One Strapping
Lass Stood With Her Back To The Wall And Did The Solo Part, The
Rest Chiming In Devoutly.
Not far off, a lad lay flat on his face
asleep among some straw, to represent the worldly element.
Again, this people is eager to proselytise; and the postmaster's
daughter used to argue with me by the half-hour about my heresy,
until she grew quite flushed. I have heard the reverse process
going on between a Scotswoman and a French girl; and the arguments
in the two cases were identical. Each apostle based her claim on
the superior virtue and attainments of her clergy, and clenched the
business with a threat of hell-fire. 'Pas bong pretres ici,' said
the Presbyterian, 'bong pretres en Ecosse.' And the postmaster's
daughter, taking up the same weapon, plied me, so to speak, with
the butt of it instead of the bayonet. We are a hopeful race, it
seems, and easily persuaded for our good. One cheerful
circumstance I note in these guerilla missions, that each side
relies on hell, and Protestant and Catholic alike address
themselves to a supposed misgiving in their adversary's heart. And
I call it cheerful, for faith is a more supporting quality than
imagination.
Here, as in Scotland, many peasant families boast a son in holy
orders. And here also, the young men have a tendency to emigrate.
It is certainly not poverty that drives them to the great cities or
across the seas, for many peasant families, I was told, have a
fortune of at least 40,000 francs.
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