er ear, the woman of toil and suffering sees not so
much the minister of God, the judge of her sins, the arbiter of her
welfare, as the confidant of her sorrows and the friend of her misery.
However coarse she may be, there is always a little of the true woman in
her, a feverish, trembling, sensitive, wounded something, a restlessness
and, as it were, the sighing of an invalid who craves caressing words,
even as a child's trifling ailments require the nurse's droning lullaby.
She, as well as the woman of the world, must have the consolation of
pouring out her heart, of confiding her troubles to a sympathetic ear.
For it is the nature of her sex to seek an outlet for the emotions and
an arm to lean upon. There are in her mind things that she must tell,
and concerning which she would like to be questioned, pitied and
comforted. She dreams of a compassionate interest, a tender sympathy for
hidden feelings of which she is ashamed. Her masters may be the kindest,
the most friendly, the most approachable of masters to the woman in
their employ: their kindness to her will still be of the same sort that
they bestow upon a domestic animal. They will be uneasy concerning her
appetite and her health; they will look carefully after the animal part
of her, and that will be all. It will not occur to them that she can
suffer elsewhere than in her body, and they will not dream that she can
have the heartache, the sadness and immaterial pain for which they seek
relief by confiding in those of their own station. In their eyes, the
woman who sweeps and does the cooking, has no ideas that can cause her
to be sad or thoughtful, and they never speak to her of her thoughts. To
whom, then, shall she carry them? To the priest who is waiting for them,
asks for them, welcomes them, to the churchman who is also a man of the
world, a superior creature, a well-educated gentleman, who knows
everything, speaks well, is always accessible, gentle, patient,
attentive, and seems to feel no scorn for the most humble soul, the most
shabbily dressed penitent. The priest alone listens to the woman in a
cap. He alone takes an interest in her secret sufferings, in the things
that disturb and agitate her and that bring to a maid, as well as to
her mistress, the sudden longing to weep, or excite a tempest within
her. There is none but he to encourage her outpourings, to draw from her
those things which the irony of her daily life holds back, to look to
the state of