THE CLERGY

Just as we find in the ranks of aristocracy, at the side of a court nobility too often corrupt and frivolous, a provincial nobility which guards faithfully the traditions of honor and the austere virtues, so at the side of worldly prelates there are honest, convinced, venerable priests who continue to edify the country. In the clergy, as in the nobility, I distinguish the rich and the poor, the unbelieving and the faithful, the men who give scandal and the men of good will. Doubtless there are many reforms to make, many abuses to suppress. The princes of the Church, possessors of feudal rights, heirs or successors of the ancient prince-sovereigns of the country, the hundred and thirty-one bishops and archbishops, the seven hundred commendatory abbés, with their worldly airs, their opulence, their great households, are not all models. I could name more than one prelate who not only has mistresses, clients, guests, a levee, an antechamber, ushers, and offices, but who completes his resemblance to the great nobles by having debts. The Marquis de Mirabeau wrote in 1766: “It would be an insult to offer a curacy to the majority of ecclesiastics with pretensions. Revenues and distinction are for commendatory abbés, for clergymen who have only received the tonsure, for the numerous chapters.” There are prelates who have an income of half a million. People talk of one bishop’s hunting-equipage, of another’s confessionals hung with satin, of the kitchen utensils in solid silver belonging to a third. In salons and boudoirs I constantly meet these court abbés, who have nothing of the priest about them but the habit, and who do not always wear that,—anacreontic abbés, flatterers of great ladies, admirers of the philosophers, newsmongers, makers of little verses. But these are not the true clergy. The true clergy are found in the modest presbyteries of towns, and especially of villages. Yes, if I know the pompous aristocratic prelate, man of the world, man of the salon, man of the court, mounting more willingly the marble staircases of Versailles than the steps of the altar, I also know the humble, poor, resigned priest, the man of devotion, duty, sacrifice, abnegation, the man of God. If I meet the bishop proud of his gold cross, I also salute the country curate who goes, staff in hand, several leagues on foot through mud and snow. Doubtless there are certain convents of women whose profane aspect makes them resemble aristocratic circles, meeting-places for elegant society. But on the other hand there are veritable convents, holy and religious asylums. One of the daughters of Louis XV., Madame Louise of France, has become a Carmelite, and the Carmelites make no compromise with austerity. There exist, I admit it, certain preachers more intent on the Encyclopedia than on the Gospel, who resemble academicians more than priests. There are, I am told, some who forget to make the sign of the cross when they enter the pulpit, omit all prayer, and turn their sermon into a sort of lecture. Bachaumont tells us that this is called preaching _à la_ Greek. But, on the other hand, there are energetic, convinced preachers, in whose eloquent mouths the sacred terrors of doctrine are not enfeebled, men of faith and courage who, like the Apostles, exclaim when confronted with scandal: “It is impossible not to speak.” _Non possumus non loqui._ In a piously audacious sermon, the Bishop of Alais, dividing society into two classes, that which has all and that which has nothing, asks why so enormous a privilege is excused by so little virtue. One day the Abbé de Beauvais, preaching in the chapel of Versailles in presence of the King, censures the shameful life of libertines. At the close of the sermon, Louis XV., apostrophizing Marshal de Richelieu, said to the old coxcomb: “Eh! Marshal, it seems to me the preacher has been throwing a good many stones into your garden.”—“Yes, Sire,” returned the sly courtier, “and some of them even bounced over into the park of Versailles.” Still, the evangelical tradition continues in spite of everything. Even in the most relaxed, corrupt, perverse epochs, there are always hidden treasures, inexhaustible sources of charity and virtue, if not on the surface at least in the depths of Christianity. No, no, messieurs the philosophers, do not confound the Church, the holy Church, with certain simoniacal priests and contraband abbés who are her reproach. Reckon up how many faithful servants of Christ, helpers of the poor, consolers of the afflicted, there yet remain in cities and country places, in every town and village. True, there have been great scandals, abuses from which Christian souls have suffered profoundly. Nevertheless, when the hour of supreme crisis shall arrive, you will see how many priests will know how to die like martyrs, like the early Christians. You who think the clergy ended, will soon be astonished at the number of its heroic and intrepid men. When the tempest comes, you will recognize the worth and ability of this clergy. You think now that the Church has grown old. Well, she will grow young again if need be, in persecution. She will have her second baptism, if that is necessary, which will efface all stains; it will be the baptism of blood!