They went from farmstead to farmstead, but this time they were not peddling indulgences, nor were they seeking more donations. On the contrary, they brought eggs, bread, and red wine.
The farmers naturally welcomed them with great enthusiasm, yet they still stood off to the side in terrified deference, scarcely daring to breathe.
"Taxes rise every year, and so does rent, yet the grain merchants' purchase prices have not increased by a single cent for five consecutive years. How many people have been forced into usury because of this? How many families have been ruined and lives destroyed?
"And those who take away the money earned by your blood and sweat still see you as symbols of laziness and stupidity."
At a textile mill, a child laborer had just died. After briefly conducting The Mass, the priest spoke to the other workers.
"You work eighteen hours a day, without a single day of rest all year, yet you can barely feed yourselves. Little Pierre should have been serving at The Mass in church today, but instead he died at the hands of machinery."
When a supervisor nearby saw this and raised his whip, the priest rebuked him sharply.
"Do you wish to judge them in God's stead?"
The supervisor resentfully lowered his hand. It was not merely because French clergy held high status at the time, but because behind that priest stood a black-robed monk with a vicious face.
These monks were naturally the so-called outside support. They were genuine combatants, many of whom had taken part in armed missionary work in the colonies. The thuggish hooligans who served as factory supervisors generally did not even dare meet their eyes.
"Who stole your time? Who took your money? Who has driven you farther and farther from God?"
Before long, stirred