Thirty years ago there was a young man in an Italian town; he was an exile from his native land and found himself reduced to the depths of poverty.  He had been born a Calvinist, but the consequences of his own folly had made him a fugitive in a strange land; he had no money and he changed his religion for a morsel of bread.  There was a hostel for proselytes in that town to which he gained admission.  The study of controversy inspired doubts he had never felt before, and he made acquaintance with evil hitherto unsuspected by him; he heard strange doctrines and he met with morals still stranger to him; he beheld this evil conduct and nearly fell a victim to it.  He longed to escape, but he was locked up; he complained, but his complaints were unheeded; at the mercy of his tyrants, he found himself treated as a criminal because he would not share their crimes.  The anger kindled in a young and untried heart by the first experience of violence and injustice may be realised by those who have themselves experienced it.  Tears of anger flowed from his eyes, he was wild with rage; he prayed to heaven and to man, and his prayers were unheard; he spoke to every one and no one listened to him.  He saw no one but the vilest servants under the control of the wretch who insulted him, or accomplices in the same crime who laughed at his resistance and encouraged him to follow their example.  He would have been ruined had not a worthy priest visited the hostel on some matter of business.  He found an opportunity of consulting him secretly.  The priest was poor and in need of help himself, but the victim had more need of his assistance, and he did not hesitate to help him to escape at the risk of making a dangerous enemy.

Having escaped from vice to return to poverty, the young man struggled vainly against fate:  for a moment he thought he had gained the victory.  At the first gleam of good fortune his woes and his protector were alike forgotten.  He was soon punished for this ingratitude; all his hopes vanished; youth indeed was on his side, but his romantic ideas spoiled everything.  He had neither talent nor skill to make his way easily, he could neither be commonplace nor wicked, he expected so much that he got nothing.  When he had sunk to his former poverty, when he was without food or shelter and ready to die of hunger, he remembered his benefactor.

He went back to him, found him, and was kindly welcomed; the sight of him reminded the priest of a good deed he had done; such a memory always rejoices the heart.  This man was by nature humane and pitiful; he felt the sufferings of others through his own, and his heart had not been hardened by prosperity; in a word, the lessons of wisdom and an enlightened virtue had reinforced his natural kindness of heart.  He welcomed the young man, found him a lodging, and recommended him; he shared with him his living which was barely enough for two.  He did more, he instructed him, consoled him, and taught him the difficult art of bearing adversity in patience.  You prejudiced people, would you have expected to find all this in a priest and in Italy?