With a mournful smile, Toussaint replied that mankind had advanced but a little way yet. The world was very far from being Christianised.
“In practice,” said Euphrosyne. “But, supposing us all to fulfil what has been exemplified from the earliest days till now, do you suppose that many principles remain to be acted upon?”
“No doubt. If I saw none, I should believe, from all experience, that revelations (or rather verifications of what Christ revealed) will succeed each other as long as men exist. But, from the beginning till now, individuals here and there have lived by the principles which classes and nations have overlooked. By a solitary ray shining here and there, we may foretell something of the new lights about to rise upon the world. There will be more privileged classes, Euphrosyne; and, Denis, these privileges are lying within our grasp.”
“A new charity, father?”
“A new charity, my boy. To solace the sick and infirm is good. To tend the diseased soul is better. But there is a higher charity still.”
“To do good to those who hate us,” said Monsieur Pascal; “in doing good, to conquer not only our love of ease and our fear of pain, but our prejudices, our just resentments, our remembrance of injuries, our disgust at oppression, our contempt of pride—to forget or conquer all these through the love of men as men, is, indeed, a higher charity than any which classes have yet illustrated.”
“The negroes are the race that will illustrate it,” said Toussaint, with calm confidence. “The Gospel is for the whole world. It sprang up among the Jews; the white Gentiles hold it now; and the negroes are destined to fulfil their share. They are to illustrate its highest Charity. For tokens, mark their meek and kindly natures, the softness and the constancy of their affections, and (whenever tried) their placability. Thus prepared, liberty is about to be opened to them in a region of civilisation. When God has given them the strength of the free, it will exalt their meekness and their love into that highest charity of which we have spoken. I myself am old; and though I shall do what I can on this side the grave, I cannot see the great day, except in faith. But my children may witness at least its dawn.”
“In those days, wars will cease,” said Euphrosyne, recalling the thoughts she had revolved on the day of the death of Moyse: “there will be no bloodshed, no violence—no punishment of injuries to others, while your people forgive their own.”
“So will it be, I trust,” said Toussaint.
“Why not, then, begin now? Why not act upon your whole principle at once?”