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?
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.]
"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 thisargmnentum ad hominemwas 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.'
"'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.'
"'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.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!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.
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.
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."
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.
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, formuch 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?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.
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.
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 attemptto robher 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.]
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 asfull of grace, and afterward asfull of truth. Let love precede truth, and then the latter will enter into the heart as into its own domain.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 dearmauvais 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.
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.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. . . .
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.
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.
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.
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.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.
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.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.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.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.
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.
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, thebourgeoistastes, thebourgeoispetty calculations, thebourgeoislove of little comforts.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.
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.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."