The war between France and Madagascar ended with the conclusion of a treaty of peace in 1886; but the war between real religion and French civilization was greatly intensified. By the treaty concluded, while the Hovas had the control of all domestic affairs, France obtained a privileged position with regard to foreign affairs. A French resident was established at the capital with a guard of honour of fifty French soldiers. It need scarcely be said that, in such circumstances, there was friction from the first between the French and the Hova governments—perhaps it was intended there should be—and things went from bad to worse, until what had been wanted all along was obtained, a pretext for sending an expedition to take over the island. And yet it will never be worth a tithe of what it has cost, and what it is likely to cost, in men and money. The French government was grossly deceived about the policy and work of the London Missionary Society, and the real state of affairs—perhaps they were not anxious to know the truth!—by the Jesuits, the colonial party, impecunious Frenchmen, French-Creoles, and others who had their own ends to serve in urging the government of the day to take action.
The Malagasy, once you really know them, are most likeable; but you have to know them thoroughly. The Hovas have in them the making of a fine people, and in proper hands much might be made of them; but nothing will be made of them if they are simply regarded as dirty niggers or ‘imitative monkeys whose market value is nil.’ They are a most extraordinary mixture of love of money, simply for its own sake, and wondrous generosity; of suspicious cunning, and unqualified trust in those whom they respect and love; of childlike and docile simplicity, and the most mulish and unreasoning obstinacy. I believe it was this last trait in their character sanctified which enabled them to endure martyrdom so calmly and courageously. If once you win their respect and love—and they are not difficult to win—you may do almost anything you like with them, and they in turn will do anything for you. Doubtless some of the above-named features are common to most heathen people; others are peculiar to the Malagasy.
It does not follow nowadays that when any great man in either the political or religious world changes his views, or his creed, all his followers or dependants change with him. Each one claims the right now to judge for him-or herself; but, as we all know, it was not always so. There was a time in the history of our own and other lands when clans and even countries did not dare to differ from their chiefs or sovereigns. If the sovereign or chief professed conversion, it almost always followed that the whole kingdom or clan did the same. History repeated itself in this respect in Madagascar. When the Hova queen made profession of Christianity the vast majority of her subjects in the central provinces imitated the royal example. The natural result followed. These wholesale conversions were found to be of a very superficial character, as we find in the early history of the church nearer home. Districts once nominally Christian relapsed into heathenism, and had to be reconverted; so it was in some cases in Madagascar. There was not so much danger of the Malagasy relapsing into absolute heathenism; but there was a great danger of their resting in a form of godliness, while denying its power.
It was difficult to get two truths burned into their minds: the heinousness of sin—whether found out or not—and the holiness of God. If they did not quite believe that ‘’tis only daylight that makes sin,’ they certainly did believe that ‘a sin concealed is half-forgiven.’ It is only fair to remember in view of this the dense ignorance of the vast majority, and the fact that they had so lately emerged from heathenism. They were strange blendings of good and evil; of vices and virtues; of lofty aspirations and gross pagan practices; of Christian ideals and heathen traditions. Still, notwithstanding these grave drawbacks, there was much to be profoundly thankful for, and especially the help we received from our converts. We had a noble band of native fellow-labourers—pastors, local preachers, teachers, evangelists, and latterly Sabbath-school teachers. What was most needed was more evangelical fervour, moral earnestness, and missionary enthusiasm. ‘No kind of mission work,’ some one has said, ‘is safe that is not enthusiastic.’ We are still, I fear, far from being safe in this respect, either at home or abroad.
Emerson speaks of liberty and snow always being associated; but in religious affairs cold and corruption, torpor and formality generally go together. We are told that fevers never spread except in hot weather; cold always kills the infection. That may be quite true with regard to fevers and infection; but we know as a fact that real religion seldom spreads except in an atmosphere of fervour. Frigid religion will never help to kindle the fires of a new devotion in hearts dead in trespasses and sins; it can only help to foster formality. Cold may prevent the spread of infection in the natural world; but it is almost always the cause of disease, death, and corruption in the spiritual. Frosty friendships are but sorry affairs; but frozen religion is one of the abominations that make desolate. I know that fire may be got by using a piece of ice as a burning-glass; but ice is not generally used for that purpose!
By the death at this time of Ràsamoèly (a young dentist, and one of our local preachers at Lazaina) in the out-district, we lost one of the best and most warm-hearted of our young men, and that too under most painful circumstances. There had been a number of very daring burglaries in the capital and suburbs during the previous few months. A few nights before Christmas, 1889, Ràsamoèly dreamt that his house had been broken into by burglars, and starting up in his fright and half-asleep he jumped out at the window. He fell on his back, and died a fortnight after from spinal injury.
Strange to say, although the accident had happened in the capital, I had not heard of it until the morning of his death, when he sent for me. I went to him at once, and found him lying on a small truckle-bed, very earnestly engaged in prayer. He was praying with his eyes open, and saw me enter the room and take a seat at his bedside; but went on praying fervently and beautifully for some time after I entered. When he had finished we shook hands, and he thanked me for coming so promptly to see him. He then began to tell me very quietly and calmly that he was dying, that the doctors had told him there was no hope; but he added: ‘I am not afraid to die; for I am trusting in Jesus Christ for salvation.’ His mother was sitting by his bedside, quite broken-hearted, weeping and sobbing in a most passionate way. He talked to her so gently, telling her that she ought not to grieve so sadly because he was dying. ‘If,’ he said, ‘I were in chains, or in prison as a burglar, or were dying from the effects of bad living, then you might weep, but not because I am going home to my Father’s house on high. I am very sorry to be separated from you so soon, but we shall soon meet again to part no more.’ He also talked most solemnly and earnestly to his brother and sister, and made them promise that they would give their hearts to God and live for Him.
He and I had a long talk together, after which I prayed with him. My wife and I called in the afternoon to see him. We found him still conscious; he recognized us both, shook hands with us, and then asked me to pray again with him. Death was now rapidly approaching, and just after I had finished praying, he complained of the cold creeping up his body, and asked for more blankets. His attention then seemed to be suddenly arrested by something he saw in the roof of the room. He gazed with seemingly rapturous astonishment, while a look of ecstasy passed over his face. Had he a vision, and of whom, or of what? Did he see his father, the good old deacon, or did he see the Saviour Himself waiting to welcome him? He looked several times intently at us, as if he would have said: ‘Don’t you also see this?’ but he seemed no longer able to articulate, and in a short time all was over. He was safe home, and with the Saviour Who had loved him and given Himself for him, and on Whom I had heard him so fervently call that morning for help and strength. His was the most triumphant death I had ever seen.
We were frequently cheered by hearing of instances of the truth taught being translated by our people into rules of life and conduct. A teacher of one of our village schools, on his way home from the capital one day, found a large sum of money lying on the grassy pathway by the roadside, rolled up in a small piece of dirty calico. He knew at once that some one had lost the money, but as there was no one within sight, he had no idea to whom it belonged. He went on his way for a few miles, when he came upon two men excitedly talking about something.
As he drew near them, and caught something of their conversation, he asked them if they had lost anything; and they answered that they had lost a large sum of money, but where they could not tell. They were returning from a local market, where they had sold an ox, and it was the price of the ox they had lost. One of them had rolled the money in a piece of calico, after the usual Malagasy fashion, and stuck it in his girdle, from which probably it had slipped out when he was sitting on the grass by the roadside resting. The teacher handed them the money he had found, and asked them if that was their money. On seeing and counting it they said it was, and asked him where he had found it, and how he knew it was theirs. He told them how he had found it, and that he had gathered from what he had heard of their conversation that they were the owners of it. They asked him if any one saw him find the money, to which he answered, ‘No.’ How did he know then that it was theirs? they asked. He answered he did not know; how could he? he only suspected they were the owners from what he had overheard of their discussion. Then they asked how it was that he came to give up the money, seeing that no one saw him find it, and neither they nor any one else would ever have known he had it. The teacher said: ‘You are quite wrong there; for, in the first place, it would have been dishonest of me to have kept the money, and in the second place, God saw me find it. He would have known.’ One of the men asked him: ‘Are you a “prayer”?’ To which he answered: ‘Yes.’ ‘Then,’ he said, ‘let me shake hands with you, and ask your forgiveness. Ever since the “praying” was introduced into the island, I have been an enemy to it, and done everything in my power to oppose it, for I thought it wrong to forsake the religion of our forefathers and take up with the white man’s; but I shall do so no more. I shall do all I can for the future to help the “prayers,” and I will learn to pray myself. A religion that can lead a young man like you to return such a large sum of money, when you might have safely kept it, and neither we nor any one else would have ever known—that religion must be the true one, and a good thing for the country and the people.’