All this is incomprehensible， bizarre or even repulsive to the public at large， and still more so to the vulgar. It sees in religion only what is very plain， a government； and in France， it has already had enough of government temporally； add a complementary one on the spiritual side and that will be more and too much. Alongside of the tax-collector and the gendarme in uniform， the peasant， the workman and the common citizen encounter the curé in his cassock who， in the name of the Church， as with the other two in the name of the State， gives him orders and subjects him to rules and regulations. Now every rule is annoying and the latter more than the others； one is rid of the tax-collector after paying the tax， and of the gendarme when no act is committed against the law； the curé is much more exacting； he interferes in domestic life and in private matters and assumes to govern man entirely. He admonishes his parishioners in the confessional and from the pulpit， he lords it over them even in their inmost being， and his injunctions bind them in every act， even at home， around the fireside， at table and in bed， comprising their moments of repose and relaxation， even hours of leisure and in the tavern. Villagers， after listening to a sermon against the tavern and drunkenness， murmur and are heard to exclaim： "Why does he meddle with our affairs？ Let him say his mass and leave us alone." They need him for baptism， marriage and burial， but their affairs do not concern him. Moreover， among the observances he prescribes， many are inconvenient， tasteless or disagreeable - fasting， Lent， a passive part in a Latin mass， prolonged services， ceremonies of which the details are all insignificant， but of which the symbolic meaning is to-day of no account to people in attendance； add to all this the mechanical recitation of the Pater and of the Ave， genuflections and crossing one's self， and especially obligatory confession at specified dates. Nowadays the worker and the peasant manage without these constraints. In many villages， there is nobody at high mass on Sundays but women， and often， in small numbers， one or two troops of children led by the clerical instructor and by the "Sister，" with a few old men； the great majority of the men remain outside， under the porch and on the square before the church chatting with each other about the crops， on local news and on the weather.
In the eighteenth century， when a curé was obliged to report to the "intendant " the number of inhabitants of his parish， he had only to count his communicants at the Easter service； their number was about that of the adult and valid population， say one half or two fifths of the sum total.[55] Now， at Paris， out of two millions of Catholics who are of age， about one hundred thousand perform this strict duty， aware of its being strict and the imperative prescription of which is stamped in their memory by a rhyme which they have learned in their infancy；[56] out of one hundred persons， this is equal to five communicants， of which four are women and one is a man， in other words， about one woman out of twelve or thirteen and one man out of fifty. In the provinces，[57] and especially in the country， there is good reason for doubling and even tripling these figures； in the latter case， the most favorable one and， without any doubt， the rarest， the proportion of professed Christians is that of one to four among women and one man out of twelve. Evidently， with the others who make not attend Church regularly， with the three women and the eleven other men， their faith is only verbal； if they are still Catholics， it is on the outside and not within.