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. 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. 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.