothers?'

"'Do you hear that, missis? What a goose you are; won't you

answer? Well, I will decide for both. On my honor, Seraphine is

better looking than any in this house, though we have eighteen

lodgers, who have a jolly lot of damsels among them of all

shades.'

"'(Then looking fixedly at the man)--'In two or three years,

Seraphine, who is still a child, will be a very attractive and

modest young woman, and she will be a comfort to you. ... But

what would you say if a working-man, doing as you did by her

mother, should seduce and dishonor the poor girl?'

"He sprang up almost beside himself, and said:--'What should I

say? I would say nothing; but I would murder the villain who

dared to inveigle my daughter.'

"'You would be wrong; for the man, according to what you yourself

have just said, would be, in your opinion, a perfect man; for he

would neither have killed, nor stolen, nor forced your daughter.

He could only be charged with having wished to amuse himself a

little; which you say is not a crime.

"Still beside himself with rage, he said:--'Nevertheless, I would

murder the wretch.'

{71}

"'But, my friend, recall to mind what you have done yourself, and

then judge.'

"With tears in his eyes, and pressing the hand of his

interlocutor, he said:--'Forgive me, sir; I lied to myself when I

said what I did. I was boasting just as many others of us do; but

I am better than my stupid speeches.'

"I may add, as a characteristic trait of the human heart, that

after this dialogue, the father's emotion at seeing his faults

placed naked before him was so strong, that he was seized with a

fever which lasted several days; that he subsequently thanked me

most warmly for having opened his eyes; and that I have now

reason to believe in his complete and sincere conversion."

Are we certain that we should find the same frankness and courage

elsewhere?

The people, notwithstanding the bravado common to their class,

deplore their failings, and if intimate with them, you will often

hear them expressing their regret in some such style as

this:--"Pity me, for I am most wretched. Do you think it does not

make me uncomfortable to see my wife and children miserable, and

to know that I am the cause of their misery? I have made good

resolutions a thousand times over, and have broken them as often.

My passions and my habits have become so inveterate that I am

unable to resist them." ... They are right; for left to

themselves they will never be able to persevere in well-doing.

{72}

They need the aid of religion, which ought to be afforded them,

and which is by no means an impracticable task. Let us hear no

more of those incessant excuses that nothing can be done with

them on that score.

Away with all discouragement! Away with all despair! Those who

indulge in such feelings do us infinite mischief. They are a most

dangerous class in our midst; they will do nothing themselves,

and will not allow others to do any thing. They try to prevent

all good by ceaselessly repeating:--"It will never succeed. ...

There are so many obstacles to be encountered. ... It is

headstrong to attempt it."

This is one of the most hideous sores of the age. Such men accuse

others, and yet never seem to reflect that despair is the

greatest possible crime in the sight of God.

Nothing can be done with the French people! What, then, have we

come to? We admit that something can be done for felons in the

hulks, for the pagan Chinese, for American savages, for the

cannibals of Oceania. We believe it, for we send them help and

missionaries; and yet nothing can be done for our France, for the

nation beloved of God and His Church, which sheds its blood and

spends its gold for the conversion of the infidels, and where so

many heroic virtues still exist!

{73}

It is a calumny against France. In order to justify your own

neglect, you slander your brethren, you expose your ignorance of

your country, you ignore the power of the Gospel and the virtue

of the Cross. ... Know, then, that we may yet regenerate the

people. ... Yes, we can, and if we cannot we ought, for it is a

sacred duty; and he who does not discharge his own duty in that

respect, has no right to give an opinion about the duty of

others.

But what are the means which should be employed to bring the

people nearer to the Gospel?

Religion must first be exhibited to them as it really

is--beautiful, good, and lovely; and then you may hold it up to

them as true, divine, and obligatory. You must first attract them

by the senses and the imagination, by sentiment, and by the

heart. The people like to be interested, touched, moved. They are

fond of sentiment, of festivals, and shows. After a week spent in

absorbing material drudgery their poor souls require the breath

of the Divine word to animate and cheer them. To them especially

religion should be "glad tidings"--should bring them mental

repose, refreshment, and peace. We should set out by making them

to feel, to love, and to bless; instead of which we begin with

reasoning, and end with the same. We have a mania, a rage for

reasoning; but make the people love first, then you may reason,

and will be understood.

{74}

I say that in order to make religion lovely in the eyes of the

people, you should exhibit it under its most attractive aspect.

Point out the good which it does on all sides, to orphans, to

children and their parents, to the forsaken, to the people

themselves, their wives, their daughters, and their fathers.

Appeal to their good sense and to their heart. Ask: "Is it not

true? I refer the decision to your own judgment." Say to the

people, but with overflowing affection:--"My dear friends, do

what you will, you will never find a better resource than

religion; religion will always be your best stay. ... When you

have spent your all, when the world will have nothing more to do

with you, when your bodies shall be worn out by old age and

sickness, when from dread of you men will flee from you as from a

contagion, you will still find by your bedside a priest or a

sister of charity to care for you and to bless you." [Footnote

11]

[Footnote 11: _Le Manuel de Charité_.]

But in order to make religion beloved, you must secure some love

for the priest also; for the people confound our cause with that

of God. In their estimation, religion is what the priest is; and

if they do not love the one, they will hardly entertain any love

for the other.

{75}

The priest, then, should appear to them surrounded with a halo of

charity. He must make himself known; he will always gain by being

known. He has been depicted in such dark colors that a true view

of him will effectually remove many prejudices, and give occasion

to the oft-recurring remark:--"Would that all priests were like

this one."

But if the people no longer come to us, we must go to them. We

don't mind going after the heathen of America and Asia; we cross

the seas to get at them; whereas there are in our midst--in our

workshops, our cottages, and throughout the country--tens of

thousands, perhaps millions, of practical pagans. We know this

well, we confess it, we deplore it, and yet we hesitate to cross

the distance which separates us from them! Poor French souls! Can

it, indeed, be that you are not of so much value as the souls of

Chinese?

To come to us the people must know the value, the necessity of

religion. But do they entertain any such idea? Surrounded as they

have been with so many passions and prejudices, is it surprising

that they are now insensible and mistrustful? Should we be better

than they if we had breathed the same pestiferous atmosphere? If

they are weak in the faith, it is our duty to pity them,

according to the apostolic injunction:--"We that are strong ought

to bear the infirmities of the weak, and not to please

ourselves."

{76}

But one replies:--"I cannot go to the people, for I don't know

what to say to them, how to address them." Well, I will tell you.

The best way of winning them, and others too, is to know how to

listen. That is one of the greatest talents in the direction of

human affairs. The man to whom you have listened attentively will

always go away satisfied with himself, and with you also.

You do the people good by the bare fact of listening to them. Let

them, therefore, complain and talk nonsense to their hearts

content. Overlook their errors, prejudices, outbursts of passion,

and their profanities, too. Let them discharge all the gall which

is in their hearts, and then they will be far more tractable.

They will tell you that they have no time to practise religious

duties; that they have no need of religion; that it is enough to

be honest; that they don't believe in another life; that

Providence is unjust, bestowing all the comforts on one class,

and all the miseries on the other. You may also expect to meet

with opprobious personalities. They will tell you that priests

are just like other men; that they only work when they are paid,

and so forth. Overlook all such remarks; they are enemies which

are taking their departure, and you will have fewer to encounter.

Hear all, and be not disconcerted at any thing that you hear; on

the contrary, after such an explosion, redouble your kindness,

assail the heart where your attack is least expected, sympathize

cordially with them, give them a hearty shake of the hand, and on

leaving say with candor:--"Well, well, I perceive that there is

good in you. At all events, you are frank, and I like frankness.

You are not as bad as you think. I will call again to-morrow and

have another chat with you." In this way you may baffle the most

diabolical ill-will.

{77}

Then, when a friendly footing has been established, you may refer

to the most salient objections and errors, and your words will be

like so many gleams of light. Who knows but that the individuals

themselves will not be the first to say:--"I know what you are

referring to; but make yourself easy on that score, for _much

that I said the other day was in order to get rid of you_."

Occasionally you will have to deal with a blunt and surly

character. Ask such an one, in an affectionate manner, after he

has expended his curses and oaths:--"Is that all that you have to

urge against religion and society? It is all you know, perhaps;

but I could tell you a great deal more. You have forgotten this

and overlooked that," till at length he will be induced to

say:--"I perceive that you are bantering me;" and he will never

afterward repeat his objections or his imprecations.

But, good God! why are we so much startled and horrified when we

hear such profanities? It is the very way to increase the evil.

Are we ignorant of what a man is who is vicious, or ignorant, or

passionate?

{78}

Does he always know the drift of his words? The man of the

present age has a special claim to the pardon which the Saviour

prayed for on the cross. Besides, the profane man is not always

so far from God as is thought; such an one is not the most

difficult of conversion. A very witty man, speaking of another

whose restoration to religion has since gladdened the Church,

remarked:--"I begin to have hope of him; for when one talks about

Christianity to him he is annoyed, and blasphemes." We have the

besetting foible of readily believing those who tell us that they

have no faith. They must, indeed, regard us as most credulous

simpletons when they see us approach them with a cart-load of

argument to prove to them what they already know as well as we

do, or what they would know if their poor hearts were a little

less diseased.

Here, again, we see that charity must initiate and direct our

efforts. As to subsequent measures, if you would win over the

people, if you would acquire an irresistible influence over them,

busy yourself in what concerns them, and be unremitting in your

care of their poor. I will even go so far as to say, make a

semblance of taking this interest in them, and you will gain a

great ascendency over them, your words will have a magic effect

upon them, and they will be ready to overlook every thing else in

you, even the fact of your being a priest. ... This is a subject

deserving the serious consideration of those who have a hearty

desire to labor for the salvation of souls.

{79}

A priest enters a workshop, say, of gunsmiths. On perceiving the

cassock, those blackened figures immediately become blacker

still. They purposely turn their backs, in order to give him no

inducement to address them, and should he do so, the reply is

generally a curt "Yes, sir," uttered in as dry and morose a tone

as possible. He walks through the establishment, and meets

everywhere with a similar reception. Meanwhile, one of the

workmen whispers something to the foreman, which the priest

fancies may be a suggestion for his immediate expulsion; but he

is speedily reassured. What passed is transmitted from one group

to another, and suddenly the countenances and hearts of all

undergo a change. Instead of turning their backs, the workmen now

move sideways, as if to invite a colloquy as the visitor moves

along, and before he utters a word, they all stand ready, with

cap in hand, to welcome his address. The men become at once

polite, amiable, charming--Frenchmen, in fact, in the best

meaning of the word. The whispered sentence was the sacramental

saying of the poor:--"This priest is kind to the unfortunate; he

loves the people; he is not a proud man." O wondrous power of

charity! how little art thou understood? and yet thou canst thus

tame even the most unruly! We hear much on all sides about the

best means of enlightening and reforming the people, and of

preventing them from harboring envy and hatred. What is really

required to that end is, as we have been endeavoring to show, the

exercise of charity.

{80}

But, further, would you acquire an unlimited sway over the

people? Would you exert a divine power over them? Become poor,

and live in an humble dwelling. Herein I no longer insist on

duties and obligations; I merely give the counsels of charity,

and the reader may, if he pleases, skip over the next few lines.

Yes, unfurnish your house for the poor; send your silver plate,

if you have any, to the money changer; send your fauteuils and

your couches to the fancy warehouse; give one of your mattresses

to him who has none; send your clock to the pawnbroker, and let

your watch go and exchange places with it occasionally. Contend

for your left-off clothes and linen with your old housekeeper,

who will threaten to be seriously vexed if you attempt _to rob_

her of her perquisites. Accustom yourself to privations. Have a

room like that of the Cardinal Cheverus: a small table and a

chair constituted the furniture, a truck bedstead covered with a

light mattress formed his couch, and the most miserable room in

his palace was that which he chose to occupy. [Footnote 12]

[Footnote 12: _Vie du Cardinal_, p. 316.]

{81}

Do this, and then speak and act, and you will be listened to,

believed, blessed, worshipped. Your heart will overflow with joy,

so much so that you may be induced to say:--"I fear lest I am

receiving my reward here, and that none awaits me in heaven."

Such voluntary poverty not only impresses the people, it

exercises also a powerful influence on the highest intellects,

transforming and disposing them to acknowledge the truth.

A person who had taken a prominent part in public affairs made

the following remarks after an interview with an eminently pious

man:--"What most impressed me was not his language, which,

nevertheless, was powerful and keen; but it was his furniture,

his wretched pallet, his three rush chairs and rickety table--all

which formed a most appropriate frame, so to speak, to his

anchorite figure. I returned home saying:--'I have seen something

divine.'" These are the ways of doing good which cost little, and

are within the reach of every one.

But to return. As I was remarking, the priest must be known and

loved, in order that, through him, religion may be known and

loved. To attain this, let him first appear to the people as

_full of grace_, and afterward as _full of truth_. Let love

precede truth, and then the latter will enter into the heart as

into its own domain.

{82}

Argument must be avoided, lest we drive the man of the people to

the miserable vanity of setting himself up as an enemy to

Christianity. Above all, we must be on our guard against

humiliating any one; for it is very easy to reduce a man to

silence by a witticism, or to make him fall into inconsistency

when he is not a Christian. With the reason of God it is always

possible to nonplus the reasoning of men.

In a word, we should consult our hearts much, and our heads only

a little. Yes, let us love the poor people, who have been so

little loved during their lives. Are not the people the most

notable part of our family? I mean of the priest's family; for we

have no other to love. It is true that we do not find its members

very amiable at first; but we soon get attached to them: we even

become enthusiastic about them, and experience a sincere pleasure

in associating with those dear _mauvais sujets_. Especially must

we bear with the weak, with the smoking flax and the bruised

reed. We must have a kindly word for all: a smile for this one, a

salutation for that one, a picture for the little child of the

more depraved. That child will love us; the mother will like

nothing better than to do the same, and perchance the father may

follow. ... In a word, we must bring into play all the

assiduities and the holy wiles of charity.

{83}

I conceive that the blessed Saviour lived and acted in this way,

in the midst of that wicked nation which put him to death. He

began by doing good--_coepit facere_; and then He

taught--_docere_. He healed, He comforted, He pitied, He ate with

sinners, He took the part of the guilty woman, He deplored the

impending ruin of His country.

Seize every opportunity of mixing with the people and of showing

them kindness; even those who seem the least promising. Are not

all a source of good to those who love?

You are a priest, and in walking along hear some one imitating

the cry of a raven. Such an occurrence is less frequent now, but

it happens occasionally. You recognize a human voice, for you

hear the accompanying remark:--"It will be foul weather today,

and some misfortune will befall us, for the ravens are on the

wing." Take no notice of the ill-nature, and do not assume a

proud or disdainful demeanor. It is vulgar to do so, and by no

means Christian. The first chance comer could do no more. But,

with a gracious smile on your countenance, and fervent charity in

your heart, and, above all, avoiding anything like irony, accost

the man somewhat in this style:--"So, my friend, it seems to

amuse you to cry like a raven. I am glad of it. There is so

little enjoyment in the world that I am gratified to have given

you a moment's pleasure. Besides, you are quite right; our dress

is as black as the raven. Nevertheless, if you knew us well, you

would discover that we are not as bad as our dress is black.

{84}

But, what are you doing here?" This will lead to conversation,

explanations will follow, a good understanding and mutual esteem

will be the result, and you will take leave of each other with a

hearty shake of the hand. Thus, an embittered spirit may be

restored to calm and to a better judgment; you will have made a

friend yourself, and perhaps gained one over to God; for who can

tell to what a favorable issue such simple beginnings may lead?

God be praised! many souls have been reclaimed to religion and to

society by similar means.

I must forewarn you, however, that success will not always attend

your efforts. You will often encounter obstacles, and even

opprobrium; but what then? To a Christian, that will not be the

worst feature in the case. Thereby, in the first place, you will

learn to be more a man; for one who has never known strife and

conflict, victory and defeat, is not a man: he has not lived: he

does not know himself, he does not know others; he is ignorant of

the science of life. He is an imperfect man: a man who has come

short of manhood: because he has never fallen back upon himself

to discover the treasures which Providence has hidden there. He

will never be a man to initiate, or a man of action. It is only

obstacles and contests which form useful as well as great men.

There is, somehow, a most unreasonable tendency in us always to

be sure of success; and yet our blessed Lord expired in anguish,

He. . . .

{85}

As to jeers and sarcasms, you may fully reckon on them.

Occasionally, moreover, you will be made to act the part of a

dupe or ninny. So much the better; such experience will serve as

a useful counterpoise to our natural arrogance. Such things are

trifles compared with what our missionaries have to endure among

the infidels. They brave the sword, and we are afraid of needles'

points, and call our fear prudence. But why this dread of being

derided? Can it be that we are ignorant of the French people? Are

we not aware that they must banter or ridicule some one, even

though it be a benefactor? What else can we expect? It is their

nature; but they are sterling at bottom. Join, then, to all your

other benevolent actions, that of allowing them occasionally to

sneer at you. Should an opportunity offer, say to them, in the

words of St. Chrysostom:--"I give you leave to turn me into

ridicule; I will forgive all the evil which you may say of me, on

the express condition that you become less wicked and less

unhappy." Here, then, we have another means of touching the

heart; for even revilers will find it difficult to help loving

one who thus throws himself upon their mercy, and sacrifices self

for their welfare.

{86}

A priest who was in the habit of visiting prisons, acting like a

clever man, generally addressed the most obstinate of the

inmates, and made it a point to enter into conversation with the

groups which appeared to be the most vicious and ill-disposed,

knowing that if these were converted the rest would probably

follow. He was specially gracious to the more impious, so much so

that the remark was often made to him by one and another:--"Don't

you remember that it was I who abused you the other day?" "Of

course I do," he replied; "but do you imagine that I care for

abuse? On the contrary, I consider myself rather lucky when I get

a good round of it, and feel to like the abuser the more.

Besides, I was fully convinced that you were better than your

language might lead one to believe." When he retired, the

observation was frequently made:--"There's a priest unlike the

rest. He acts up to his religion. I don't know but that I shall

confess to him;" and the veiled intent was often carried into

practice. Act in this way, and you will be loved more and more;

and when men have learned to love the servant on earth, they may

perchance learn to love his Master who is in heaven.

This done, you will have made a good beginning, and you must

persevere by presenting religion under its most attractive

aspect. Generally, however, religion has been exhibited to the

people in a manner which imposes too great a restraint on

individual liberty.

{87}

We should talk less about what religion forbids, and a little

more of the benefits which it imparts. Don't be always

saying:--"Religion forbids this, and that, and the other thing;"

for you will turn the people against it, and will be charged with

insisting on what is impossible. We Frenchmen are very children

of Adam--and of Eve too. It is quite enough for a thing to be

forbidden to induce us to do it. We have a ravenous taste for the

forbidden fruit. For instance, a man curses and swears in your

presence. Don't tell him that it is a sin, an abominable habit;

for he will then take a malicious pleasure in repeating his

profanity. Tell him rather that it is unseemly, that it is

vulgar, that it shows bad taste, and he will abstain; for all,

even the most depraved, wish to be thought well brought up. Let

us therefore talk less of vices and more of virtues.

Let us now suppose that you are brought in contact with a crafty

and narrow-minded class of persons. Disconcert all their

manoeuvres by a straight forward and sincere address, and by a

still more frank demeanor, always combined with discretion. Then

there will be no gratification in deceiving you. Above all, never

resort to underhand measures, and carefully avoid slander. The

people hate them: and God and His truth have no need of a secret

police.

{88}

When you have to deal with an egotistical and slanderous set,

never speak of egotism or slander; but scatter love broadcast

among them, make the good chords of their hearts vibrate, filling

them with the holy palpitations of charity toward their brethren.

Thus slander and egotism will vanish, according to the saying of

St. François de Sales:--"When there is a fire in the house, every

thing is thrown out through the windows."

In large cities, where the people are quick, bustling, and

petulant, your speech should be lively, frank, bold, winning, and

irresistible, that it may cause their hearts to thrill with

emotion, and excite their interest by occasionally drawing a

smile from them. In small towns, on the contrary, be less bold

and more circumspect, and let it be your first aim to acquire the

confidence of the people. Study your ground well, the prevailing

prejudices, and even the local routine.

Novelties often engender distrust. To gain currency for them, you

must secure the affections of your charge, and soar above petty

ideas and feelings. Be impassible and kind in the midst of the

puerile interests which surround you. Be just, for the people

love justice: they even love a severe man who is just; how much

more, then, will they regard such an one if he is benevolent

also? Confidence once restored, go to the main point; stir up

men's consciences, appeal to the better part of human nature, and

throw routine overboard.

{89}

Bring religion into close contact with those hearts which seem so

cold, and you will witness things unknown to those who believe

these people to be indifferent or hostile, simply because, as is

often the case, the people in small towns are not known. They are

looked at too near, they are judged by the exterior, and almost

always by those characteristics wherein they clash against

ourselves.

There is another reason why you should keep aloof from the

narrow-mindedness above mentioned. One frequents certain

excellent families of the locality who are devoutly inclined and

are munificent to the Church. There is no harm in that; but it

often happens that these worthy persons have rather contracted

views, and are not altogether exempt from petty passions. They

are fond of hearing and repeating some ill-natured gossip, or the

least edifying news of the day; and as we are all apt to acquire

some of the ideas of those with whom we associate, one comes at

length to look at things with their eyes, and finally adopts some

such style as this:--"My parish is this, my parish wishes that;"

whereas, if matters were closely analyzed, it would turn out that

the alleged wish of the parish is confined to a few of those

aforesaid pious souls.

{90}

The next false step is to adopt a self-conceited course of action

and of religious teaching, wholly irrespective of the Catholic

Church: nothing is thought of what may be done elsewhere.

"Success can only be achieved in such a way," becomes the

expression of this self-sufficiency; while those who fall into it

grow exclusive and empirical, and forget that, thanks be to God,

the ways of doing good are multifarious, and among them such as

are suited to all dispositions and characters. Nay, it will be

fortunate if this conceit does not assume to have done all that

could be done, and to deny the possibility of others doing better

or more. Happy indeed is the man who can truly bear such a

testimony to himself! We war against prejudices: let us therefore

beware of entertaining any ourselves, for they are not the

easiest enemies to be dislodged. Yes, we sometimes circumscribe,

we confine the beautiful Catholic religion within the small town

where we ourselves reside; we recognize it there, and there only;

it is taught as it should be only there; no good can be done

except what is done there, whether that said small town be called

Quimperlé or Saint-Pierre-de-Chignac.

As regards the people in rural districts, who are dull, timid,

susceptible, and rather gross, you must strive to open out their

souls in order that religion may penetrate them. They are not

over-exacting, not having been spoilt on that score, and a very

little attention satisfies them.

{91}

A token of good-will, a salutation, an act of politeness, a

trifling gift bestowed on their children, will suffice to attract

them toward religion; for, generally speaking, when it is

properly presented to them, they are attached to it: they love

it, they are proud of their Church and of their curé, and are

ready to fight to prove that he is the most accomplished priest

in the kingdom.

The peasant must never be provoked or pushed to extremes. When he

resists, don't attack him in front, but turn the difficulty by

laying hold of one of his weaker points, some one of the good

fibres of his heart; otherwise, the more you talk and threaten

the more he will consider it a duty not to listen to you. Never

be at variance with any one. The priest should have no enemies,

and should not be content while he has any. I do not like to hear

the remark: "That man is my enemy." Christ never said so; but He

did say:--"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

One of the most effectual ways of gaining over the peasant, as

well as the people generally, is to show great confidence in him,

and to raise him in his own eyes. Don't be chary either of

encouragement or commendation when he has but partially deserved

them. Suppose him to be all that you could wish; you will thereby

pave the way to impart some useful truths to him. Exalt his good

qualities in his own estimation. He has fallen so low that you

need not be afraid of making him vain, or of raising him too

high.

{92}

May you rather succeed in exalting him to heaven! Did not Christ

come to raise the fallen? Carrying about with him, as man does,

the remembrance of his noble origin, he finds it very hard to

resign himself to being a nonentity on the earth. For my part, I

prefer a little vanity to the mania of envy and hatred.

In this respect also, timidity has led to our passive cooperation

with the malevolent. We have suffered the people to be too much

depressed. We have allowed them to be practically told that they

are nothing and the rich every thing; that the lot of the

disinherited poor is toil, misery, and contempt; that of the

rich, affluence, enjoyment, and honors. Rather raise the people

by telling them, in the accents of truth, that they are great in

the estimation of God and the Gospel; that they have their share

of dignity and honor, and have no cause to envy others.--"My

friends, the rich have their advantages and you have yours. They

have their joys and so have you. Beware of envying them. A good

workman! why, such an one is the spoilt child of Providence. You

are mistaken in thinking that wealth alone brings happiness. The

rich happy, indeed! How can any one be led into such a delusion?

You know not what they have to suffer: their sufferings are

fearful; and if I wished to discover the most poignant sorrows on

earth, I should not knock at the hut or cottage to seek for them.

{93}

I should knock at the gates of those splendid mansions which

adorn our squares. It is there, behind those triple curtains,

that I should find them with their claws of iron embedded in

broken hearts. ... My friends, with a stout heart and two strong

arms you may be as deserving, as happy, as great, as noble as any

one."

But this must not only be said; the people must be treated in

such a manner that they may understand it. We must respect them

much, in order that they may learn to respect themselves; showing

them always due deference: as, indeed, we should show all men. In

a word, we should practise, in our dealings with the people, all

the decorum and refined politeness of the drawing-room; with

greater sincerity, to boot.

For, indeed, they have more need of such treatment than others.

As manifested toward them it would be novel and efficacious;

elsewhere it is generally vain and barren. This kind of

politeness charms and raises them out of that moral degradation,

the remembrance of which besets and weighs them down. So treated

they will cease to hate, to envy, or chafe; and will learn to

love, to be resigned, to have better aspirations: and, withal,

they will bless you.

{94}

The best way to direct, to benefit, and to reclaim the people to

religion, is to develop the good sentiments which lie dormant in

the recesses of hearts; the foremost of which is charity, or the

spirit of self-sacrifice.

France is the home of charity: it exists among the high, the low,

and the middle classes. The people are naturally sympathizing. As

already remarked, it is a pleasure to see their readiness to

oblige. The rich class are charitable; but are they more so than

the popular classes? I will not judge; I prefer saying to all:

"Well done; onward!"

If you wish to inspire a man of the people with good-feeling,

calm, and a love of the truth, prevail on him to perform a

charitable act. Get him to comfort or to relieve some one, even

though you undertake to compensate him for so doing.

When you meet with a hasty or passionate man, do not adopt the

ill-timed and absurd method of arguing with him. Is he capable of

understanding you? He is drunk with rage, and such intoxication

is more terrible and brutifying than that with wine. In

attempting to argue with him, you are like the woman who

sermonizes her husband on his return home with his reason drowned

in liquor.

Rather take the man, and induce him to undertake an act of

charity. Talk to him about humanity, get him to help a

fellow-creature, and after that you will hardly recognize him as

the same individual. That act of generosity will transform him;

will raise him in his own eyes, will give him holy joys, will

draw him toward God, will reconcile him to himself and to

humanity. God be praised for having brought down charity to our

earth! It blesses him who receives, and him who bestows it.

{95}

The people are specially capable of appreciating

disinterestedness, the spirit of self-devotion. It is their

element, and constitutes the largest share of their happiness.

But latterly they have been treated harshly and cruelly. Wants,

aspirations, and desires have been fostered in them which can

never be gratified, and their life has been poisoned thereby.

Much has been said about ameliorating their condition. So far

well; but that amelioration has been made to consist, in a great

measure, of material enjoyments, of more to eat and drink: in

fact, of feasting. In former times they lived on rye bread and

were not unhappy. Now they have wheaten bread, and meat with it,

and even coffee; yet they complain and are not content. A want

should not be created among the people, unless there is a

certainty of its being amply and always provided for.

The people, however, are not always won over through their

appetites; they prefer being led by the nobler instincts of the

human heart. They like what is grand, what is costly, and what is

obtained by great sacrifices. They have not, in any degree, the

_bourgeois_ tastes, the _bourgeois_ petty calculations, the

_bourgeois_ love of little comforts.

{96}

They are much more disinterested than is thought. We must not

attempt to gain them over by their material interests solely:

that would be to ruin them and ourselves also; but, allowing them

a due share of such inducements, we should rely mainly on their

generosity and devotedness; for the people really admire great

actions, great achievements, and the great characters who bear

sway over the destinies of mankind. They entertain a species of

worship for them; they refuse them no sacrifice. They attach

themselves to their good or evil fortune, and with them they are

always popular, always abiding.

The wars of the Revolution and of the Empire have weighed heavily

upon France, have levied the tax of blood on many families;

nevertheless, the name of the Emperor is still surrounded with a

magic halo. Moreover, in the east of France, the marches and

counter-marches of armies, with two successive invasions, have

devastated the country, overburdened the peasantry with imposts,

and altogether ruined many of them. For all that, enter any

cottage there, and you will find the picture of Napoleon by the

side of the image of the Virgin. Even on the field of battle,

amid showers of shot and shell which decimated their ranks, the

brave children of the people exclaimed in death: "Vive

l'Empereur!" Such are the French people at heart: if there is a

tendency in them to seek their own interests, there is a tendency

in them, equally strong, toward devotion and self-sacrifice.

{97}

If, then, you would give them a right guidance, speak to them of

other than petty ideas and material enjoyments: the more so,

because, if you attempt to win them over by such low motives,

they will become insatiable; their appetites will get the mastery

over them and plunge them into every kind of excess. Material

enjoyments, indeed! It may be questioned whether France, with all

its fertility, and all the resources of its advanced

civilization, would suffice, in that case, to furnish their first

repast.

In order to elevate, to control, and to satisfy this great

colossus, the people, you must be provided with something more

than human, something mysterious, surpassing human views and

human reason; otherwise, you will continue powerless, and will

never bring about any moral improvement in the world.

What has become of our great men, who trusted in man, who

appealed to reason only, however exalted that reason may have

been? Where is now their ascendency? Where the devotion which

they have kindled? Where are the masses who have clung to their

good or evil fortune? They fall, and their fall is regarded with

indifference.

{98}

Even in prosperity, do they secure attachment? Do they acquire a

permanent sway over the hearts of men? Not in the least; respect,

and esteem, and even fidelity are meted out to them according to

their characters, or according to the benefits which they are

judged to have conferred on us. "That man is worth so much: he

possesses so much learning, so much talent, and may be so far

profitable to me. He only deserves so much consideration; I owe

him nothing more." That is his account fully made up. A halo of

superhuman radiance should surround him who would govern the

masses--something divine, infinite, presaging immortality,

heaven, hell, eternity ... otherwise, you will continue to have a

degraded, besotted, or savage people, a people who, in the

country, are sunk in materialism, encroach on their neighbor's

field, or become the prey of usurers; who, when their asses are

diseased, will call in a veterinary surgeon, but will let their

wives suffer rather than pay a doctor to attend them; who will

weep over the break-down of one of their horses, but find no

tears for the death of an aged parent;--a people who, in towns,

find all their pleasures and happiness in rioting and debauchery;

who are never well; who accuse others of their sufferings; and

who, after squandering their own substance, appeal to others,

with hate on their lips and a sword in their hands, saying: "Now

we will share with you."

{99}

The best means of reclaiming them to religion is, first, to get

possession of their ideas, their instincts, and their good

feelings. We must enter in at their door, and make them go out by

ours. Bind, rivet religious thought to their thought--to those

sentiments which cause their hearts to vibrate most, and then

elevate their souls; wean them from the prepossessions of earth,

from indifference and evil passions, and impart to them the joys

of religion and charity.

Take advantage of any occurrence, of any great event, of a fire,

a calamity, an illness. ... A fire reduces a poor family to ruin,

Appeal for aid, placing yourself at the head of the movement, and

the result will surprise you. A laborer falls sick, and his

fields remain untilled. Call his fellow-laborers together, and

they will be glad, they will forget their own interest, to come

to the assistance of their suffering comrade. The people of

France are not known; the spirit of self-sacrifice and generosity

which is in them is not known. It may require some great occasion

to develop it. Well, it is for you to bring it about.

For instance, you wish to restore a church or to build a new one,

and require a considerable sum of money for the purpose. So much

the better; out of that requirement, you may draw treasures of

charity and religion.

{100}

Enter the pulpit and state your object; be like a father in the

midst of his family. Set the whole case before them, your fears,

your hopes, your need, and then add:--"We rely upon you. You will

aid me, will you not? for I shall take the lead, and this will be

our church."

You will then witness how the old French and Christian enthusiasm

may be rekindled in the hearts of the people, insomuch that you

will be tempted to ask:--"Are we really in the nineteenth

century? Are we not still in the middle ages?" All will

cooperate: the poor man will offer his two arms, work men will

give their day's labor, the agriculturists, if there be any, will

supply carts; this one will give money, another wood, a third

stone; here windows, and there ornaments will be presented. Who

knows but that some, who have never been accustomed to work, will

offer to aid in the building? The little _bourgeois Voltairien_,

who has been known to speak evil of God and of His curé, even he

may wish to have a hand in the erection of the church; so that

all will thereby be brought nearer to God, nearer to the truth,

and nearer salvation.

Similar things have occurred in every part of France; though few

have any conception of the existence of such a spirit among the

people. We have even heard venerable pastors exclaim on

witnessing it:--"I have held this parish for twenty-five years

without knowing of it. I could not have believed that my

parishioners had so much good in them."

{101}

Haymon, abbé of Saint-Pierre-sur-Dives, [Footnote 13] tells us

that in the middle ages, kings and mighty men of the time,

renowned and wealthy, nobles of both sexes, stooped so low as to

lay hold of the ropes attached to the carts laden with provisions

and materials for building churches, and drag them to the house

of God. And what appeared most astonishing was, that, although

owing to its size and heavy burden, the cart was sometimes drawn

by upward of a thousand persons, so profound was the silence

maintained that nobody's voice was heard above a whisper, and the

eye alone could recognize particular individuals in that vast

multitude.

[Footnote 13: _Manuel de Charité_, p. 244.]

Similar spectacles may be witnessed again. Scenes akin to them

occur frequently in the least religious parts of the country, and

under the most adverse circumstances. One such took place during

the present year at the prison of St. Pélagie.

Two years ago, a new parish was formed in one of the most

miserable quarters of Paris, where the people were almost pagans.

An appeal was made to their charity, and five hundred francs, in

_sous_, were collected after the sermon. Moreover, the poor

brought gifts of bread, and wished to help in the erection of the

church.

{102}

Two poor women brought the fire-wood which had been given to them

by the _Bureau de Bienfaisance_. Many brought their rings and

wedding presents. Working men clubbed together to ornament the

church; and, what is better still, now that it is built, they go

there to pray. O people whom Christ loved, how little are ye

known! how little beloved! Ye would be saved. ...

To sum up: in order to benefit the people, they must be cared

for; they must be loved, must be made to love all that is good

and great, and then you may lead them where you will. Charity is

popular in France. Above all, succor the unfortunate; do so

bountifully, and you will gain an ascendency which nothing will

be able to wrest from you. You may then defy the criticisms of

wits, of the press, and of hate, and retain possession of the

most glorious sovereignty in the world--that over the hearts of

men.

We must insist, therefore, on the necessity of giving the people

a right direction; not the dry and cold direction of a

metaphysical argument, or of a sword's point, but a benevolent,

sympathetic, devoted impulse. ... We have not busied ourselves as

we ought about the people, about their moral amelioration. We

have abandoned them to the intriguing and ambitious, and then we

complain of and reproach them. Have they not as much reason to

murmur against and to upbraid us? The people are what they are

made.

{103}

They are like those unclaimed lands which belong to the first

occupant: they are good or bad according as they are well or

badly managed; and, looking at the manner in which the people

have progressed for the last ten or twelve years, it would hardly

seem that they have been under the direction of honest men. What

have we done? What masters have we given them? To what school

have we sent them? To the school of the tavern, the

liquor-vaults, and debauchery. And who have been the masters of

this great French people? Men over head and ears in debt,

bankrupt tradesmen, briefless barristers, peddling

tipstaffs--such have been their educators; and yet forsooth, we

have the face to complain that they have been badly brought up!

What ought to surprise those who know the temptations and

allurements to which they have been exposed, and the kind of

literature which has been put into their hands--no less than

eight millions of mischievous books every year by colportage

alone--is, not that the people are so bad as they are, but that

they are no worse. Their nature must be good at bottom, and

Christianity must still survive in their hearts, to have

withstood as they have done. I deplore the good which is ours no

longer; but I bless Providence for that which still subsists.

{104}

We have, in truth, played into the hands of designing and

malevolent; for when we have seen them set on the people,

overwhelming them under a crushing load of errors, prejudices,

and antipathies, instead of taking part in the contest, we have

too often stood aloof, and contented ourselves with the vain

deprecation, uttered perhaps with a smile of disdain:--"They are

being taught what is unreasonable and will not bear examination!"

Very true; but do the people examine? When a bad press has been

active, lavish, and amusing withal--when it has followed them

into their workshops, their cottages, in fact, everywhere--how

did we act? Why, we gave them some wearisome treatises which were

either puerile or crammed full of metaphysics. Good heavens! when

shall we be brought to understand that the people do not reflect,

that they look, listen, and then go forward? They need some one

to guide them, and if honest men do not undertake the mission,

they will find others who will. ...

To aid us in affording that guidance, we should invoke the

cooperation of the higher classes, inducing them to exert

themselves for the moral amelioration of the people. Here, again,

we have another rich mine to be worked which has been greatly

neglected, but whereby all may be benefited. The people must be

morally reformed by the rich, and the rich by the people.

{105}

Alas! we often have to deplore the little effect which our words

produce on the higher classes. But why should you expect them to

understand us? They have no longer the Christian sense; they do

not wish to endure, their aim is to enjoy themselves. They are

devoured by sensualism and hardened by egotism. To remedy this,

begin by dipping their souls in the waters of charity; teach them

the way of self-sacrifice and devotion; enlist them in efforts

for the moral benefit of the people, their children, and the

poor, and then you will be listened to.

This kind of charity is readily understood in France. All of us

have some sort of pretension of wishing to do something for the

moral welfare of the people, even though we may not be strictly

consistent in our own morality. But the French mind is so logical

that it cannot play such a part for any length of time without

being bettered thereby, were it only for shame's sake or out of

self-respect. Something within will say:--"Before attempting to

reform others, I shall do well to reform myself." Then charity

will attract heavenly blessings, and the heart will open itself

to the inspirations of the Gospel.

If, therefore, you wish to convert or reform a man, set him to

reform one somewhat worse than himself. You will succeed much

more readily in that way than by argument.

Take the case of a young man whose virtue is more than wavering,

and the flights of whose imagination cause you anxiety. Set him

at work to reform others, or to make the effort on some notorious

offender.

{106}

He will do his part wonderfully well; his own virtue will be

strengthened and confirmed thereby, and you will have given

beneficent scope to an exuberant vivacity which the youth himself

did not know how to utilize.

It is related that a president of the Society of Saint Vincent de

Paul had reason to fear that some of its members failed to

discharge their Paschal obligations. There were, at the same

time, several poor families to be converted, and he committed the

task to the suspected defaulters. The result was that they were

the first to partake of the Holy Communion. The thing was simple

enough: before leading others to the confessional, it was

necessary that they themselves should show them the way.

Every effort made by the higher classes to benefit those below

them, revives and sustains in the former the spirit of

compassion, of benevolence, and of self-sacrifice--the best

sentiments of the human heart. It imparts life to them; for to

live is to feel, is to love, is to be loved, and to cause love in

others. To have sympathy with and fellow-feeling for the

poor--that is to live; but to be wholly absorbed in business

matters, in advancing one's own fortune, or in concocting

intrigues--that is not to live; rather it is to become brutish

and to go to ruin. Nothing is more immoral and contrary to nature

than to be always taken up with self.

{107}

Moreover, the course which we are recommending tends to draw the

different classes closer together, to teach them to know and

esteem each other, and to assuage mutual jealousies and

antipathies. The people are fond of being thought of, of having

interest manifested toward them. Under such treatment they

readily yield, and are glad to be reconciled. They become even

proud of the tokens of benevolence bestowed on them by some

wealthy individual; it is a kind of safeguard to them against

evil passions. They say to themselves:-"We are loved and

esteemed: let us by honest and Christian conduct continue to

deserve such consideration."

Further, it cannot be denied that there is a tendency in the

spirit of the people to fancy themselves despised by the rich.

Even suspicion on that point must be rendered impossible, for it

may lead to serious evils. The people are implacable on the

subject of contempt: they are even cruel, and they cannot pardon

it, whatever else they may be ready to overlook. They forgive

those who deceive and those who rob and over-work them; but they

do not forgive those who despise them. To be despised is to them

the last indignity: and perhaps there is some reason in that

popular instinct. It is surprising that our blessed Lord

complained but once during His passion. ... He suffered, He died,

without a murmur; but when the affront of contempt was inflicted

on Him, He complained, and uttered that speech which revealed a

heart profoundly bruised:--"If I have spoken evil, bear witness

of the evil; but if well, why smitest thou me?"

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But when the people meet with benevolence and cordiality among

the rich, jealousy and hate give way, and they may be heard to

say:--"If all the rich were of that sort, they would be adored;

we should be ready to die for them." Moreover, they are led

thereby to have more faith in God and in the reality of a

Providence.

Some few years ago there lived an artisan's wife who was

notorious for her hatred toward society, toward the rich, and

even toward God. She hated them with an implacable, a woman's

hate. Her malignity was specially directed against the _rolls of

silk_ and _bundles of stuff_--so she designated the females of

the upper classes--and she was known to be in the habit of saying

to her children:--"I have brought you up for the democracy ... to

humble the rich and to reestablish equality; and if you do not

become democrats, I will disown you."

A priest commissioned a young marchioness, as virtuous as she was

accomplished, to attend to this poor creature. She began by

listening with kindness to all her grievances and insults, and

even allowed herself to be called a _coquine_. Nevertheless, by

dint of patience, she soon succeeded in calming her embittered

soul.

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One day, the marchioness, who was about to absent herself for

several weeks, went to bid farewell to her _protégée_. She took

her affectionately by the hand, and then, moved thereto

spontaneously by her kind heart, and doubtless by the grace of

God also, cordially kissed her, saying, as she left:--"I shall

soon see you again."

The poor woman was stunned with amazement, and moved even to

tears, and forthwith went to the priest; but instead of first

saluting him, she began by exclaiming:--"Is it possible? You will

not believe me; nevertheless it is true. She kissed me! .... Yes,

the lady marchioness kissed a miserable creature like me. ... Ah!

I have frequently declared that there was no good God; now I say

there is, because that lady is one of His angels. I have said,

too, that I would never confess; now you may confess me as often

as you please." Since that time she has been an exemplary

Christian.

The day after, the priest wrote as follows to the excellent lady

whom God had made the instrument of this good work:--"You may,

indeed, consider yourself happy. ... We priests are at great

pains to preach, and do not always succeed in converting our

hearers; but you succeed with an embrace!"

Oh, if women only knew! Oh, if they would, what good they might

do, what evil they might prevent! ....

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Moreover, the existence of real virtue in a woman of the world

depends upon her coming out of self, and devoting herself

assiduously to works of charity. ... For, you may rest assured of

this, that without self-denial on her part you will never be able

to keep her in the right way. ... Take the case of a light,

worldly, and gay woman--and there are many such; you will never

acquire any influence over her except through the medium of

charity. She will make promises, but she will take care not to

keep them: you can never rely on her being faithful to them. It

will be vain for you to address her in the most conclusive

speeches, to ply her with refined and smart essays on good

breeding--in vain that you assail her foibles and waywardness

with irony and sarcasm--in vain that you hold up before her the

terrors of death, hell, and eternity. She will find loopholes by

which to elude all that, and to deceive herself. It will not

prevent her in the least from being vain and excessively addicted

to pleasure, from baring her shoulders immoderately, and from

going a-begging for idolatrous incense in fashionable circles.

Before all, she must be made to feel, to love, to be loved, to

devote herself. Charity filling her soul will set fire to the

house, and then every thing else will be thrown out of the

window.

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Strive, therefore, to enlist all--women, men, and even

children--in searching out the distressed, and in the moral

improvement of the people. Make charity honorable; let there be

benevolent enterprises in your locality in which all can take

part, so that there may not be a man or woman who has not his or

her poor, or who is not engaged somehow in works of charity.

This is the case already in several towns in France, where a

person can scarcely decline being a member of some benevolent

association without suffering a loss of respect. You must

overcome all repugnances on this subject, more especially that of

_amour propre_. There are those who will raise the following

objection, which is by no means rare:--"How can I, a man in my

position, a woman of my standing, busy myself about a set of

beggarly people like these?" To such reply:--"And why not? In the

great cities, men the most eminent by fortune, talent, and

reputation, do it. ... Even ladies who are fêted and sought after

in the world--the young and beautiful, countesses, marchionesses,

and princesses--even such do not disdain the task. There are

women in Paris, possessing every thing that heart can desire,

with a rental of from two hundred thousand to three hundred

thousand francs, who deprive themselves of legitimate pleasures

to occupy themselves in making clothes for the poor, visiting the

most wretched hovels, and nursing the indigent sick."

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Tell them all this with gentleness and kindness; make the grand

ladies of certain small towns--such as the wives of lawyers,

judges, advocates, merchants, commission agents, and

viscounts--ashamed of themselves. It will tend to wean them from

that spirit of contempt and sensualism, and that pride of shabby

finery, which consists in thinking one's self superior to a rival

because she has had the signal honor of finding a better

dressmaker. Tell them that, if they affect the fashions and

usages of Paris, they would do well to imitate the charity, zeal,

and devotion which are exercised there.

To cite but one instance, that of Donoso Cortès, whom we may now

praise, for God has just called him to Himself. He disappeared

every day from home at certain hours. No one knew where he went;

but it was afterward discovered that it was the time of his

visits to the poor. M. de Montalembert, who knew him well, tells

us that he loved the poor passionately, but, withal, discreetly.

In fact, in order to benefit the people, that is how they must be

loved. Thereby alone can you hope to succeed in restoring them to

the path of Gospel self-denial and self-sacrifice.

Be on your guard, moreover, against another excuse often urged by

certain of the wealthier classes. They say:--"But the people

distrust us; it is quite enough for us to attempt to lead them in

one way to make them determined to follow another."

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The people distrust the wealthy classes! If it be so, whose fault

is it? Is it all theirs? They do not know those classes; they

seldom see them except at a distance, and from a lower standing.

Their estimate of them is founded on slander; how, then, can they

have confidence in them? ... Their confidence must be won, it

must be raised by dint of benevolence, charity, and

self-devotion, and the task is by no means impracticable. What!

the possessors of fortune, and talent, and a name, and yet unable

to gain that confidence on the part of the people which a

schoolmaster, a village lawyer, a tipstaff, a man without any

intellectual or moral worth, is able to secure! Of what avail,

then, is it to spend so many long years in study? What does a

good education mean, and of what use is it? Surely a very false

idea has been formed of education. It will soon be made to

consist in knowing how to train a horse, or to turn a compliment,

or in instilling vanity into brains which need no addition of

that quality. Knowledge, talent, position, and birth are not

bestowed on us for the benefit of self, but for the welfare of

all; and it therefore behoves those who are endowed with a

greater capacity--who possess more knowledge, more time, more

influence, and more heart than others--to share their advantages

with those who have less, or who have not the leisure to acquire

them.

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That the influence of which we are speaking may be secured is

proved by the fact of its existence throughout France. There are

parts of the country where the rich man is king and father of his

_commune_; which then resembles one great family. There, the

tenant of the cottage exchanges smiles with the proprietor of the

mansion, and the joys and sorrows of both are warmly

reciprocated. No important step is taken by those who are below

without knowing first what those above them think of it. Under

such circumstances, how many evils are avoided, how many quarrels

adjusted, how many animosities appeased! Oh, what a glorious

mission! How sad to reflect that it is not carried out

everywhere! Nevertheless, strive to make it understood by

persuasion. Make frequent appeals to the hearts of the rich, to

their love of humanity. Invoke them to aid us in stopping the

misery at its source. Invoke their pity on the masses who toil

and suffer beneath us; their pity for those poor children whose

fathers devour their bread; pity on behalf of the aged who pine

in cold and hunger; pity for the woman who spends her Sunday

evenings in tears, expecting every moment to encounter the

brutality of a husband who reels home with his reason and heart

drowned in liquor. Appeal even to their sense of shame, and tell

them that, if it is right to protect animals, it is still more so

to cherish human beings--that their words, coupled with a good

example, would be all-powerful to remedy these miseries--that it

is the rich and great of the earth who sow good or evil in the

hearts of men, and that if matters do not progress to their

satisfaction, they should begin by taking the blame to

themselves. ... Your efforts will be appreciated by many. ... You

will be blessed by all.

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Such are the French people; such, it appears to us, is the way to

do them good.

It is well to study books: it is indispensable; but it is not

enough. We must also study the hearts, the minds, the manners of

those with whom we have to deal, otherwise our knowledge will be

like gold buried in the mountains of America. "The good shepherd

knows his sheep, and is known of them." Is that saying always

realized amongst ourselves?

There is one particular point, however, on which we must be

thoroughly convinced, namely, that what sufficed in former times

will not suffice now. A great revolution has taken place among

the masses. A century ago, Christianity bore all away in its

strong current. Passions broke loose, no doubt; but sooner or

later all bowed before the Gospel. Nowadays, attempts are made to

justify human weaknesses. Formerly, scarcely any other guidance

was permitted but that of the Christian pulpit. Now, there are

platforms everywhere, and within a century we have between

fifteen and eighteen millions more who can read--from fifteen to

eighteen millions of men who may easily be led astray.

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It is a common saying that "France is very sick." Then, I beseech

you not to treat it as if it were in perfect health. Would you

make an end of it?

"Christianity alone can save us," is another common remark. Very

true; but it must be brought in contact with the masses, and if

they do not come to us, we must go to them. ... We have been

unsuccessful in the ministry of the word; let us try the ministry

of charity.

Is it not the aim of Christian eloquence to win over the hearts

of men, and to dispose them toward that which is good? Avail

yourselves, then, of your position to carry out that object. ...

Be persuaded that the world is tired of fine speeches; it wants

actions: and of that demand, who can complain? ... To study and

to argue is to act well; to act and to love is better still.

But the most formidable argument against Christianity is

this:--"We admit that Christianity has rendered great benefits to

mankind by endowing the world with admirable institutions; but

its sap is exhausted; its ascendency over the masses is lost."

Let us prove that this is false, not by words merely, but by

deeds: by self-denial and self sacrifice. Those arguments are

unanswerable.

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But in order to remedy the evils which beset us, we must not rely

on the systems of the learned or on human laws. Good heavens! if

reasonings and codes of law sufficed to secure the peace and

happiness of a people, France ought to be the most prosperous

country in the world.

Neither must we rely upon the power of the sword. It is easily

used; but, as De Maistre has said, to rely on force is like lying

down on the sail of a windmill to obtain quiet sleep. Then,

again, the adoption of force leads to the most terrible excesses.

Those who invoke it know not what they do: they have never

witnessed civil war or barricades, they have never seen French

blood flow in the streets, they have never heard the roar of

cannon or the crash of grapeshot. . . . May God preserve us from

a recurrence of such experience! Rather by dint of persuasion, of

devotion, and of love, let us strive to reconcile all hearts, and

make France the foremost people in the world--the most Christian

and divinely blessed nation.

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